Past Reason Hated

by Peter Robinson

  She seemed to be laughing at him, and it made him feel foolish and disconcerted. How could he question her seriously when she looked at him like that? He remembered his training and aimed for the correct tone.

  ‘Well, Miss Pierce,’ he began, ‘as you may be aware, we are investigating—’

  She burst out laughing. Richmond felt himself flush to the tips of his moustache. ‘What the . . .?’

  She put her hand to her mouth and quietened down. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, seeming more than a little embarrassed herself. ‘I don’t usually giggle. It’s just that you seem so stuffy and formal.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry if—’

  She waved her hand. ‘No, no. Don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I know you have a job to do. It’s just that it gets a bit lonely in here after Christmas and I’m afraid that seems to affect my manners. Look,’ she went on, ‘it would make this a lot easier for me if you’d let me lock up and make you a cup of tea before we talk. It’s near enough closing time already and the only customer I’ve had all day was a young lad wanting to exchange his Christmas present.’

  Richmond, encouraged by her friendliness, smiled. ‘If you’re closing anyway,’ he said, ‘maybe we could go for a drink and a bit to eat?’

  She chewed on her lower lip and looked at him. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just give me a minute to make sure everything’s secure.’

  In ten minutes, they were sitting in a cosy pub, Richmond nursing a pint and Rachel sipping rum and coke.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said, sitting back and folding her arms. Grill away, Mr CID.’

  Richmond smiled. ‘There’s not much to ask, really. You know Charles Cooper?’

  ‘Yes. He’s the general manager.’

  ‘I understand he’s been very busy lately making sure everything was in order for Christmas.’

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘Do you remember December the twenty-second?’

  She wrinkled her brow and thought, then said, ‘Yes. He was here that day sorting out some stock problems. You see, Mr Curtis, the manager, had forgotten to reorder some . . . But you don’t want to hear about that, do you?’

  Richmond wasn’t too sure. He felt like pinching himself to see if he could escape the way just listening to her voice and watching her animated face made him feel. He tried it – just a little nip at the back of his thigh – but it did no good. He took a deep breath. ‘How long was he at the shop?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, a couple of hours, perhaps.’

  ‘Between what times?’

  ‘He got here about four, or thereabouts, and left at six.’

  ‘He left at six o’clock?’

  ‘Yes. You sound surprised. Why?’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ It was, though. Unless he had gone to another branch – and neither Cooper nor his wife had mentioned anything about that – then he had left the shop at six and not got home until eleven. Where the hell had he been, and why had he lied?

  ‘Are you sure he left at six o’clock?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, it can’t have been much after,’ Rachel answered. ‘We closed at seven – extra hours for the holiday period – and he was gone a while before then. He said he’d try to shift some stock over from the Skipton shop before Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Did you get the impression he was going to go to Skipton right then?’

  ‘No. They’d be closed, too. Wouldn’t be any point, would there?’

  ‘Presumably, if he’s the general manager, he’s got a key?’

  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t go carrying boxes of toys around, does he, if he’s the general manager. He gets some dogsbody to do that.’

  Richmond fingered his moustache. ‘Maybe you’re right. What was your impression of him? Do you know him well?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not well, no. He’d drop in once in a while. We might have a cup of tea and a chat about how things were going.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  She raised her left eyebrow and squinted her right eye almost shut. ‘And just what might you mean by that?’

  ‘I’m not sure, really. He didn’t make a pass at you or anything?’

  ‘Mr Cooper? Make a pass?’ She laughed. ‘You obviously don’t know him.’

  ‘So he never did?’

  ‘Never. The thought of it . . .’ She laughed again.

  ‘Did he ever talk about things other than business? Personal things.’

  ‘No. He kept himself to himself.’

  ‘Did you ever hear him mention a woman called Caroline Hartley?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Veronica Shildon?’

  ‘No. He hardly ever mentioned his own wife, only when I asked after her. I’d met her once or twice at company do’s, you see, so it’s only polite to ask after her, isn’t it?’

  ‘Was there anything odd about him at all?’ Richmond asked. ‘Think. Surely you must have felt or noticed something at some time?’

  Rachel frowned. ‘Look, there is something . . . but I don’t like to speak out of turn.’

  ‘It’s not out of turn,’ Richmond said, leaning forward. ‘Remember, this is a murder investigation. What is it?’

  ‘Well, I could be wrong. It was just a couple of times, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think he’s a drinker.’

  ‘In what way? We’re drinking right now.’

  ‘I don’t know, but not like this. A secret drinker, a problem drinker, whatever you call it.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I could smell alcohol on his breath sometimes, early in the day, when he hadn’t bothered to take one of those awful breath mints he usually smelled of. And once I saw him take a little flask out of his pocket in the stockroom when he thought I wasn’t looking. I can’t be sure what it was, of course, but . . .’

  Could there be anything in it? Richmond wondered. Rachel Pierce had certainly given him a new perspective on the Coopers, but whether it would lead him to a murderer, he couldn’t tell. So the man drank, so he had lied about his alibi – a silly lie, at that, an easy one to check – but it might not mean anything. One thing was certain, though, Banks would want to visit the Coopers again very soon, and he wouldn’t be as gentle as he had been on previous occasions.

