Bad Boy

11

BANKS MADE THE PHONE CALL TO ARRANGE FOR HIS accommodation on the way to Western Area Headquarters in the patrol car Winsome had arranged. Mrs. Haggerty was shocked by the recent shooting in the village. “In a policeman’s house, as well,” she said. “What are things coming to?” And she proceeded to tell Banks that the last, and only other, shooting they had had there was in 1942, when a local farmer mistakenly fired his shotgun at a tramp, thinking he was a German spy. The tramp suffered only minor injuries, and no charges were brought.

Luckily, the flat that she had let to Banks once before, when New-hope Cottage was being rebuilt after the fire, was vacant. An American couple had booked it, she said, but the husband had lost his savings and his job in the recent financial collapses over there, and they had had to cancel at the last minute. At least, Banks thought, he would be on familiar territory, and he did still have all the clothes and toiletries he had taken on holiday with him. There was a washer-dryer unit in the flat, he remembered, so he could have clean clothes again by tomorrow.

Western Area Headquarters seemed much more crowded than usual, but Annie’s shooting had cast a somber pall over the place. A number of officers nodded grimly to Banks as he walked in, and Winsome helped him carry his suitcase and hand luggage upstairs before heading for the Major Crimes squad room to check if there had been any developments.

When Banks opened his office door, he found that the space was already occupied. By this time, the shock and jet lag had eroded his patience to breaking point.

“What the hell are you doing snooping around my office?” he said, dropping the heavy suitcase and carry-on bag on the floor. “Get out.” Superintendent Reg Chambers remained seated behind Banks’s desk. “Welcome home,” he said. “Nobody told me you were coming in today, but now that you’re here we might as well have a little chat.”

Banks glanced around. Everything seemed as he had left it, as best he could remember, and he knew that he had locked his filing cabinets and drawers. There was a master key, of course, but Detective Superintendent Gervaise had that. And Chambers would never be able to guess his computer’s password. “I still want to know what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“My job, DCI Banks. I’m on an active investigation. That means I have the run of the station.”

“I don’t think so.”

Chambers waved his hand and stood up. “Mere technicalities,” he said. “Anyway, let’s not get off on the wrong foot. It’s the only quiet haven in the building. I needed a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all. Don’t worry, I haven’t touched anything. You can have it all to yourself again.” He picked up his folders from the desk. “I’ll go now.” Then he paused in the doorway. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Well, I would like a word with you… We could do it later, of course, but why not do it now, seeing as we’re both here? That is, if you’re up to it? I understand you’ve been on holiday?”

Banks walked over to the window and looked out over the cobbled market square. Reassuringly, it hadn’t changed. Then he turned and rested the backs of his thighs against the cold radiator. “Why do you want to talk to me?” he asked. “I wasn’t here. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Your name was mentioned. You know the people involved. You might be able to help.”

“I doubt it.”

“Even so…Look, I heard what happened to Annie Cabbot,” Chambers went on, a deep frown wrinkling his brow. “I’m really sorry. How is she?”

“Touch and go,” said Banks. He walked back over and sat in his chair, which was still unpleasantly warm from Chambers, and offered the superintendent the seat opposite. “Let’s do it now,” he said. He would rather have waited, but there was also a slim chance that he might pick up a useful scrap of information from a chat with Chambers. Besides, he wasn’t going to show the man weakness or tiredness; that was just the kind of thing Chambers fed on.

Chambers sat down and scratched his head. “Right, well, I suppose you must have some idea of what’s been going on around here in your absence?”

“I know,” said Banks.

“Yes, well, it’s my job to get to the bottom of it.”

“You’re after portioning out blame according to the demands of the media, that’s what you’re doing. Basic public relations. Let’s not try to dignify it. Remember who you’re talking to.”

“Well, if you’re going to take that attitude I can’t see us getting anywhere, can you?”

“Don’t get in a huff. It’s you who wants to talk to me, after all. Ask your bloody questions. And make it quick. Just remember, you’re not talking to some frightened probationary constable who’s forgotten to pay his tea money this week.”

Chambers puffed out his considerable chest. “It’s my brief to investigate the conduct of all officers concerned in the lethal discharge of a Taser against Patrick Doyle and the events leading up to that tragic occurrence. In case you don’t know, that incident happened on Monday morning at the home of the deceased during a routine police operation.”

