A Dedicated Man

by Peter Robinson

  ‘I admit it’s unlikely, but hardly more than anything else in this bloody business. Put it this way: we don’t know much about the Steadmans’ marriage. It seemed ordinary enough on the surface, but what did she think about him and Penny Cartwright, for example? Maybe she was mad with jealousy. We just don’t know. And even if we ask them, they’ll lie. For some reason, they’re all protecting one another.’

  ‘Perhaps they suspect each other.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  Hatchley guzzled his pint.

  ‘You know what the trouble with this case is, Sergeant?’ Banks went on. ‘Everyone except Major Cartwright seems to think the sun shone out of Steadman’s arse.’

  Hatchley grinned. They drained their glasses and set off to see Hackett.

  FOUR

  Teddy Hackett sat in his office, part of an old mill that looked out on the River Swain behind the garage. The window was open and scents of flowers floated in with the sound of water rushing over pebbles. Occasionally a bee strayed from the clematis that clung to the stone wall, buzzed into the room and, finding nothing of interest in human affairs, meandered out again.

  Hackett was nervous and sweaty right from the start. He sat behind the defence of his cluttered desk, back to the window, and toyed with a letter opener as Banks faced him from a chair. Hatchley leaned against the wall by the window. Banks filled his pipe, got it going, then brought up the subject of Hackett’s false alibi.

  ‘From what we’ve been able to discover, you arrived at the KitKat Klub alone and after one o’clock, a little later than you said.’

  Hackett squirmed. ‘I’m not very good at times. Always late for appointments, that’s me.’

  Banks smiled. ‘That’s not a very good habit for a businessman, is it? Still, that’s no concern of mine. What I want to know is what you were doing before then.’

  ‘I told you,’ Hackett said, slapping his palm with the letter opener. ‘I went to a pub and had a couple of drinks.’

  ‘But closing time on Saturday is eleven o’clock, Mr Hackett. Even on the most liberal of premises you’d be out in the street by eleven thirty. What did you do between eleven thirty and one o’clock?’

  Hackett shifted his weight from cheek to cheek and rubbed his chin. ‘Look, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. Know what I mean? But when you get pally with the bar staff you can sometimes get in an extra drink or two. Especially when the local copper’s there, too.’ He winked. ‘I mean, if young Weaver ever wanted to—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about Constable Weaver,’ Banks cut in. ‘I want to hear about you, and I’m getting impatient. What you’re saying is that the publican broke the licensing laws by serving you after hours, as late as one o’clock. Is that what happened?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. It was more in the nature of a drink or two together. Privacy of his own home, like. There’s no law says a man can’t have a mate in for a drink whenever he wants, is there?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Banks answered. ‘Let’s say you weren’t breaking any laws, then. If you were so pally with the manager you’ll remember the name of the pub, won’t you?’

  ‘I thought I told you already. Didn’t I?’

  Banks shook his head.

  ‘I thought I did. I meant to. It was the Cock and Bull on Arthur Street, near the club.’ Hackett put down his letter opener and lit a cigarette, taking deep noisy drags.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Banks. ‘It wasn’t the Cock and Bull on Arthur Street. The manager says he knows you, right enough, and that you’d been in on Friday, but not Saturday. Where were you, Mr Hackett?’

  Hackett looked crestfallen. ‘He must have been mistaken. Got a bad memory, old Joey. I’m sure if you ask him again, jog his memory a bit, he’ll remember. He’ll tell you it’s true. I was there.’

  ‘Come off it, man, tell us where you were!’ Hatchley’s loud voice boomed out from behind Hackett, unnerving him completely. During the preliminary part of the interrogation, the sergeant had remained so quiet that Hackett must have forgotten he was in the room. Now he half-turned and looked terrified to find a new, more aggressive adversary towering over him. He got to his feet but Hackett still had the advantage of height.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at—’

  ‘We’re not getting at anything,’ Hatchley said. ‘We’re telling you loud and clear. You never went to the Cock and Bull, did you? That was just a cock and bull story, wasn’t it? You never went to any pub in Darlington. You waited for Steadman outside the Bridge, followed him to Penny Cartwright’s, waited there, then followed him to the Dog and Gun and back to the car park. There, where it was dark and quiet, you hit him on the head and hid him in the boot of your car. Later, when the whole village was asleep, you dumped him in the field on your way over the dale to Darlington, didn’t you? The timing’s just right, Hackett, we’ve checked. What with all the lies you’ve told us and the traces we’ll find in the boot of your car, we’ve got you by the short and curlies, mate.’

