Hanging Valley ib-4

by Peter Robinson

  Under normal circumstances he would have expected Hatchley to take any opportunity to get off work for a pint or a session on the sofa with Carol Ellis, but this time the sergeant was angry.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Maybe Fletcher’s got the answer. I wouldn’t want to leave it till he went and got himself killed, too. And I wouldn’t mind paying a call on Nicholas bloody Collier either.’

  THREE

  ‘Go away!’ Katie said, rushing forward and trying to close the door.

  But Nicholas had his foot wedged in. ‘Let me in, Katie,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about Stephen. He was very fond of you, you know.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Katie said, still pushing at the door with her shoulder. But Nicholas was too strong for her and the door knocked her backwards against the kitchen table as he entered. He shut the door behind him and walked towards her.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘I know you were talking to Stephen the day before he died. I just wondered if he’d been saying anything silly. He wasn’t well, you know.’ He reached out and grabbed Katie’s arm as she tried to slip away. ‘There’s no need to be afraid of me,’ he said, relaxing his grip a little. ‘No need to run away. I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Katie said. ‘There was nothing wrong with Stephen.’

  ‘He was upset. He might have said things he didn’t mean.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you, you stupid bitch,’ Nicholas shouted, then lowered his voice again. ‘Just tell me what you talked about. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’

  ‘I don’t have anything.’

  ‘Liar.’ Nicholas opened Sam’s drinks cabinet and poured himself a large gin. ‘I’ve been here before, remember? With Sam.’ He held out the glass. ‘Go on, have some. You like gin, don’t you?’

  Katie shook her head. Nicholas hooked the back of her neck with one hand, put the glass to her closed lips and tipped it forward. The vile-smelling spirit spilled down Katie’s chin and on to the front of her dress. It burned her throat and made her gag.

  ‘Stop it!’ she cried, spluttering and pushing him away.

  Nicholas laughed, showing his yellowed teeth, and put the glass down. He went back to the cabinet and poured himself some Scotch.

  ‘What did Stephen tell you?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Katie coughed and rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand.

  ‘He must have said something. He was quite a one for confiding in the wrong people, Stephen was, especially women. And I saw you talking to that policeman. Where is he now? What’s he doing?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.’

  ‘What did he ask you? What did you say to him?’

  ‘Nothing. He doesn’t know anything.’

  ‘Stop lying, Katie. Did you do it with him too, just like you do with all the others?’

  Katie turned pale. ‘What do you mean?’

  Nicholas grinned. The dark comma of hair had flopped over his brow and his cheeks were flushed. ‘You know what I mean. Just like you did with Stephen and everyone else. Did you let him do it to you, Katie, that policeman?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be shy. You do it with everyone, don’t you? You know you’re nothing but a slut. A filthy whore. Tell me you’re a filthy whore, Katie, say it.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Katie rushed desperately for the connecting door, but Nicholas got there before her.

  ‘There’s no way out,’ he said. ‘All your guests are in the White Rose; I saw them. And Sam’s off with his fancy women as usual.’

  ‘He’s what?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t know. All those times he goes off to see his friends in Leeds or Eastvale. It’s women, Katie. Loose women. Can’t you smell them on his skin when he comes home? Or do you like it when he comes straight from another woman and takes you? Do you like to smell other women on your husband’s skin?’

  Katie put her hands to her ears. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ she screamed. ‘You’re evil!’

  Nicholas applauded quietly. ‘Oh, Katie, what an act.’

  Katie dropped her hands to her sides. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do? Why, I’m going to take you away from here. I don’t trust you, Katie. There’s no telling what you know and what you might say.’

  ‘I don’t know anything.’

  ‘I think you do. Stephen told you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘About Oxford.’

  Katie could think of nothing to say.

  ‘Look at you blushing,’ Nicholas said, pointing at her. ‘You know, don’t you? I can tell. Be sure your sins will find you out.’

  Suddenly, Katie realized what he meant and a terrible thought dawned on her.

  ‘You killed him,’ she said quietly. ‘You killed Stephen.’

  Nicholas shrugged and spoke in a cold passionless voice. ‘I couldn’t trust him any more. He was falling apart on me.’

  Katie stiffened. She felt like a trapped animal. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to take you away, far away. What did he tell you about Oxford?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Did he tell you about that girl, that stupid slut?’

  Katie shook her head.

  ‘He did, didn’t he?’

  ‘No! He told me nothing.’

  Nicholas leaned against the table. His bright eyes glittered and his breath came in short sharp gasps. He looked like a madman to Katie. A wild, terrifying madman.

  ‘She was nothing but a prostitute, Katie,’ he said. ‘A fallen woman. She sold herself to men. And when I…

  when I took her, she didn’t… She told me I was too rough and she tried to make me stop. Me! Nicholas Collier. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew that was the way she really wanted it. A common tart like her. Like you.’

