Cold is the Grave

by Peter Robinson

  ‘I won’t tell you the rest of my story.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Bastard. And I thought you were supposed to be my friend.’

  Banks said nothing. Emily sashayed to the bar, drawing all the male eyes again. Banks sipped some beer and lit his second cigarette. He was definitely going to make some inquiries into Mr Barry Clough and his ‘business’ activities over the next few days.

  Emily came back with a pint of lager and lime and spilled some as she set it triumphantly on the table. For a while, she didn’t say anything, then she took a long swig, paused and said, ‘It was pretty late. I don’t know. Two or three in the morning. Everyone was really wasted. I was feeling weird, like someone had put something in my drink. It might have been one of those date-rape drugs I’ve read about, but I’d had so much other stuff I didn’t fall asleep. I just felt strange. Floating. Anyway, Barry took me aside and said there was something he wanted me to do for him.’ As she spoke, she looked into her drink and the fingers of her right hand rubbed at the table’s surface. Banks noticed the chewed nails. ‘He took me upstairs towards one of the bedrooms. I thought he wanted a blow job or something. He sometimes did. I didn’t really want to, I was feeling so spaced out, but . . . if it would get him off my back for a while . . . Anyway, it wasn’t that. He opened the bedroom door and there was Andy inside. Anyway, he was stark naked and he . . . I mean, we’d all been taking V and E, so he was, you know, it was . . .’

  ‘V and E?’

  She looked at him as if he were an idiot. ‘Viagra and Ecstasy. Anyway, like I said, he was . . . like he had a lamp-post between his legs. Barry just gave me a push forward and told me to be nice to him, then I heard the door shut. Anyway, when Barry pushed me I fell on the bed and Andy started pulling at my clothes, rubbing against me. It was gross. I might have been stoned, and I’ll admit I’ve not always been a good girl, but this was seriously out of line. I mean, it ought to be my choice who I have sex with, not someone else’s, oughtn’t it? And it wasn’t even him so much. I mean, he was a pathetic creep, but the thought that Barry had given me to him as a sort of punishment for you coming and asking questions . . . I don’t know. It just made me sick, that’s all.’

  She paused to drink some lager and lime. Banks felt his anger rise along with the guilt; it was his arrival that had caused the problems for Emily. He told himself that, no matter what, with someone like Clough she would have got to that point eventually anyway, but it didn’t help right then. He also remembered the night, not so long ago, in a London bistro, when Annie Cabbot had told him about her sexual humiliation at the hands of some CID colleagues. ‘Who was this Andy? Did you know him?’

  ‘Like I said, I’d seen him around. He’s one of Barry’s gofers. At least I’ve heard Barry telling him off and ordering him to do stuff sometimes. Takes the piss out of him something terrible, too. Andy has a stutter, see. I mean, that was one of the most humiliating things about it. Like, Barry had given me to one of his employees. To someone he thought was a bit of a joke. It made me feel worthless. Like shit.’

  ‘What was his full name?’

  ‘Andrew Handley. But everyone calls him Andy Pandy. Anyway, you know the rest. Or most of it.’

  ‘How did you get away?’

  ‘We struggled. He wasn’t really expecting any resistance, so I just kneed him in the balls and he hit me and let go. The door wasn’t locked. I ran out, downstairs and out of the house without looking back. I was only worried that Barry might be lurking around at the bottom of the stairs or something and that he’d stop me, but I didn’t see him. I was lucky. We were near Victoria Station, so I ran to the taxi rank and the only place I could think of to go was your hotel. And that’s it. The sad story of Barry and Emily. Or Barry and Louisa.’

  ‘Did he ever mistreat you before that?’

  ‘No. But I never gave him cause to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Emily thought for a moment, then said, ‘With Craig, it was easy. He was jealous, maybe a bit too much, and it made him a bit crazy. With Barry, it’s different. He’s possessive, not jealous. He expects loyalty. You know that there are certain lines you’re not supposed to cross. I’m not a fool. I might not know exactly what he’s into, but I know it’s probably illegal. And I know he hurts people. I saw him hurt Craig.’

