The renovators hadn’t turned up yet, so things were quiet in the extension. Banks went to his office, read his copies of last night’s reports and made some notes on his own impressions. He did this, as most good coppers did, for himself, not for the files; they were very personal impressions, and sometimes they could lead somewhere, often not. Whatever else they were, they were no substitute for facts or evidence. He included in his notes, for example, his sense that Darren Hirst was telling the truth and a gut feeling that Emily had got the drugs somewhere other than the Cross Keys or the Bar None. Already, he noted from the reports, a couple of very sleepy local dealers were cooling their heels in the detention cells in the basement of the station. More would soon follow.
By the time the sun was sniffing its nose at the cloudy horizon, the station was humming with activity. The incident room was quickly taking on form and function, and DC Rickerd had been up all night getting it organized. Computer links had been set up and phone lines activated, and civilian staff were drifting in for data-input, logging and recording duties. By the time Banks felt the need for his breakfast coffee, ACC McLaughlin had arrived from county headquarters at Newby Wiske, outside Northallerton. He set up camp in the boardroom, and fifteen or twenty minutes later Banks was summoned in.
McLaughlin, Annie Cabbot and Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe were waiting for him. Banks greeted them and sat down. Annie looked tired, and he imagined she had got as little sleep as he had. She also seemed nervous, which was unusual for her.
‘Red Ron’ McLaughlin was about fifty, tall and slim, with short, thinning grey hair combed forward, and a small grey moustache. He wore silver-rimmed glasses, which balanced on the tip of his nose, and he had a habit of peering over them at whoever he was speaking to. His eyes were the same shade of grey as his hair.
‘Ah, DCI Banks,’ he said, then he shuffled some papers and looked over his glasses. ‘Right. I’ll get straight down to brass tacks. I had a meeting with Chief Constable Riddle this morning – in fact he came to see me – and he was most emphatic that he wanted you to head the investigation into his daughter’s death. What do you think of that?’
‘I had hoped for the case,’ said Banks, ‘but in all honesty I never expected to be given it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I knew the deceased, sir. Only vaguely, but I knew her. And her family. I assumed we’d have to bring in someone from outside.’
‘That would be normal procedure.’ McLaughlin scratched his earlobe. ‘The chief constable did explain your involvement,’ he went on. ‘Apparently, he asked you to go to London and find his daughter, which you did. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you then accompanied her back home?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Banks felt Annie staring at him but didn’t turn to meet her look.
‘I hardly think that disqualifies you from acting as Senior Investigating Officer. Do you?’
Banks thought for a moment. He would have to tell Red Ron about the lunch. Someone was bound to come forward about that, and it wouldn’t take long now that Emily’s murder had featured on the breakfast news. Enough people in the Black Bull had noticed them, and probably at least one or two of them knew who Banks was.
On the other hand, if he told McLaughlin everything, he’d be off the case for certain, no matter what Riddle wanted. It was a delicate balancing act. There was also a risk that someone from the Hotel Fifty-Five in London would see Emily’s photo in the papers and come forward, although Banks thought that had been long enough ago, and Emily had looked sufficiently different that night, dressed up for the party, her hair piled on top of her head, that it was probably very unlikely.
Still, if Banks accepted the post as SIO, he would be in the best position possible to head off any trouble at the pass. He also knew far more about Emily’s life in London than anyone else up here, which gave him an advantage when it came to tracking down possible leads. It was bloody unethical, he knew that, probably more unethical than anything he’d done before. After all, one of Riddle’s bugbears had been that Banks too often acted as a maverick. But, Banks guessed, that was why Riddle had asked him to go to London, and that was why he now wanted him to head the investigation. Riddle had said as much last night.
‘No, sir,’ Banks answered finally. ‘I’d like to take the case.’ He was aware as he spoke the words that he might well be digging his own grave. The last thing he needed to do was give the new ACC a reason for hating his guts right off the bat. But it couldn’t be helped. Emily came first here; he owed her that much at least. He had said he only knew her vaguely. It wasn’t a lie, but like many unsatisfactory truths, it left too much out. How could Banks describe the bond he had felt with Emily? It wasn’t entirely paternal, but it wasn’t simple friendship either.
‘As you all know, I’m new to this job and this region,’ McLaughlin explained. ‘I’ve done my homework, studied the turf, but I can’t hope to be up to scratch this soon. According to Mr Riddle, you’re the best man for the job. Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe here agrees, and nothing I’ve seen in your file contradicts that.’
That was a surprise to Banks; he thought Riddle had weighed his file down with negative reports. But McLaughlin frowned and continued, ‘I’m not saying there aren’t a few black marks against you, Banks. You’ve made some mistakes I’d like you to avoid making under my command, but your case results speak for themselves. All indications are that you’re the best detective we have in the county, and if I stand for anything, it’s for using the abilities of my men to their fullest. There’s going to be a lot of changes around here with the new organization, and I’m hoping you can play a big part in them. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s settled then,’ said McLaughlin. ‘You’ll act as SIO on the Emily Riddle case. I take it you’ll have no objection to acting as Deputy Investigating Officer, DS Cabbot?’