  Richmond looked over at Rachel. Her glass was nearly empty.

  ‘Another?’ he asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I think I can say I’m officially off duty now,’ he said. ‘Come on, it won’t do any harm.’

  She looked at him a long time. He couldn’t fathom the expression on her face. Then she said, ‘All right, then. Another one.’

  ‘Wonderful. There’s just one thing I have to do first.’

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Call my boss,’ Richmond said. ‘Don’t go away. I won’t be a minute.’

  He glanced back and saw her smiling into her glass as he made for the telephone.

  FOUR

  Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness

  Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.

  How easy is it for the proper – false

  In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!

  Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!

  For such as we are made of, such we be.

  How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,

  And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;

  And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.

  What will become of this? As I am man,

  My state is desperate for my master’s love.

  As I am woman – now alas the day! –

  What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!

  O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;

  It is too hard a knot for me t’untie!

  ‘Better, Faith darling, much better! Perhaps just a bit more introspection – remember, it is a soliloquy – but not too serious.’ James Conran turned to Banks. ‘What did you think?’

 
‘I thought she was very good.’

  ‘Do you know the play?’

  ‘Yes. Not well. But I know it.’

  ‘So you know how it “fadges” then?’

  ‘They all marry the ones they want and live happily ever after.’

  Conran stuck a finger in the air. ‘Ah, not quite, Chief Inspector. Malvolio, remember, ends by vowing revenge on the lot of them for making a fool of him.’

  All that Banks remembered about the end of Twelfth Night was the beautiful song the Clown sang alone when everyone else had walked off to their fates. It was on his Deller Consort tape. ‘For the rain it raineth every day,’ the refrain went. It had always seemed a curiously sombre song to end a comedy with. But nothing was black and white, especially in Shakespeare’s world.

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to see us on opening night,’ Conran said. ‘Complimentary tickets, of course.’

  ‘Yes, I would. Very much.’ Accepting free tickets to an amateur production could hardly be called being on the take, Banks thought. ‘Will you be much longer here?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to talk to some of the cast members. Maybe it would be more comfortable over in the Crooked Billet.’

  Conran frowned. ‘What on earth would you want to talk to them about?’

  ‘Police business.’

  Definitely not pleased, Conran looked at his watch and clapped his hands. The actors walked off stage and went for their coats.

  After they had dashed down the alley in the chilly evening, the warmth of the Crooked Billet greeted them like a long lost friend. They unbuttoned their coats and hung them by the door, then pulled two tables together near the fire to accommodate the thirsty thespians. Banks tried to keep track of the introductions and the links between actors and roles. Olivia, played by Teresa Pedmore, and Viola, Faith Green, interested him the most Marcia Cunningham, the costumes and props manager, was there too. It was a casual and unorthodox method of questioning possible suspects, Banks was aware, but he wanted to get as much of a feel of the troupe as he could before he decided where to go from there.

  ‘I still can’t imagine why you want to talk to the cast,’ Conran complained. ‘Surely you can’t think one of us had anything to do with poor Caroline’s death?’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody naive, Mr Conran. There’s a chance that anyone who knew her might have done it. Certainly she seemed to know her killer, as there was no sign of forced entry. How long did you stay at the pub the night she died?’

  ‘I don’t know. About an hour, I suppose. Maybe a bit longer.’

  ‘Until just after seven?’

  ‘About that, yes.’

  ‘Then you went home?’

  ‘Yes. I told you.’

  ‘There you are, then. You could be lying. You’ve got no alibi at all.’

  Conran reddened and his hand tightened on his glass. ‘Now just wait—’

  But Banks ignored Conran completely and went to the bar for another drink. The director certainly seemed jumpy. Banks wondered why. Maybe it was just his artistic temperament.

  When he got back to the table, his seat had been taken by a distraught Sir Toby Belch, who seemed to think his part could do with some expansion (perhaps to match his stomach) despite the limitations Shakespeare had imposed.

  Banks managed to squeeze himself in between Teresa Pedmore and Faith Green, not a bad place to be at all. Teresa was deep in conversation with the man on her right, so Banks turned to Faith and complimented her on her rendering of Viola’s soliloquy. She blushed and replied quickly, her breathy voice pitched quite low.

  ‘Thank you. It’s very difficult. I have no formal training. I’m a schoolteacher and I do like to get involved with the plays the department puts on, but . . . It’s so difficult doing Twelfth Night. I have to remember that I’m really a woman dressed as a man talking about a woman who seems to have fallen in love with me. It’s all very strange, a bit perverted really.’ She put her hand to her mouth and touched Banks’s arm. ‘Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that, should I? Not after poor Caroline . . .’

  ‘I’m sure she’d forgive you,’ Banks said. ‘Did you have any idea of her sexual inclinations before her death?’

  ‘None at all. None of us did. Not until I read about it in the papers. If you’d asked me, I’d have said she was man-mad.’

  ‘Why?’

  Faith waved her hand in the air. ‘Oh, just the way she behaved. She knew how to string a man along. A woman knows about these things. At least, I thought I did.’