  ‘Was that part of the appeal?’

  ‘What? That he hurts people?’

  ‘That he’s a criminal, whereas your father’s a policeman. After all, they’re about the same age.’

  Emily snorted. ‘That sounds just like something my father would say. Do you all take the same course in pop psychology?’

  ‘There is a kind of logic in it.’

  ‘It’s not that at all. Barry’s appeal is that he’s exciting to be with, he gives great parties, has great drugs and people respect him.’

  ‘Fear him, you mean.’

  ‘Whatever. If fear’s the only way you can get respect, what’s wrong with that? Nobody disses Barry.’

  ‘Why aren’t you still with him, then?’

  She started rubbing at the table again. ‘I told you.’

  A confused kid. Banks had to stop himself from leaning forward and putting his hand over hers. It would have simply been a paternal gesture on his part, though he was aware that neither Emily nor the others in the pub would view it that way. He also noted that in her entire list of Barry Clough’s attributes, Emily had not mentioned sex, that he was great in bed. Sex was probably a matter of power for Clough. Banks didn’t doubt for a moment that Clough used Emily sexually – she had already said as much – but to her, he guessed, it was more a matter of the price to be paid for the high life than a joy to be shared. And the fact that she priced herself so low was a matter for concern.

  ‘Are you afraid of him, Emily?’

  ‘Course not. It’s just . . .’

  ‘What?’

  She frowned. ‘He’s very possessive, like I said. Barry doesn’t like to lose his prized possessions.’

  An hour later, Annie was wet and miserable and none the wiser. She had gone to each of the units on the estate, talked to managers and workers and discovered absolutely nothing. If anything dodgy had been going on at the Daleview Business Park, it had been kept a very close secret.

  It was with a great sense of relief, then, that she approached the last but one business on her list. Banks had called for a late-afternoon meeting to pool their findings and, after that, Annie had visions of a long hot bath, some microwaveable Marks & Sparks concoction, and an evening alone to do as much or as little as she wished.

  The needlework centre was warm and dry, smelling of scented candles, predominantly rose and lemon. It was the kind of place that seemed made of nooks and crannies, all filled with such essentials as pin boxes, thread, étuis, stitch-layers, needle threaders, working frames, stitch-count converters and a thousand other more esoteric items. Finished tapestries hung on the walls. More of a showroom than a shop, it had no counter, but there was a comfortable-looking three-piece suite where clients could sit and discuss their requirements.

  A young woman came out of the office in the back, the same woman Bennett had splashed in his hasty getaway. Annie introduced herself.

  The woman held out her hand. ‘My name’s Natalie,’ she said. ‘Welcome to my empire, for what it’s worth. I can’t tell you anything, but I’ve just put the kettle on, if you want to stay out of the rain for a few moments.’

  ‘Please,’ said Annie. ‘I could murder a cuppa right now.’ If accepting free cups of tea counted as corruption, there wouldn’t be a copper in the whole of England not up on charges.

  ‘Won’t be a minute.’ Natalie walked back into the office.

  Annie was examining the needlecraft kits and wondered if they would be relaxing or frustrating to do. She had a sudden memory of her mother sitting cross-legged on the floor, her long hair all over the place, wearing one of her flowing velvety creations covered in beadwork and embr
oidery. She was working on a sampler of a local village scene. It was an odd image, as Annie had never thought of her mother doing needlecraft before, though she knew she made her own clothes, and they were always beautifully embroidered. She would have to phone and ask her father. Maybe some of the samplers were down at the commune near St Ives, and she could take one as a memento. Her mother had died when she was only five. In her imagination, as Annie watched, her mother looked up and smiled at her. Annie felt suddenly sad, and then Natalie returned with the tea.

  It must have shown.

  ‘What is it?’ Natalie asked. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, love.’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Memories, that’s all.’