‘No, sir,’ said Annie. ‘Thank you.’
McLaughlin turned to Gristhorpe. ‘And you’ll liaise with me at Regional Headquarters, Superintendent. Okay?’
Gristhorpe nodded.
‘What about HOLMES?’ McLaughlin asked.
HOLMES, acronym of the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, was a computer database system developed since the Yorkshire Ripper investigation. Everything would be entered there, from witness statements to SOCO reports. It would all be indexed and cross-indexed so that nothing got lost in the mass of disparate paperwork the way the Ripper’s identification had. ‘I think we should activate it now,’ said Banks. ‘Given the seriousness of the case. I’ll put DC Jackman on it. She’s a trained operator.’
‘Very well.’ McLaughlin looked from Banks to Annie. ‘By the way, Dr Glendenning has offered to conduct the post-mortem early this afternoon, so don’t eat a heavy lunch. I think you should both be there. I’ll also get some more DCs assigned as soon as possible,’ McLaughlin went on. ‘There’ll probably be a lot of legwork on this. I understand you already have a murder investigation on the go. Can you handle this one, too?’
‘I think so, sir.’ Banks remembered often having several serious cases on the go when he worked for the Met. ‘Officially, the Charlie Courage murder is still DI Collaton’s case. Leicestershire Constabulary. DS Cabbot did some of the preliminary interviews, but I can put DS Hatchley on it.’
McLaughlin paused and made a steeple of his hands and looked over his glasses. ‘We don’t want to appear as if we’re playing favourites, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘but there’s no denying we’re giving this case a very high priority indeed. Have you any thoughts so far, DCI Banks?’
‘It’s too early to say, sir. I’d like to have another talk with the family, maybe later today.’
‘Chief Constable Riddle said something about her hanging around with some unsavoury types in London. Anything in that?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Banks. ‘There was one in particular, name of Barry Clough. I’ll be h
aving a very close look at him.’
‘Any other developments? DS Cabbot?’
‘We searched the people in the club last night, sir,’ Annie said, ‘but we didn’t find anything except a few tabs of Ecstasy, a bit of marijuana and the odd amphetamine pill or two.’
‘All according to PACE, I hope?’
‘Yes, sir. Two people resisted and I had them taken over to the station. They were cautioned by the custody officer before being strip-searched. They were both carrying drugs in sufficient quantities for resale. One had crystal meth, the other what appears to be cocaine.’
‘Any connection with Ms Riddle’s death?’
‘As far as we could tell, sir, it wasn’t cut with strychnine, but we’re holding him while it goes to the lab for tox testing.’
McLaughlin jotted something on his pad. ‘What about CCTV?’ he asked. ‘Was the club covered?’
‘Unfortunately,’ said Banks, ‘the Bar None hasn’t had any cameras installed yet, but we might get something from ours.’
The installation of closed circuit television cameras in the market square had been a thorny issue around the division that summer, when Eastvale had experienced a public-order problem caused by drunken louts gathering around the market cross after closing time. Fights broke out between rival gangs, often in town from villages in the Dale, or between locals and squaddies from the nearby army base. In one case an elderly female tourist was hit by flying glass and had to have sixteen stitches in her face.
Knaresborough, Ripon, and Harrogate and Leeds had installed CCTV in their city centres and upped their arrest rates considerably, but at first Jimmy Riddle had pooh-poohed the idea of doing the same in Eastvale, arguing that it would take them over budget and that it wasn’t necessary because the police station itself was located on one side of the market square, and all any officer had to do was look out of the window.
After considerable debate, and mostly because he was impressed by the rise in Ripon’s arrest rate, Riddle had relented and four cameras were installed on an experimental basis. They fed directly into a small communications room set up on the ground floor of Eastvale Divisional HQ, where the tapes were routinely scanned for the faces of familiar troublemakers and any signs of criminal activity. Banks thought it all smacked a bit too much of Big Brother, but was willing to admit that in a case like this the tapes might be of some value.
‘They’ll at least tell us if anyone left after Emily and her friends arrived at the club,’ he went on. ‘Darren Hirst was too upset and confused to be certain last night.’
‘Good idea,’ McLaughlin said. ‘Any point staging a reconstruction?’
Banks took a deep breath. Now was the time. ‘I don’t think so, sir. I had a brief lunch with Emily yesterday. She wanted to thank me for persuading her to return home, and she also expressed some concern about this Clough character.’
‘Go on,’ said McLaughlin, without expression.
Banks felt Annie’s eyes boring into the side of his head again. Even Gristhorpe was frowning. ‘She left the Black Bull to meet someone, or so she said, at three o’clock. We don’t know where she was between then and when she met her friends in the Cross Keys around seven. Darren said he thought she was a little high when she arrived at the Cross Keys, so I would guess that she’d been taking drugs with someone, perhaps the person who gave her the poisoned cocaine. After that, they were together as a group all evening. I think we’d have more to gain from a concentrated media campaign. Posters, television, newspapers.’
‘I’m concerned about this lunch you had with the victim,’ said McLaughlin.
‘There was nothing to it, sir. We were in public view the entire time, and I remained there after Emily left. I think she was genuinely worried about Clough. She didn’t feel she could talk to her father, but she wanted me to know.’
