“What about Janet Taylor’s family?” Blackstone asked, looking up from the list. “If anyone was another Chameleon casualty, it was her.”
Hartnell turned to Annie. “You carried out the investigation into the killing of Terence Payne by Janet Taylor, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t my choice,” said Annie, jaw tight.
“I understand that,” Hartnell said. “It was a rotten and thankless task, but it had to be done.” Banks happened to know that it was because of Hartnell that Annie had been given the “rotten and thankless task,” to keep it close to home. He had tried to intercede on her behalf, but Annie had been working Complaints and Discipline at the time, just after her promotion to detective inspector, and the case had been pushed right into her lap. Annie didn’t know that.
“Anyway,” Annie went on, “Janet Taylor had an older brother, and the whole business turned him into a bitter drunk. He’s been known to utter the occasional threat, though most of his vehemence is directed toward the police investigation into his sister’s conduct. There’s a chance that, if he knew where she was, he might have harbored a strong resentment against Lucy Payne, too. We’ll check him out.”
“Fine,” said Hartnell. “Now is there anyone I’ve forgotten?”
“Well, I’m just thinking, it was six years ago,” said Banks, “and that means a significant change in the ages of everyone involved. They’ve all been getting older, like the rest of us.” Blackstone and Hartnell laughed. “But in some cases it means more.”
“What are you getting at, Alan?” asked Hartnell.
“Well, sir,” said Banks, “it’s the ones who were kids at the time. I’m thinking specifically of Claire Toth. She was Kimberley Myers’s best friend. That’s the Chameleon’s last victim, the one we found naked and dead on the mattress in the cellar at 35 The Hill. They went to the dance together, but when it was time for Kimberley to go home, Claire was dancing with a boy she fancied and didn’t go with her. Kimberley went alone and Payne snatched her. Naturally, Claire felt guilty. What I’m saying is that there’s a big difference between being fifteen and being twenty-one. And she’s had six years to live with the guilt. I know Annie said Mel Danvers thought Mary was about forty, but she didn’t get a good look. She could have been wrong. Quite frankly, the artist’s impression she gave is useless. I’m just saying we don’t rule out Claire or anyone else because they happen to be younger than forty, that’s all.”
“Then we’ll add her to the list, by all means,” said Hartnell. “And by the same token let’s not overlook anyone else who was the victims’ age at the time. As Alan says, people change with age, and no one more quickly and unpredictably than the young. That includes boyfriends, girlfriends, siblings, whatever. I hope you’ve got a big team, DI Cabbot.”
Annie managed a tight smile. “It’ll be a stretch, sir, but we’ll manage.”
“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Hartnell asked.
“If you could have the Chameleon files put aside for me in a cubbyhole here somewhere…? I might need to come in and check details from time to time.”
“Consider it done,” said Hartnell. “Ken, you’ll see to it?”
“I will indeed,” said Blackstone. “And you can use my office, Annie. We’re a bit short on cubbyholes.”
“Thanks, Ken,” said Annie.
Hartnell stood up and looked at his watch, the mark of a busy man. “Well, I think that just about covers it,” he said. “I know that none of us will be shedding any tears over the death of Lucy Payne, but at the same time I think we’d all like to see justice done.”
“Yes, sir,” they all muttered as they filed out of his office.
In the corridor, Banks tried to catch up with Annie, but she was hurrying away toward an open lift door. He managed to reach out and grasp her shoulder but she pulled away with such force it stopped him in his tracks. He watched her get in the lift, and the doors closed behind her. A moment or so later, he felt a friendly hand between his shoulders. “Alan, old mate,” Ken Blackstone said, “I think you need a drink, and they might just be serving lunch by now.”
WINSOME FOUND a coffee shop across the street from Austin’s department and decided to settle down and wait for the long-haired student to come out. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do when he did emerge from Austin’s building, but she knew she would think of something.