  Natalie looked around her showroom as if trying to search for the offending object. Annie decided it was time to get on track. ‘Thanks for the tea,’ she said, taking a sip. ‘I know you said you couldn’t tell me anything, but I suppose you’ve heard what happened to Mr Courage?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Word gets around here pretty quickly. After all, most of us have been here since the place opened, so we’re used to each other. Shall we sit down?’ She gestured to the three-piece suite and Annie sat in the armchair. She felt so weary she wondered whether she would ever be able to get out of it again.

  ‘Did you know him at all?’ she asked.

  ‘No. But I know he hadn’t been here very long.’

  ‘Since September.’

  ‘Was it? If you say so. Anyway, Mr Bennett brought him around and introduced him to everyone just before he started, so we’d recognize him, know who to call if there were any problems, but other than that I never even saw him again. You see, I’m usually gone by five o’clock most days, except Thursday and Friday, when I stay open till seven. At least I will until after Christmas, then there’s not much point until the weather starts getting better. You’d be surprised how many tourists we get just dropping by in spring and summer, but most of my trade comes from regular customers. This is a very specialized business. They know what they want and they know I have it for them. They usually telephone first, of course. Oh, listen to me rattling on. But I did warn you I didn’t know anything.’

  Annie smiled and sipped some more tea. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Gives me a chance to warm up and drink my tea. So far everyone I’ve spoken to says there have been no incidents at the park, not even petty theft. Is that right?’

  ‘Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but I’ve had a bit of shoplifting here once in a while. Nothing serious, you understand, but irritating, petty stuff. Thread, packets of needles, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘I doubt it. We don’t get a lot of kids here. Needlecraft’s hardly the in thing with the younger generation these days.’

  ‘I doubt that it ever was.’

  ‘Still, it’s a living. Anyway, I suppose shoplifting’s the kind of thing you have to expect in a place like this, but as I said, it’s nothing serious.’

  ‘There are some pretty organized gangs of shoplifters. Keep your eyes open. If it gets serious, let us know.’

  Natalie nodded.

  Annie shifted in her chair. ‘Much as I’d love to, I’m afraid I can’t sit here all day,’ she said, with a quick glance through the window. It was still pouring down outside. She looked at the list Ian Bennett had given her and got to her feet. ‘One more to go.’

  Natalie frowned. ‘Not if you went clockwise from the SecuTec office; there isn’t anyone else.’

  Annie glanced at the list. ‘What do you mean? I’ve got something called PKF Computer Systems listed here, right next door to you.’

  ‘The computer people? They’re gone.’

  ‘When did they move out?’

  ‘Over the weekend. I don’t suppose Mr Bennett has got around to updating the list yet.’

  ‘How many people worked there?’

  ‘Only two regulars, as far as I could tell. It’s one of the smaller units.’

  ‘Do you know their names?’

  ‘Sorry. I hardly saw them. They weren’t the most sociable types.’

  ‘What about people coming and going?’

  ‘Just delivery vans. The usual stuff.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you very much for your time, Natalie. And for the tea.’

  ‘My pleasure. It livens up a dull afternoon.’

  Annie left the needlecraft centre and walked to the next unit. If there had been a sign over the door, none hung there now. Instead of a plate-glass window, as in some of the showrooms, the empty PKF unit had three smaller windows at the front. Annie peeped through one of them, and as far as she could make out the inside was empty, completely cleared out. That was all it took to trigger the little alarm bell in her copper’s mind. Charlie Courage, last seen alive by a neighbour on Sunday afternoon, apparently worked the four-to-midnight shift that evening and was found dead on Tuesday nearly two hundred miles away. He had received five cash payments of two hundred quid each over the past month. And now this computer company had done a bunk over the weekend.

  It certainly ought to be worth a quick look around their deserted premises, and by the time she had finished, Annie thought, Colin Finch would probably be in the SecuTec office. She should just have time to talk to him before heading back to the station for the meeting.