  ‘But you never actually saw her with a man?’

  ‘Not in the way you mean, no. I’m talking about her general effect, the way she could turn heads.’

  ‘Did you notice any personality conflicts among the cast? Especially involving Caroline.’

  Faith rubbed one of her long, blue tear-drop earrings between her finger and thumb. She was probably in her early twenties, Banks thought, with especially beautiful silvery hair hanging in a fringe and straight down to her shoulders. It looked so vibrant and satiny he wanted to reach out and touch it. He was sure sparks would fly if he did. Her eyes were a little too close together and her lower lip pouted a bit, but the total effect had an interesting kind of unity. As he had noticed on the stage, she was tall and well-formed. It would be difficult, without very good costumes, to conceal the fact that Faith Green was all woman.

  She leaned closer to speak to Banks and he smelled her perfume. It was subtle, and probably not cheap. He also smelled the Martini Rossi on her breath.

  ‘I didn’t notice anything in particular,’ she said, flicking her eyes towards the rubicund Sir Toby and Malvolio, who looked like an undertaker’s assistant, ‘but some of the men aren’t too keen on Mr Conran.’

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’

  ‘I think they’re jealous.’

  ‘But the women like him?’

  ‘Most of them, yes. And that’s partly why the others are jealous. You’d be surprised what shady motives people have for joining in amateur events like this.’ She widened her eyes and Banks noticed that they were smiling. ‘S-e-x,’ she said. ‘But he’s not my type. I like my men dark and handsome.’ She looked Banks up and down. ‘Not necessarily tall, mind you. I don’t mind being bigger than my boyfriends.’

  Banks noticed the plural. Surely there had never been schoolteachers like this in his time?

  ‘I hear there was something between Mr Conran and Olivia – Teresa, that is.’

  ‘You’ll have to ask her about that,’ Faith said. ‘I’ll not tell tales on my friends out of school.’ She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Can you tell me anything more about Caroline?’

  Faith shrugged. ‘Not really. I mean, I hardly knew her. She was beautiful in a petite, girlish sort of way, but I can’t say she made much of an impression on me. As I said before, I thought she was a bit of a flirt, myself, but I don’t suppose she could help the way the men flocked to her.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘No, just in general, really. Most of the men seemed to like being with her, including our director.’

  ‘Did he make a pass at her?’

  ‘No, he’s too subtle for that. He plays the shy and vulnerable one until women approach him, then he reels them in. At least he did with Teresa.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Look, I am telling tales out of school. How do you do it?’

  Banks smiled. ‘Professional secret. So in your opinion, Caroline Hartley was a flirt, but nothing ever came of it?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose that’s how she kept them at bay.’ Faith shook her head and her hair sparked like electricity. Maybe I was blind, but I’m damned if I could see what she really was.’

  ‘What did you think of her as an actress?’

  Faith traced a ring around the top of her glass. ‘She was young, inexperienced. She had a long way to go. And it was only a small part, after all. Young Maggie over there’s taken it on now.’ She nodded towards a serious-looking young woman sitting next to Conran.

  ‘But
she was talented?’

  ‘Who am I to say? Perhaps. In time. Look—’

  ‘Did anything odd happen at rehearsal the day Caroline was killed? Does any incident stand out in your mind, however petty it might have seemed at the time?’

  ‘No, not that I remember. Look, will you excuse me for a min? Have to pee.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Banks waited a moment or two, then attracted Teresa Pedmore’s attention. Her hair was as dark as Faith’s was silver. She had the healthy complexion of a young countrywoman, and it didn’t surprise Banks to discover that she was a milkman’s daughter from Mortsett, now working in the main Eastvale Post Office and living in town. But that was where her rusticity ended. The haughty tilt of her head when she spoke and her fierce dark eyes had nothing to do with simple country life. There was an aura of mystery about her; Banks found its source hard to pin down. Something to do with the economy of her body language, perhaps, or the faintly sardonic tone of her voice. And she was ambitious; he could sense that from the start.

  ‘It’s about Caroline Hartley, isn’t it?’ she said before Banks could open his mouth. As she spoke, Banks noticed, she was looking over at James Conran, who was watching her with a frown on his face.

  ‘Yes,’ Banks answered. ‘Can you tell me anything about her?’

  Teresa shook her head. Coal-black hair danced about her shoulders. ‘I hardly knew her. Even less so than I thought at the time, according to the papers.’

  ‘I understand you were involved with Mr Conran?’

  ‘Who told you that? Faith?’

  Banks shook his head. ‘Faith was subtly evasive. Were you?’

  ‘What if I was? We’re both single. James is fun once you get to know him. At least he was.’

  ‘And did Caroline Hartley spoil that fun for you?’

  ‘Of course not. How could she?’

  ‘Didn’t he switch his attentions from you to her?’

  ‘Look, I don’t know who’s been telling you all this, but it’s rubbish. Or are you just making it up? James and I ended our little fling ages ago.’

  ‘So you weren’t jealous of Caroline?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘How did Caroline behave among the other women in the cast?’