Winsome ordered her latte and sat on a stool by the window, where a long orange molded-plastic shelf ran at just the right height to rest her cup on. She was older than most of the patrons, but found it interesting that she didn’t draw many curious glances. She was wearing black denims and a short zip-up jacket, which weren’t completely out of place there, though perhaps a little upmarket for the student scene.
Most likely, she thought, nobody paid her much attention because there were two Chinese students in deep discussion at one table, a couple of Muslim girls wearing hijabs at another, and a young black woman with dreadlocks talking to a similarly coiffed white boy in a Bob Marley T-shirt. The rest were white, but this was the biggest racial mix Winsome had ever seen in Eastvale. She wondered where they all disappeared to on a Saturday afternoon, when she did her shopping, or on a Saturday evening, when the market square turned into a youth disaster zone. She guessed that there were enough pubs, bars and cafés around campus to keep them entertained without their having to risk life and limb from a bunch of drunken squaddies or farm laborers. So why did Hayley and her friends head for the city center? Living dangerously? Most likely, Winsome guessed, it was the students who actually came from Eastvale who haunted the market-square scene, the locals, or the ones from outlying villages.
Winsome kept an eye on the door of Austin’s building as she sipped the latte. While she waited, she couldn’t help but return in her mind to Annie Cabbot’s shocking confession of the previous evening. A twenty-two-year-old, for Lord’s sake? What was she thinking of? That was no more than a mere boy; DCI Banks’s son, for example, must be about that age, or not much more. And she had regarded Annie as someone she could respect, look up to. She had also secretly thought that Annie and Banks would end up together. She had thought they made a good couple and would have been happy to serve as a bridesmaid at their wedding. How wrong she was. Poor Banks. If only he knew, he would surely be as disgusted as she was.
Winsome was surprised at her own prudish reaction, but she had had a strict religious and moral upbringing, and no amount of exposure to the loose ways of the modern world could completely undo that.
After Annie had stormed out, Winsome had gone home herself. She had been worried about Annie’s driving, but when she got outside, the Astra was gone from the square. Too late. She also felt that she had let her friend down, hadn’t said the right things, made the right noises, given her the sympathy and understanding she needed, but she had felt so shocked and at sea, so burdened by, rather than grateful for, the intimacy of the confession, that she hadn’t been able to. She hadn’t felt much sympathy. So much for sisterly solidarity. There had been something else, though, some trouble with this boy that Annie hadn’t got the chance to tell her about, and that worried her, too.
Students ambled up and down the street carrying backpacks or shoulder bags, wearing T-shirts and jeans; nobody seemed in a hurry. That was the life, Winsome thought. They didn’t have to deal with people like Templeton or face the dead bodies of young women first thing on a Sunday morning. And she bet they indulged in night after night of sweaty guiltless sex. She felt as if she could sit there forever sipping coffee looking out on the sunshine, and a sense of childhood peace came over her, the kind she had felt back at home during the long, hot, still days when all she could hear was birds and the lazy clicking of banana leaves from the plantation.
But it didn’t last. Before she had finished, the young man walked out of the door, glanced around as he went down the steps, and turned up the street. Winsome picked up her briefcase and shoulder bag and set off in pursuit, leaving
the rest of her latte. She had decided it would be best simply to approach him and have done with it. She was a police officer and he was a witness, at the very least.
“Excuse me,” she called, as he was about to turn a corner.
He stopped, a puzzled expression on his face, and pointed his thumb to his chest. “Moi?”
“Yes, you. I want a word with you.”
“What about?”
Winsome showed him her warrant card. “Hayley Daniels,” she said.
“I know who you are, but I don’t know—”
“Don’t give me that. You were in the market square with her on Saturday night. We’ve got you on CCTV.”
The boy turned pale. “I suppose I…well…let’s go in here.” He turned into a café. Winsome didn’t want another coffee. Instead, she settled for a bottle of fizzy water while the boy, who said his name was Zack Lane, spooned sugar into his herbal tea. “Okay,” he said. “I knew Hayley. So what?”