  Hackett turned to Banks for sympathy and support. ‘You can’t let him bully me, accuse me like this,’ he spluttered. ‘It’s not . . .’

  ‘Not cricket?’ said Banks. ‘But you must admit, Mr Hackett, it is a possibility, isn’t it? A very strong possibility.’

  Hackett flopped back down into the chair behind his desk and Hatchley walked over to stand in front of him. ‘Look, sir,’ the sergeant began softly, ‘we know you didn’t arrive at the club until after one o’clock, and that gives you plenty of time to dump Steadman’s body and get there. Don’t you think it would be easier all round if you told us what happened? Perhaps it was manslaughter? Perhaps you had an argument and came to blows; you didn’t mean to kill him. Is that how it happened?’

  Hackett stared at him, wary of his apparent friendliness. Banks got up and walked over to the window, through which he appeared to be gazing at the river.

  ‘I walked around,’ Hackett said. ‘That’s all. I set off for Darlington as soon as I’d left the Bridge and got changed, then I stopped on the way. It was a lovely evening. I didn’t feel like a drink just then, so I went for a walk. I wanted to be alone.’

  ‘You and bloody Greta Garbo,’ Banks snarled from behind him, turning quickly from the window and knocking his pipe out in the thick glass ashtray. ‘I’m fast losing patience with you,’ he rushed on, raising his voice and glaring. It was a measure of Hackett’s terror and confusion that he now looked to the huge Hatchley as a benign presence.

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Banks ordered him. ‘I don’t want to hear any more lies from you, Hackett. Get it? If I’m not satisfied your next story’s true I’ll have you in Eastvale nick before your feet touch the ground. Understand?’

  Hatchley, enjoying himself tremendously, played the role of kindly uncle. ‘Best do as the chief inspector asks, sir,’ he advised the pale Hackett. ‘I’m sure it can’t do any harm if you’ve nothing to hide.’

  Hackett stared at Hatchley for a good half-minute, then came that visible relaxation of tension, the moment that signalled the truth. Banks could feel it in his veins; he recognized it well from years of experience. Hackett was still so mixed up that he glowered at Hatchley and directed his statement toward Banks, who smiled and nodded at various points with benevolent understanding.

  All in all, it was a great disappointment, but it did get one red herring out of the way. After leaving the Bridge, Hackett had gone home to shower and change, then he had driven to Darlington, where he first spent about two hours of uninhibited carnal bliss with a young married woman whose husband worked the night shift at the local colliery. After that, he had gone on to the KitKat Klub alone because he didn’t want to be seen with her locally. People would talk. Banks finally extracted her name and address from him, along with pleas and warnings about not letting her muscle-bound husband find out.

  ‘Please,’ he begged, ‘if you must talk to Betty, do it after ten at
night. I’ll get her to come in. That’ll be even better, won’t it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Hackett,’ Banks replied, ‘we’ll do it our way.’

  ‘Have a heart, Chief Inspector. Haven’t you ever had a bit on the side?’

  The muscles in Banks’s jaw tightened. ‘No,’ he answered sharply. ‘And even if I had it wouldn’t make a jot of difference to your situation.’ He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward so that his face was only inches from Hackett’s. ‘What you don’t seem to realize is that this is a murder investigation. A friend of yours has been murdered, or don’t you remember, and all you’re concerned with is some bloody tart you’ve been poking in Darlington.’

  ‘She’s not a tart. And there’s no reason to ruin a perfectly good marriage, is there? That’s what you’ll be doing, you know.’

  ‘No. That’s what you’ve done. It’s what she’s done too. If I thought for a moment that you cared more about the marriage than about your own skin, I might just consider doing things differently.’