‘Why you?’
‘Because I’d met him when I was searching for her. She knew I’d understand what she was talking about.’
‘Nasty piece of work, then?’
‘Very, sir.’
‘Did she give you any idea of where she was going or who she was meeting?’
‘No, sir. I wish she had.’ Banks wished he had even asked her.
‘What did she talk about?’
‘As I said, she was grateful to me for persuading her to go home. She talked about her future. She wanted to take her A levels and go to university in America.’
‘And she expressed concern about Clough?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did she say he’d been in touch with her, threatened her or anything like that?’
‘She said he hadn’t contacted her, but she seemed worried. She said he didn’t like to lose his prize possessions. And she thought she saw one of his employees in the Swainsdale Centre.’
‘Do you think she knew something was going to happen to her, that she was in fear for her life?’
‘I wouldn’t push it that far, sir.’
‘Even so,’ said McLaughlin, ‘she was a member of the public expressing concern over a dangerous situation she had got herself into and asking for police help. Wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Banks, relieved that McLaughlin had seen fit to throw him a lifebelt. Banks didn’t see any point in telling him that Emily had been drinking under age in his presence, or that they had spent half a night alone together in a London hotel room.
‘Good. I’ll leave you to fill out the appropriate paperwork to that effect, then, so we can put it on file in case of any problems. I should imagine you were busy at the time and simply postponed the paperwork?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Perfectly understandable. And you don’t need me to tell you that quick, positive results on this would be beneficial all around.’
‘No, sir.’
With that, ACC Ron McLaughlin left the boardroom.
‘You may leave, too, DS Cabbot,’ said Gristhorpe. ‘Alan, I’d like a word.’
Annie left, flashing Banks a tight, pissed-off look. Banks and Gristhorpe looked at one another. ‘Terrible business,’ said Gristhorpe. ‘No matter what you thought of Jimmy Riddle.’
‘It is, sir.’
‘This lunch, Alan? It only happened the once, just the way you say it did?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Gristhorpe grunted. He was looking old, Banks thought – his unruly hair, if anything, greyer lately, dark bags under his eyes, his normally ruddy, pockmarked complexion paler than usual. He also seemed to have lost weight; his tweed jacket looked baggy on him. Still, Banks reminded himself, Gristhorpe had been up pretty much all night, and he wasn’t getting any younger.
‘She was a good lass,’ Banks said. Then he shook his head. ‘No. What am I saying? That’s not true. She was what you’d call a wild child. She was exasperating, a pain in the arse, and she no doubt ran Jimmy Riddle ragged.’
‘But you liked her?’
‘Couldn’t help but. She was confused, a bit crazy maybe, rebellious.’
‘A bit like you when you were a lad?’ said Gristhorpe with a smile.
‘Perish the thought. No. She was exactly the sort of girl I hoped Tracy wouldn’t turn into, and thank the Lord she didn’t. Maybe it was easy to admire the spirit in her because I wasn’t her father, and she wasn’t really my problem. But she was more confused than bad, and I think she’d have turned out all right, given the chance. She was just too advanced for her years. I want the bastard who did this to her, sir. Maybe more than I’ve ever wanted any bastard before in my career.’
‘Be careful, Alan.’ Gristhorpe leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. ‘You know as well as I do that you wouldn’t be anywhere near this case if it weren’t for Jimmy Riddle. But if you screw up just once because it’s too personal for you, I’ll be down on you like the proverbial ton of bricks. Which is probably nothing to what ACC McLaughlin will do. Got it?’
‘Got it,’ said Banks. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll play it by the book.’
&nb
sp; Gristhorpe leaned back and smiled at him. ‘Nay, Alan,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want to do that. What’d be the point of having you on the case, then? All I’m saying is don’t let anger and a desire for revenge cloud your judgement. Look clearly at the evidence, the facts, before you make any moves. Don’t go off half-cocked the way you’ve done in the past.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ said Banks.
‘You do that.’
Someone knocked at the door and Gristhorpe called out for him to come in. It was one of the uniformed officers from downstairs. ‘A DI Wayne Dalton, Northumbria CID, to see DCI Banks, sir.’
Banks raised his eyebrows and looked at Gristhorpe. ‘Okay,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘Give him a cup of coffee and sit him in my office. I can spare him a few minutes.’
Banks wasn’t the only one who had spent a restless night; Annie Cabbot had also lain awake during the hour or two she had spent in bed shortly before dawn, her nerve ends jumping at every little sound. She had tried to tell herself not to be so weak. After all, she had prevented Dalton from raping her two years ago, so why should she be worried about him now? Her martial arts training might be a bit rusty, but she could defend herself well enough if it came to that.
The problem was that reason has no foothold at four or five in the morning; at those hours, reason sleeps and the mind breeds monsters: monsters of fear, of paranoia. And so she had tossed and turned, her mind’s eye flashing on images of Dalton’s sweat-glossed face and hate-filled eyes, and of Emily Riddle dead, her skinny frame wedged in a toilet cubicle at the Bar None nightclub, her eyes wide open in terror and facial muscles contorted into a grimace.
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