“Why didn’t you come forward? You must have known we’d catch up with you eventually.”
“And get involved in a murder investigation. Would you have come forward?”
“Of course I would,” said Winsome. “What’s the problem if you haven’t done anything wrong?”
“Huh. Easy for you to say.” He paused and examined her closely. “On the other hand, maybe it’s not that easy. You ought to know better than most.”
Winsome felt herself bristle. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, come on. I can’t even imagine why you’d want to be a cop. Someone like you. I’ll bet your mates aren’t too thrilled, are they? Always getting pulled over on sus because they’re black. All you have to do is walk down the street and they—”
“Shut up. Stop right there,” said Winsome, holding her palm up, and something in her tone stopped him in his tracks. “I’m not here to discuss racism or my career choices with you. I’m here to ask you questions about Hayley Daniels. Got that? You said you knew who I was when you saw me. How?”
Zack smiled. “There aren’t any other black coppers in Eastvale,” he said. “None except you, as far as I know, and you’ve had your photo in the paper. I can’t say as I’m surprised, either. It didn’t do you justice. Should have been page three.”
“Knock it off,” said Winsome. Shortly after she had been sent to Eastvale, the local paper had done a feature on her. She managed a smile. “You must have been very young back then.”
“I’m older than I look. Grew up just down the road. I’m a local lad. My dad’s an alderman, so he likes us all to keep in touch with the beating pulse of the metropolis.” He laughed.
“You just went to see Malcolm Austin.”
“So? He’s my tutor.”
“Any good, is he?”
“Why, thinking of enrolling as a mature student?”
“Stop being cheeky and answer my questions.”
“Lighten up.”
“Lighten up?” echoed Winsome in disbelief. Isn’t that what Annie had said to her last night? She thought of making some sarcastic remark about it being difficult for someone of her color, but instead she prodded him in the chest and said, “Lighten up? I was one of the first on the scene to see Hayley’s body on Sunday morning, so don’t tell me to lighten up. I saw her lying there dead. She’d been raped and strangled. So don’t tell me to lighten up. And you’re supposed to be a friend of hers.”
Zack’s face had gone pale now, and he was starting to appear contrite. “All right. I’m sorry,” he said, sweeping back his hair. “I’m shaken up about Hayley, too, you know. I liked her, the silly cow.”
“Why silly cow?”
“She was outrageous. She got us chucked out of The Trumpeters and nearly did the same at The Fountain.”
“I thought you were well behaved at The Fountain?”
“Been asking around, have you?”
“Doing our job.”
“Just the facts, ma’am. Sure. Well, we were. Except Hayley wanted a p—She needed to go to the toilet badly, and some yobs had wrecked it. Happens all the time. Gave Jamie behind the bar a right mouthful, though it was hardly his fault.”
“Jamie Murdoch?”
“Aye. You know him?”
“We’ve talked to him.”
“I went to school with Jamie. He moved down from Tyneside with his parents when he was about twelve. He’s all right. A bit quiet, lacking in ambition, maybe.”
“In what way?”
“Jamie tried the college once, but he didn’t take to it. He’s actually quite bright, but not everyone can handle the academic life. He can do better than the pub, but I’m not sure he’s got the balls to try.”
“He was running it alone on Saturday night,” said Winsome.
“Yeah, I know. He does that a lot. Can’t seem to keep the staff. I think he’s got Jill Sutherland working there at the moment, but I’ll bet that won’t last.”
“Why not?”
“Too many airs and graces to last long in a dive like The Fountain, our Jill.”
“What about the owner?”
“Terry Clarke? That wanker? He’s never there. Got a time-share in Orlando or Fort Lauderdale or somewhere like that. It can’t be easy for Jamie. He’s not a natural authoritarian. He lets everyone just walk all over him. Anyway, Hayley got a bit mouthy when she saw the state of the bogs, called him a few names, told him to get in there and fix it or she’d do it on the floor. That was our Hayley. But we calmed her down before any real harm was done. We got to finish our drinks, at any rate.”