  ‘Don’t think I want you acting like some sort of avenging angel,’ Emily said. ‘You’ve already done your knight-in-shining-armour bit, thank you very much.’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this, then?’

  ‘Because you asked. And because I owe you an explanation. That’s all.’

  ‘You admitted you’re frightened of Clough.’

  ‘That was silly of me.’ She gave a slight shudder. ‘It was just, you know, talking about it, remembering how he was that night. And I . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Oh, just that I thought I saw Jamie in the Swainsdale Centre.’ She laughed, put her forefinger to her head and twisted it back and forth. ‘Me being crazy again. Paranoid Emily, that’s what they’ll be calling me.’ Her nail was chewed almost to the quick.

  ‘Jamie who?’

  ‘Jamie Gilbert. He’s one of Barry’s closest employees. Barry talks and Jamie jumps. I don’t like him. He’s good-looking, but he’s mean. He gives me the creeps.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘A couple of days ago. Monday, I think. But it can’t have been him. I must have been seeing things. Barry doesn’t even know who I really am or where I live, does he? Remember Louisa Gamine?’

  ‘How could I forget?’ Banks wasn’t certain that a man like Barry Clough lacked the resources to find out what he wanted about anyone. ‘Be careful, though. If you think you see him or Clough around here again, make sure you tell me. Okay?’

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Emily, promise you’ll tell me if you think you see either of them again.’

  Emily waved her hand. ‘All right. All right. Don’t get your underpants in a twist about it.’

  ‘You never did tell me what business Clough’s in.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you certain he’s not a drug dealer?’

  ‘No. I mean, I don’t think so. Like I said, he’s always got drugs around. He knows people, does people favours and things, maybe gets them some stuff, but he’s not a dealer. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘How does he make his money?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know. He never talked about it to me. As far as Barry is concerned, women are purely for recreation, not business. There’s the club, I suppose, for a start. That takes up a fair bit of his time. And I think maybe he manages some bands and does some concert promotion. He’s got business interests all over the country. He was always off here and there. Leeds. Dover. Manchester. Bristol. Sometimes he took me with him, but to be honest it was pretty boring waiting for him in some hotel room or walking the streets of some
dingy little dump in the rain. Once he even asked me if I wanted to come here with him.’

  ‘Here? The Black Bull?’

  ‘Eastvale, silly. Can you imagine it? Me and Barry walking around Eastvale? I mean, my mother works here.’ She slapped the table and made the glasses wobble. ‘I don’t want to talk about him any more. It’s over. Barry will move on to his next little girl and I’ll get on with my life.’

  ‘How are things at home?’

  She pulled a face. ‘Just what you’d expect.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Boring. They just want me to keep quiet and stay out of the way. Mother pretty much ignores me. Dad has his political cronies over most of the time. You should see the way some of them look at me. But he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy planning his future.’

  ‘And what about you? What do you want to do?’

  Emily brightened and took a long swig of her lager and lime. ‘I’ve been thinking I might like to go to university after all.’

  ‘Don’t you have to do your A levels first?’

  ‘Of course. But I can do that at a sixth-form college. I could even do them at home if I want to. It’s not as if they’re hard or anything.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Banks, who had found even his O levels hard. ‘And where would you go to university?’

  ‘Oxford or Cambridge, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

  ‘Farthest thing from my mind.’

  ‘Right. Yeah . . . well . . . anyway, I also thought I wouldn’t mind going to university in America. Harvard or Stanford or somewhere like that. Not Bryn Mawr. It sounds like that nasty little Welsh town we lived in for a while when I was a kid. And not that one in Poughkeepsie, either. That sounds like somewhere you keep pigs.’

  ‘What would you study?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. Maybe languages. Or acting. I was always good in school plays. But there’s plenty of time to think about all that.’

  ‘Yes, there is.’ Banks paused and fiddled for another cigarette. Emily lit it for him with a gold lighter. ‘I don’t want to sound like your father,’ he went on, ‘but this drugs thing . . .’