  ‘No!’ Katie said. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are. I’ve had my eye on you. You do it with everyone. Do they pay you, Katie, or do you do it for nothing? I know you like to struggle. I’ll pay you if you want.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I want you to say it for me. Say you’re a filthy whore.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Why won’t you say it? I bet you even let that policeman do it. I’m better than the lot of them, Katie. Say it.’

  ‘No! I won’t.’

  He spoke very softly, so quiet she could hardly hear. ‘I want you to go down on your knees, Katie, and tell me you’re a filthy whore and you want me to do it to you like an animal. Like a dog. I want you to lift your dress up and crawl, Katie.’

  He was moving towards her now, and his eyes held hers with a power that seemed to sap what little strength she had. She felt her shoulders hit the wall by the mantelpiece. There was nowhere else to go. But Nicholas kept coming closer, and when he was near enough he reached out and grabbed the front of her dress.

  FOUR

  Banks drove fast along the dark dale by the River Swain, passed through Helmthorpe and into the darker fell-shadowed landscape beyond. He turned sharp right at Swainshead, tyres squealing, and carried on up the valley to Upper Head. He slowed down as they passed the Collier house, but the lights were out.

  ‘I hope the bastard hasn’t done a bunk,’ Hatchley said.

  ‘No, he’s too cool for that. We’ll get him, don’t worry.’

  The glimmer of light high on the fell side about two miles north of the village came from Fletcher’s isolated cottage. It was a difficult track to manage in the dark, but they finally pulled up outside the squat solid house with its three-foot-thick walls. Fletcher had heard them coming and stood in the doorway.

  Again they were ushered into the plain whitewashed room with its oak table and the photograph of Fletcher’s glamorous ex-wi
fe.

  Fletcher was ill at ease. He avoided looking at them directly and fussed around with glasses of beer.

  Hatchley stood by the window looking into the darkness. Banks sat at the table.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, when Fletcher had sat down opposite him.

  ‘It’s about Stephen’s death,’ Fletcher began hesitantly. ‘He was my friend. It’s gone too far now. Too far.’

  Banks nodded. ‘I know. I understood there was no love lost between you and Nicholas.’

  ‘You’ve heard about that? Well, it’s true enough. I never had much time for him. But old Mr Walter was like a father to me, and I always felt like an older brother to Stephen.’

  Banks passed around the cigarettes.

  ‘Saturday night,’ Fletcher burst out suddenly. ‘I thought nothing of it at the time - it was just the kind of silly trick Nicholas would play - but when he went to buy a round I saw him pour a glass of clear spirits into Stephen’s drink. As I said, I thought nothing of it. I knew Stephen was upset about something - what it was, I don’t know - and he seemed to want to get drunk and forget his problems anyway. No point causing trouble, I thought, so I kept quiet.

  ‘That family has a secret, Mr Banks, a dark secret. Stephen’s hinted at it more than once, and I reckon it’s something to do with Nicholas and the ladies, though ladies is too dignified a term. Did you know he once forced himself on Molly Stark from over Relton way?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Aye. Well, it was hushed up, like most things Nicholas got up to. All neat and businesslike.’

  ‘Wasn’t there also some trouble with a girl when his father was alive?’ Banks asked.

  ‘Aye,’ said Fletcher. ‘Got her in the family way. But money changed hands and shut mouths. It was all arranged, no expense spared, and she did away with it. He had a lust for lasses below his station, as they used to say. Working-class girls, servants, factory girls, milkmaids… I even caught him mauling Katie Greenock at Stephen’s party last week.’

  At last it made sense to Banks. Nicholas Collier couldn’t keep away from women of a lower social class: Cheryl Duggan, Esther Haines, Katie Greenock, Anne Ralston, the servant girl, Molly Stark - they were all beneath him socially. Although the term had lost a lot of its meaning over the past few years, they might still be called working-class women. Obviously it didn’t matter who they were as individuals; that didn’t interest Collier. He probably had some Victorian image of the working class as a seething, gin-drinking, fornicating, procreating mass. He thrust himself on them and became violent when they objected. No doubt like most perverse sexual practices, his compulsion had a lot to do with power and humiliation.

  ‘I knew something serious was up when we had those two murders here,’ Fletcher went on, refilling their beer glasses. ‘That detective and young Bernard Allen. I knew it, but I didn’t know what. Whenever I asked, Stephen clammed up, told me to leave it be and I’d be better off not knowing.’ He took a sip of beer. ‘Maybe I should’ve pushed a bit harder. Maybe Stephen would still be alive… But I don’t think he killed himself. That’s what I wanted to tell you. As I said, I saw Nicholas putting something into his drink, and he was in a hell of a state at closing time, worse than if he’d just had a few jars. And the next thing I hear, he’s dead. An overdose, they said. I knew he took sleeping tablets, but an overdose…?’

