Not Dark Yet

by Peter Robinson

  “I suppose you’re right,” Banks said, getting up. “I’ll drive you. You can leave your car here. Get a taxi here and pick it up tomorrow.”

  As he drove back home after dropping Ray off, Banks thought he would try to find out something about Zelda’s life in Paris; maybe knowing more about her time there would help him find her. He didn’t want to find her for the police, but for himself, and for Ray. He wanted what he had told his friend this evening to be true. He locked and bolted the front door and went back to his chair in the conservatory, put the Tim Buckley back on where he had paused it, at “Blue Melody.”

  As he sat and thought, he realised that already in his mind he was separating himself from the police, almost as if he were no longer one of them. Planning escape routes for fugitives was hardly something the old Banks would have done. What was happening to him? After all these years, had it come to this? In some ways it was as if a great weight had been lifted off him, but in another it was like dipping a toe into uncharted waters, not knowing where they would lead or what lay beneath their murky depths.

  17

  IT WAS THE FIRST TIME BANKS HAD BEEN ON THE OTHER side of the interview table since his training days at Hendon. They had sent a car for him that afternoon, shortly after Ray had been back to pick up his car. Opposite him sat Superintendent Newry and beside Newry a female DI he introduced as Heidi Dunne. As far as Banks could gather, DI Dunne’s role was to hand sheets of paper to Newry and to look disapproving, both of which she did very well. The conversation was between Banks and Newry, and even the solicitor sitting next to Banks kept out of it. Reg Courtenay was an old veteran of police affairs, and Banks wanted him there as a precaution. There were no charges against him, nor was he suspended, though this interview was being recorded, he wasn’t under caution and was still being treated as a witness only.

  “I understand you have regained your memory of the night in question,” Newry began, the sneer of disbelief clear in his tone, as if what he really meant to say was, “Now you’ve got your story clear.”

  “Bit by bit. It’s still a bit blurry in parts, but yes, I remember most of what happened.”

  “Perhaps you can help us, then?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I think you should know before we begin that my main concern, and that of DI Dunne here, who will be forming part of the active investigation team into this matter, is the discovery of two bodies in the burned-out water treatment plant on the eastern outskirts of Eastvale.”

  “As I said, I’ll help as much as I can.”

  “Excellent.” DI Dunne shuffled some papers and Newry said, “Perhaps you can begin by telling us about the events leading up to your abduction?”

  “I was on my way home from a concert at the Sage in Gateshead. My son plays in a band and this was a part of their farewell tour.”

  “I know about the Blue Lamps,” said Newry.

  “That evening, they had played one of my favourite songs, Bob Dylan’s ‘Visions of Johanna,’ at my son’s instigation, and on my way home I listened to the original album, Blonde on Blonde.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what music you were listening to.”

  If he hadn’t guessed before, Banks knew at that moment there was no way he and Newry would ever get along. “It helps if I pick up the threads,” Banks replied. “If I jump in the story much later, it’s far fuzzier in my memory for some reason. And you did ask for the events leading up to my abduction.”

  Newry grunted. DI Dunne looked disapproving, not to mention disbelieving. “Carry on,” Newry said.

  “Thank you. Blonde on Blonde. Terrific album, by the way. You should try it some time. When I turned into my driveway and pulled up in front of my cottage, I noticed that the outside light wasn’t working.”

  “Someone had removed the bulb,” Newry said. “There were fingerprints around the socket, but they’re not on our files anywhere.”

  “Probably Tadić or one of his minions,” Banks said.

  “And another possible suspect,” Newry added. “Minions have been known to murder their bosses from time to time.”

  “I should imagine so,” Banks said. “I used the light on my mobile, opened the door—or got the key in the lock, at least—and that’s the last thing I remember before a sharp pain at the back of my head, then waking up in the plant. But even that was very hazy for the first couple of days.”

  “Did you have any idea where you were?” Newry asked.

  “Not at first, no. I’m no expert on water treatment, so I didn’t recognise the purpose of the abandoned machinery, the pumps and pipes and so on. And it was dark. Not completely, but certainly not well-lit enough to recognise where I was. Only later, when I ran outside, did it become clear. But I get ahead of myself.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “When I came to, I was on my side on a hard floor with my ankles tied together and my legs bent back at the knees. A rope from my ankles was also attached to my neck so that if I tried to—”

  “A variation of the hog-tie, I understand.”

  “Precisely. My hands were also tied behind me.”

  “Were you on the upper level at any time, where the offices are?”

  “No. Just down in the operating area.”

  “Was anyone else present?”

  “Yes. A man I knew as Phil Keane. He’d lately been going under the name of Hugh Foley, and he had been connected with a woman called Faye Butler, found dead in the Thames a few weeks ago.”

  DI Dunne leaned over and whispered something in Newry’s ear, never taking her eyes off Banks. “Did you think this Keane was responsible for Faye Butler’s death?” Newry asked.

  “No. Keane likes fire. I put her death down to Tadić and his crew, the people Keane worked for.”

  “I understand that Faye Butler wasn’t your case,” Newry went on, “but why do you think she was killed?”