  Banks nodded to Hatchley and the two of them left Hackett biting his fingernails and cursing the day he met nubile little Betty Fields in the Cock and Bull.

  ‘Fancy a trip to Darlington, Sergeant?’ Banks asked when they reached High Street. ‘Best if you check it out yourself.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Hatchley replied, grinning.

  ‘Right then. After ten o’clock tonight, if you can make it.’

  ‘What? But . . .’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s not that I mind. I’ve got a couple of mates up there I’ve not seen in a while. But what about Hackett?’

  ‘Simple really. Hackett’s right; I don’t see any point putting unnecessary strain on a marriage, even one as flimsy as Betty Fields’s. But he doesn’t know that, does he? By the next time he hears from his young lady he’ll be a gibbering wreck. Some of these miners are big chaps, so I’ve heard.’ He smiled as comprehension dawned on Hatchley. ‘You have to balance your cruelty with compassion, Sergeant. Come on, just one more visit to make then home. And by the way . . .’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘That was a terrible pun back there. Cock and bull story.’

  ‘Oh, I thought it was quite good myself.’

  Taking advantage of the fine weather, Banks and Hatchley walked to Gratly. They took the short cut through the cemetery and along a narrow path through a field. Lynchets led down to the beck like a broad flight of green velvet stairs. Sheep grazed under a clump of ash trees in the lush green grass by the water.

  This time, Banks was struck by the tranquillity and individuality of Gratly. At the centre of the hamlet was a low stone bridge under which a broad stream ran over several abrupt terraces and descended in a series of small waterfalls past a disused mill and down the valley side to the all-consuming Swain.

  Gratly itself radiated like a cross from this central point, and ginnels and snickets here and there led to twisting backstreets and hidden outhouses. The houses were all old, built of local stone, but their designs varied. Some, originally weavers’ cottages, had many windows in their upper stories, while others looked like old farmhouses or labourers’ quarters. The sun on the light stone and the steady music of water as it trickled relaxed Banks, and he found himself thinking that this was no day and no place for his kind of business. The hamlet was silent and still; there were no signs of life at all.

  Emma Steadman, wearing a brown apron over her shirt and slacks, answered the door at the second ring and invited them inside, apologizing for the mess. She stopped at the entrance to the front room and ushered the two men in, running a grimy hand over her moist brow. Banks saw immediately what she meant. All Steadman’s books had been taken down from the shelves and stood in untidy, precariously balanced piles on the floor.

  The widow moved forlornly into the middle of the room and gestured around. ‘They’re all his. I can’t stand it, having them all over the place. I don’t know what to do with them.’ She seemed less frosty than when they had parted on Monday afternoon, vulnerable among the detritus of a shared life.

  ‘There’s a book dealer in Eastvale,’ Banks advised her. ‘I’m sure he’ll come out and appraise them if you give him a call. He’ll give you a fair price. Or what about Thadtwistle in Helmthorpe?’

  ‘Yes, that’s an idea. Thank you.’ Mrs Steadman sat down. ‘It’ll have to wait though, I’m afraid. I can’t face that kind of thing yet. I don’t know what I’ll do with all his things. I never realized he’d collected so much junk. I wish I could just get up and leave Gratly, go somewhere else.’

  ‘You’ll not be staying here?’ asked Hatchley.

  She shook her head. ‘No, Sergeant, I don’t think so. There’s nothing for me here. It was Harold’s work, really. His place.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I haven’t really thought. A city, I suppose. Maybe London.’ She looked at Banks.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about it yet,’ he said. ‘You need a bit of time. It’ll all get taken care of.’

  Silence followed. Mrs Steadman offered to make a cup of tea, but Banks, much to Hatchley’s distress, refused for them both. ‘No thanks. It’s just a flying visit. We were in the area.’

  She raised her eyebrows, hinting that he should get to the point.

  ‘It’s about Penny Cartwright,’ Banks began, noting that her expression didn’t alter a jot at the mention of the name. ‘I gather that she and your husband were rather close. Didn’t that bother you at all?’

  ‘What do you mean, “bother me”?’