  ‘Yes, barbiturates,’ Banks said. ‘Usually fatal, mixed with as much alcohol as Stephen Collier had in his system.’

  ‘So it’s murder, isn’t it? That bastard brother of his murdered him.’

  ‘It looks like it, Mr Fletcher, but we’ve got to tread carefully. We’ve got no evidence, no proof.’

  ‘I’ll testify to what I saw. I’ll help put him away, as God’s my witness.’

  Banks shook his head. ‘It’ll help, but it’s not enough. What if Nicholas was putting vodka in his brother’s beer? As you said, it could have been a simple prank, and that’s exactly what he’ll say. It’s all circumstantial and theoretical. We need more solid evidence or a confession.’

  ‘Then I’ll bloody well beat it out of him,’ Fletcher said, grasping the table and rising to his feet.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Banks. ‘That’s not going to help at all.’

  ‘Then what are you going to do?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know yet,’ Banks said. ‘We might just be able to put together a case, especially if we bring in Anne Ralston, but I don’t want to risk it. Even if we could convince the court it’s worth a risk, I don’t want to take the chance of him getting off, which he might well do on what we’ve got so far.’

  ‘I know I should’ve spoken up earlier,’ Fletcher said. ‘I knew there was something wrong. If I’d told you before you went to Toronto, you might have had something to push at Stephen with, and he just might have told you the truth. He was on the edge, Mr Banks. That’s why Nicholas had to get rid of him, I suppose.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Banks said. ‘But we still can’t prove it. You shouldn’t blame yourself though. You might have thought you were going to get Stephen in trouble. I imagine you were protecting him?’

  Fletcher nodded. ‘I suppose I was. Him and his father’s memory.’

  ‘To get Nicholas, you’d have had to betray Stephen. He was protecting his brother, or his father, like you were.’

  ‘What’ll happen to me? Will you prosecute?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Withholding evidence? Accessory after the fact?’

  Banks laughed. ‘You have a very thin grasp of the law, Mr Fletcher. Sure, you could have spoken earlier, as could a number of other people around Stephen Collier. But he kept everyone just enough in the dark so there was nothing, really, to say - nothing but vague fears and suspicions. Believe me, few people come to us with those; they don’t want to look silly.’

  ‘So nothing’s going to happen to me?’

  Banks stood up and gestured to Hatchley that it was time to leave. ‘No. You’ve helped us. It’s up to us now to put a case together, or set a trap.’

  ‘I’ll do anything to help,’ Fletcher said. ‘Tell the bastard I know something and let him come and try to bump me off.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Banks said, ‘but thanks for the offer.’

  They sat in the car for a few minutes and lit cigarettes. It was pitch-black, and far down in the valley below the lights of Swainshead glittered like an alley of stars.

  ‘How hard should we push Collier?’ Hatchley asked.

  ‘We don’t push,’ Banks said. ‘At least not the first time. I told you, he’s clever. He’ll see we’re desperate.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We confront him with what we’ve got and try to trip him up. If he’s too clever to fall for that, and I suspect he is, then we try again and keep trying.’ He started the engine and broke the silence.

  ‘You can’t help admiring the bastard’s nerve though, can you,’ Hatchley said. ‘What if Freddie Metcalfe and Richmond had remembered seeing him order vodka and pour it in Stephen’s pints?’

  ‘Then all he’d have had to say was that he played a practical joke, like Fletcher said. There’s nothing illegal about chasers. As things stand, it’s only Fletcher’s word against his, and a good defence lawyer would soon prove that John Fletcher had more than just cause to want to incriminate Collier. They’d bring up the incident at the party, for a start. Could you imagine Katie Greenock on the stand?’

  Hatchley shook his head. ‘That lass never seems to know whether she’s coming or going.’

  For some reason, Banks began to feel uneasy at the thought of Katie. What if she really did know more than she was telling? And what if Nicholas Collier suspected she knew? He might easily have seen her talking to Stephen. And Katie was exactly the kind of woman to set off his violent sexual behaviour.

  He turned on to the road and headed south for Swainshead. There was still no light on in Collier’s house.

  Hatchl
ey hammered at the door but got no answer.

  ‘Let’s try the pub,’ Banks suggested.

  Hatchley brightened up at that. He hadn’t completely forgotten his priorities in a burst of professional zeal.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Chief Inspector Banks,’ Freddie Metcalfe greeted them. ‘And Sergeant Hatchley, isn’t it?

  What can I do for you?’

  Banks ordered two pints of Pedigree and lit a Silk Cut. Maybe a pint would calm down his jangling nerves.

  The hairs at the back of his neck were bristling.