  “I think she was tortured for information, then raped and murdered.”

  “What information?”

  “Of that I have no idea. Something the Tadićs wanted an answer for, I’m sure.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Keane started splashing petrol around my feet and on the floor around where I was lying. While he was doing that he admitted to me that he had killed an NCA agent called Trevor Hawkins, who had been Zelda’s—Ms. Melnic’s—boss at the department where she worked. He set fire to his house.”

  “How did that come up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he just come out with it, out of the blue, so to speak, or was there a context?”

  “I asked him. He’d mentioned something about the Tadićs, and I asked him what happened. Zelda had been getting a hard time about her boss’s death from the NCA, so I wanted to know.”

  “OK. So this Keane tells you he set fire to this man Hawkins’s house, working on behalf of the Tadićs. Did he say why they had wanted this done?”

  “Only that Hawkins was taking their money and giving them crap in exchange. It’s my guess that he’d been tipping them off about possible raids, border checks, and so on, but he’d either started to get cold feet, or he’d become greedy and given them dud information.”

  “Quite the conversation you had.”

  “You asked me. Some of it’s conjecture. Besides, all the time he was talking, he was splashing petrol around. It was pretty obvious that it was meant for me, and I could hardly move. I figured my time was up and the best thing to do was keep him talking as long as I could. He knew this, so he said something about it not working, that he wasn’t going to confess all just to keep me alive, even if I wasn’t going to be around to tell anyone.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “That’s all still a bit of a blur. Something happened. He stiffened. The fire flared up. I thought that was it, but the next thing I knew someone was cutting my ropes and telling me to run.”

  “Someone?”

  “Nelia Melnic.”

 
; “Ah, the mysterious Zelda. Let me get this straight. She suddenly appeared in the room, incapacitated Keane, and cut you free?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did she incapacitate Keane?”

  “I don’t know. Knocked him out, I should imagine.”

  “But she had a knife.”

  “She must have had, to cut me free. As I said, it gets a bit blurry. Maybe she took it from Keane?”

  “Who started the fire?”

  “I don’t know that, either. I couldn’t see. Keane, I should think. He was the one with the petrol and the lighter in his hand.”

  “But you said this Zelda had knocked him out.”

  “He wasn’t completely out. Just dazed, I think.”

  “Did you ever see Petar Tadić at any time you were in the plant?”

  “No.”

  “So he didn’t suddenly come in and stab Keane and set the place on fire?”

  “Not that I know of. If he did, I didn’t see him.”

  “Only there was forensic evidence of a knife wound on one of Keane’s ribs.”

  “So I heard. I didn’t see a knife at the time. And I’m not sure the evidence of knife wounds on burned bones is conclusive.”

  “Is that what Dr. Galway told you? But we’ve already established that this Zelda must have had a knife to cut your bonds. And given the nick on the victim’s rear rib, doesn’t that seem to indicate that the one is connected to the other?”

  “It doesn’t necessarily follow. And Keane was hardly the victim, as you put it.”

  “As far as I’m concerned he’s a victim.”

  “It’s all a bit hazy, and it happened so fast. Zelda had her back to me. She was struggling with Keane. He’d lurched at her. I was disentangling myself from the last of my bonds that she’d just cut. Then the fire flared up.”

  “So she still had the knife in her hand?”

  “I don’t know what happened to it, I just didn’t see it. I had other things on my mind. Like getting the hell out of there. It was chaos. The fire was spreading. Keane was burning by then. Writhing and screaming.”

  “By when?”

  “By the time I was ready to run.”

  “So he was still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “The pathologist said it was impossible to check the body for smoke inhalation.”

  “He was still alive when the fire started. He must have burned to death in the flames. Or he died of shock. I don’t know.”

  “Or this Zelda stabbed him.”

  “I have no knowledge of any stab wound. But if she did, I’d say it was self-defence.”

  “Well, unfortunately, you’re not the one to be pronouncing on that.”

  “But I was there. I know what I saw.”

  “Come on, Superintendent. You can’t have it both ways. Either it was chaos, and you don’t know what happened, or it wasn’t, and you do. Which was it?”

  “I don’t know. Both maybe. A lot of confusion.”

  Newry scowled at DI Dunne, who continued to look disapproving. “Are you sure you didn’t see the woman stab Keane?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything like that. You keep going on about this knife. Did you find one at the scene?”

  “No. She must have taken it with her. Are you sure she didn’t start the fire?”

  “I told you, she was struggling with Keane. I think she was trying to stop him. I couldn’t see what he was doing because she was blocking my view.”

  “Ah, yes, and the lighter went off mysteriously?”

  “You must have found it, or what was left of it.”

  “I’m afraid that doesn’t tell us a great deal. Is it true that this girl is a friend of yours?”

  “A friend of a friend. I know her. Yes.”

  “You were searching for her, right?”

  “Yes. She’d been abducted from her home three days before.”

  “By these men Tadić and Keane?”

  “A witness was able to give us a good description of Tadić in the vicinity of Zelda’s cottage, but there’s no evidence that Keane was involved in her actual abduction. Or mine. Talk to my team about it, or to AC Gervaise, why don’t you? They know more than I do.”