  ‘Well,’ Banks went on cautiously, ‘she’s an attractive woman. People talk. People have talked about her before. Weren’t you worried that your husband might have been having an affair with her?’

  It was immediately clear that the suggestion surprised rather than annoyed Emma Steadman, as if it were something she had never even thought of. ‘But they’d been friends for years,’ she answered. ‘Ever since she was a teenager, when we first came up here for our holidays. I don’t— I mean, I never really thought of her as anything else, really. A teenager. More like a daughter than a rival.’

  Banks felt that it was short-sighted in the extreme to look upon a woman only twelve or thirteen years one’s junior as a child, especially if that woman was over the age of sixteen. ‘It didn’t bother you at all, then?’ he went on. ‘It never caused any trouble, any jealousy?’

  ‘Not on my part it didn’t, no. As I said, Chief Inspector, she’s been a friend of the family for years. I suppose you know that she and Michael Ramsden used to go out together ages ago? He brought her up here quite often – after all, it was his home then; we were only summer visitors. I think she had a lot in common with Harry. She looked up to him as a teacher, a man of knowledge. So did Michael, for that matter. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t really see what you’re getting at.’

  ‘I simply wondered whether you suspected your husband of having an affair with Penny Cartwright.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. First you cast doubts on my marriage, now you accuse my husband of adultery. What’s going on? What is all this about?’

  Banks held up his hand. ‘Wait a minute. I’m not making any accusations; I’m asking questions. It’s my job.’

  ‘That’s what you said last time,’ she said. ‘It didn’t make me feel any better then, either. Don’t you realize they’re burying my husband tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes I do, and I’m sorry. But if you want us to carry out a thorough investigation into his death, you’ve got to be prepared for some awkward questions. We don’t find the truth by skating over the surface or by skirting difficult patches.’

  Mrs Steadman sighed. ‘I understand that. It’s just . . . so soon.’

  ‘Did you see much of Penny after she left Helmthorpe?’ Banks asked.

  ‘Not much, no. Sometimes, if we were in the same place – London, say – we’d have dinner together. But you could count the times on the fingers of one hand.’<
br />
  ‘What did she seem like during that period?’

  ‘Like herself.’

  ‘She never seemed depressed, on drugs, strung out?’

  ‘Not when we saw her.’

  ‘How well did your husband know Jack Barker?’

  ‘Jack? I’d say they were fairly close. As close as Harry could be to someone who didn’t share his enthusiasms.’

  ‘How long had Barker been living in Gratly?’

  ‘I don’t really know. Before us. Three or four years.’

  ‘How long had your husband known him?’

  ‘They got to know each other over the past eighteen months. We’d met before, on our visits here, but it wasn’t till we moved in that Harold really spent much time with the locals.’

  ‘Where did Barker come from?’

  ‘He’s from Cheadle, in Cheshire. But I think he lived in London for a while.’

  ‘And neither your nor your husband knew him when you first visited Gratly?’

  ‘No. I don’t think anyone in Helmthorpe or Gratly did. Why this fascination with the past, Chief Inspector?’

  Banks frowned. ‘I’m not really sure, Mrs Steadman. I’m just trying to get a sense of the pattern of relationships: exits and entrances.’

  ‘And that’s why you were asking me about Harry and Penny?’

  ‘Partly, yes. Major Cartwright didn’t seem too pleased about their friendship.’

  Mrs Steadman made a sound halfway between a sneeze and a guffaw. ‘The major! Everybody knows he’s a crackpot. Mad as a March hare. She’s all he’s got, you know, and she did desert him for a long time.’

  ‘You know about the rumours?’

  ‘Who doesn’t? But I don’t think you’ll find anyone who takes them seriously these days.’

  ‘Forgiven and forgotten?’

  ‘Something like that. People tire easily. Surely you don’t think . . . the major?’

  Banks didn’t answer.

  ‘You policemen have such wild imaginations,’ Emma Steadman went on. ‘What do you think happened? Do you think the major found out about this mythical affair and killed Harry to protect his daughter’s virtue? Or do you think I did it in a jealous rage?’