Winsome made a note that someone should have another chat with Jamie Murdoch and also locate Jill Sutherland. “Is it true that Hayley went down Taylor’s Yard to use the toilet?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Zack. He cocked his head and studied Winsome. “Though that’s an odd way of putting it. I mean, there isn’t an actual toilet there. Like I said, Hayley could be pretty outrageous. As soon as we got outside The Fountain, she announced to all and sundry that she was off for a piss. Sorry. She needed to go to the toilet, and she was going in The Maze.” He paused. “Maybe she should have done it on the floor, then she wouldn’t have gone in there.”
“Didn’t any of you try to talk her out of it?”
“Yes, but you can’t talk Hayley out of anything when she gets her mind set on it.”
That was what Stuart Kinsey had said, Winsome remembered. “One of you could at least have gone with her…” Winsome realized what she had said too late and let the sentence trail off.
“I’m not saying she wouldn’t have got plenty of volunteers,” said Zack with a smirk. “Stuart, for one. Maybe even me, if I was drunk enough. But I can’t say I’m into golden showers, and Hayley wasn’t my type. Oh, we all joked about going down there and jumping out at her, giving her a fright, catching her with her knickers down, but it didn’t happen. We ended up in the Bar None. And Hayley…”
“She wasn’t planning on joining you later?”
“No, she was gong to stay at a friend’s.”
“Who? A girlfriend?”
Zack laughed. “Come off it. Whatever our Hayley was, she definitely wasn’t a girl’s girl. I’m not saying she didn’t have a couple of mates—Susie and Colleen come to mind—but mostly she liked to hang around with the guys.”
“Can you give me the names of everyone who was there on Saturday?”
“Let’s see, there was me, Hayley, Susie Govindar, Colleen Vance, then there were Stuart Kinsey, Giles Faulkner and Keith Taft. That was about it. Will, that’s Will Paisley, he was with us earlier but he went off to see some mates in Leeds early on. To be quite honest, I think he’s got a boyfriend there, though he seems to be lingering overlong in the closet. Mind you, I can’t say I blame him in a place like this.”
“So most of the time, after this Will had gone off to Leeds, for whatever reason, there were seven of you, right?”
“Give or take one or two we met on the way.”
“You said that Hayley pr
eferred the company of men. Why was that?”
“Why do you think? Because then she was the center of attention. Because they’d do anything she wanted. Because she pretty much had all of them wrapped around her little finger.”
“She sounds like a drunken lout to me.”
Zack studied Winsome closely. “But you didn’t know her,” he said. “Actually, there was a lot more to her than that. Sure, she liked to cut loose on a Saturday night, go wild, get kalied and let her hair down. But she was a good student, she did her work on time, and she had a good future. She was bright, too. Sometimes you have to dig deeper than the flashy clothes and the superficial bravado.”
“And you did?”
“I went out with her a couple of times last year. But like I said, she wasn’t really my type. And in case you were thinking of asking, no, I didn’t sleep with her. Hayley wasn’t a slag. Kept herself fastened up as tight as a Scotsman’s wallet, in spite of the sexy clothes and all. It was strictly top only for me.”
“So she was a tease?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“No, not really. She could be. She liked playing games, flirting, winding you up. But she could be serious, too. I mean, you could have a good serious talk with Hayley. Politics. Music. History. Whatever. She had opinions and the knowledge to back them up. All I’m saying is that just because she dressed the way she did, it didn’t mean she was giving it away to everyone. You should know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, don’t get your kni——Don’t take offense. I meant in your job you must hear that excuse about someone asking for it because of the way she dresses, and you know it shouldn’t matter. A woman should be able to walk the streets of Eastvale stark naked if she wants, and no one has the right to touch her.”
Winsome laughed. “I’m sure they’d have a good look, though.”
“Well,” said Zack, “that’s one thing you lot haven’t made illegal. Yet.” He tapped the side of his head. “Along with what people think.”
Friend of the Devil Page 16