  “I’m not too sure about that, but I will, don’t worry. You tracked this woman, Zelda, to the treatment plant, right?”

  “No. You haven’t been listening. I told you. I was knocked out and taken there. We had no idea where she was being held. We still had people out searching the moors.”

  “Do you like this Zelda?”

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  DI Dunne gave Banks another disapproving glance. “Just answer me, please,” Newry said.

  “I admire her. Yes. She’s had a difficult life.”

  “And are you attracted to her? Is your interest in any way sexual?”

  For the first time, old Reg Courtenay dragged himself out of his shell of silence and tut-tutted Newry. DI Dunne somehow managed to communicate even more disapproval. Banks said nothing.

  “What happened to the girl?” Newry asked.

  “I don’t know. She must have gone out a different way. I think there was a car out by the side of the building, in what used to be the staff car park. Maybe it was Tadić’s or Keane’s.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “So she stole a car to make her escape?”

  “If you put it like that.”

  “I don’t know how else I should put it. Did you see this car? Did you know this at the time?”

  “No. I’m just speculating. The CSIs found traces of a vehicle recently parked out there. Oil stains. It makes sense. Otherwise, where did she go?”

  “That’s what we’d all like to know. I was about to ask you the very same question.”

  “I wish I knew,” said Banks.

  “Why? So you could go and join her?”

  Reg Courtenay tut-tutted again.

  “Did you see or hear her drive off?” Newry went on.

  “Listening for a car was hardly the main thing on my mind. I ran for my life, ended up in the reservoir unconscious again. I might have heard a motor running, but I can’t be sure. The fire itself was noisy enough.”

  “So the girl cut you free, but you just left her there, in the burning building?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” said Banks. “I was still woozy from being hit on the head. She cut my ropes and yelled for me to run. I assumed she’d be running with me, or not far behind. When I realised she wasn’t there, I tried to go back in, but I couldn’t get any further than the entrance. The fire was raging too hard, and there was plenty of smoke by then.”

  “What did you think had happened?”

  “That she’d either got out by some other exit or that she was dead. It all happened so quickly. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

  “So you just ran off?”

  “Yes. And I fell in the reservoir, where they found me. Hit my head again. If it hadn’t been for the bed of weeds, I’d probably be dead. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Go back inside the plant and burn to death?”

  Newry waved his hand. “Sorry. I wasn’t meaning to imply anything.”

  “Like hell you weren’t. The forensic evidence corroborates what I’ve told you.”

  “Up to a point.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. Not at the moment. DI Dunne?”

  DI Dunne pursed her lips and shook her head.

  Banks stood up. “Right then. As I’m still on sick leave, and I’m feeling sicker by the minute, I’ll go home now.” He nodded farewell to the others in the room and left.

  18

  TWO DAYS PASSED UNEVENTFULLY, AND BANKS WHILED away his time reading, gardening, and listening to music—from Mahler’s symphonies to Jon Savage’s sixties compilation CDs. There were moments when he thought that if this was what not having to work was all about, then it wasn’t such a bad thing at all. Other times he felt edgy and restless, lo
nging for some obscure mystery he could sink his teeth into.

  The missing persons search for Zelda was effectively over, and now the police wanted to talk to her in connection with the fire at the water treatment plant in which two people had died. Banks trusted that she was far enough away and well enough hidden that they wouldn’t find her. Newry believed that she had killed both men, or that Banks had, but Newry wasn’t on the investigating team. He was IOPC, and his job was over. The Homicide and Major Crimes team from Durham was tackling the case now. Banks had talked to them and told them what he knew, or as much as he wanted them to know, and it was out of his hands now. He was exonerated. Newry could gripe to his heart’s content about the presence of a knife at the scene, a nick on a bone that might possibly indicate a stab wound and the matter of who struck the lighter that started the fire, but it no longer mattered what Newry thought, as what forensic evidence they had supported Banks’s story and none of it implicated him. In addition, Banks’s injuries, including the memory loss, were verified by Dr. Chowdhury and proven to be commensurate with the physical circumstances of his abduction and incarceration.

  From the bits and pieces Banks had heard, he got the impression that Zelda wasn’t too high on their list of priorities; they seemed to be concentrating more on the Tadić gang’s criminal concerns and on Keane’s part in them. Gashi, too, was on their radar, his whereabouts unknown, and the disappearance of Goran Tadić was still an issue, albeit a minor one, as he wasn’t regarded as much of a loss.

  One interesting piece of information, supplied by Jazz Singh at Banks’s request, was that a comparison between the DNA from the human arm found at the landfill site near Croydon and that from the body found on the upper floor of the burned-out water treatment plant gave a high indication that the two were siblings. Goran and Petar Tadić, Banks guessed, though there was no absolute proof, as neither was in any DNA database. The corpse’s DNA also matched that of the cigarette ends found near Windlee Farm. As they presumably belonged to the man Mick Slater described and Ray Cabbot sketched, the corpse was identified by Superintendent Burgess as Petar Tadić.