A Dedicated Man

THREE

During the intermission, Penny Cartwright walked by Banks on her way out of the pub and flashed him a cool smile of acknowledgment. Barker, following closely behind her, nodded and bowed to Harriet and Sandra.

‘She’s so talented and beautiful,’ Sandra said after they’d gone. ‘Surely she can’t be one of your suspects?’

Banks just told her that Penny had been a friend of the victim, and Sandra left it at that. The four chatted about the music, which they had all enjoyed, ordered more drinks, suffered through a mercifully short set of contemporary ‘protest’ folk music, and awaited Penny’s second set. She came back at ten fifteen and walked straight to the stage.

This time there was a new, slightly distant quality in her performance. She was still involved in what she did, but it didn’t have the same emotional cutting edge. Banks listened to the ballads and was struck by the parallel that he was dealing with exactly the same kinds of feelings and events that the old songs were forged from. And he wondered how the ballad of Harry Steadman would end. Nobody would be ‘hung high’, of course, not these days. But who would the killer turn out to be? What was his motive, and what would be Banks’s own part in the song? All of a sudden, it seemed as if he was in another century, and that this beautiful young woman in the spotlight, life’s disappointments and cruelties showing just enough in her voice to intensify her beauty, was singing a tragic ballad about the murder of Harry Steadman.

The sharp change to a brisk singalong tune snapped him out of his reverie, and he finished off his drink, noting that he immediately felt impatient for another. He was drunk, or at least tipsy, and it wasn’t far off closing time. If Barker was in love with the girl, and if there had been anything between her and Steadman… If Ramsden still… If Mrs Steadman knew… If Steadman and his wife hadn’t been quite as close as everyone made out… The random thoughts curled like pipe smoke and evaporated in the air.

When the set ended to loud and prolonged applause, Banks caught the passing waiter and ordered another pint for himself and a half for David. Sandra looked at him with a hint of reprimand in her eyes, but he just shrugged and grinned foolishly. He had never had a problem with alcohol, but he knew he could sometimes be quite adolescent in his consumption of numerous pints. He could tell that Sandra was worried he might make an idiot of himself, but he knew he could handle his drink. He hadn’t had all that much, anyway. There might even be room for another one if he had time.