“Routine? There was nothing routine about it from what I’ve heard.”

“Then perhaps you’ve heard wrong? Or you haven’t heard enough.”

“Anyway,” said Banks. “Like I said, I’m not involved. I was out of the country.”

“It’s my understanding that a woman came to this police station asking for you.”

“Juliet Doyle. Yes. I know her. But as I said, I wasn’t here.”

“In what capacity do you know her?”

“We used to be neighbors.”

“Is that all?”

“You’re trying my patience, Chambers.”

“So your relationship with the Doyle family was as a family friend?”

“Yes.”

“The daughter, too?”

“Yes. And Patrick was a good friend, so knock it off with the innuendos. There’s nothing there, and no reason for it.”

“I’m concerned as to why this woman should ask for you in person when she came to report an illegal handgun.”

“It’s natural enough to seek out someone you know in a difficult situation, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you think she did it because she expected special treatment?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my place to speculate as to motive. Or yours. As I said, a familiar face goes a long way if you’re upset.”

“Do you think Mrs. Doyle had any idea of the legal penalties involved in possessing a handgun?”

“I have no idea. Probably not. Most people don’t.”

“Because this is her daughter we’re talking about. And there’s no denying prison time would be involved.”

“She did what she thought was best.”

“That’s easy enough to say.”

Banks got up and walked over to the window again. The butcher over Market Street, to his right, was taking all the cuts of meat from his display window, and his assistant was scrubbing the trays. A last minute shopper dashed in through the door and the butcher looked up to smile and serve her. Banks turned to face Chambers. “Why are you asking me these questions? What do you hope to gain? I’ve already told you, I wasn’t here. You should be concentrating on the AFOs involved.”

“Don’t tell me my job.” Chambers thumped the table. “That woman asked for you specifically, and I want to know what you would have done if you’d been here.”

“Oh, that’s it,” said Banks. “We’re dealing in would-haves and what-ifs now, are we?”

“A man died.”

“You don’t have to remind me. He was my friend.”

“Could you have prevented it?”

“Could I? I don’t know. What does it matter? It would have been out of my hands. You want to know what I would have done? It’s easy. I would have got as much information as I could from Mrs. Doyle and tried to verify, then assess, the circumstances. In all likelihood I would have logged the incident, and it would have been passed on to our Area Control Room. The ACR would no doubt inform the Divisional Duty Inspector responsible for the area concerned, and she would, in turn, make the Force Duty Supervisor aware of the log. They would discuss the circumstances, and the Fsup would then ask that more information be gathered. Once that had been carried out, the Fsup would request that the DDI deploy a conventional double crewed response vehicle, ensuring that all officers have full Personal Protective Equipment. The Fsup would then…Do you really want me to go on?”

“No. That’s quite enough.”

“But that’s the procedure. Don’t try to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Chambers.”

“You wouldn’t have gone around there by yourself?”

“Well, that would probably have been the best course of action to take, wouldn’t it? They would have been expecting me, so they wouldn’t have felt threatened. Mrs Doyle would have been accompanying me, and she would have let me in, so I wouldn’t have had to break down the door. And I wouldn’t have been carrying a Taser or a weapon of any kind. But that’s not following the rules, is it? What the bloody hell did you expect me to say?”

Chambers looked fit to burst. He made a noise somewhere between a huff and a snort, then lumbered to his feet again. “You’re not being helpful, you know. You’re impeding the investigation. I’ll be making a note of this.”

“I’m not impeding anything. This is pure fantasy. What happened, happened. I was five thousand miles away or more. But you do that,” said Banks calmly. “You go ahead and make your notes. But before you do, be aware of one thing.”

Chambers paused at the door. “And what may that be?”

“Things have changed since you started this particular witch-hunt-”

“I obj-”

“A policewoman has been shot. Annie Cabbot. My friend. My partner.” He felt himself choke up and struggled for control. Even as he spoke the word “partner,” it sounded odd to his ear. Blame Dashiell Hammett and three weeks in America. He would normally have referred to Annie as his colleague, or oppo, or even as his DI, but “partner” sounded good. She was. He would use it from now on. He remembered a line from The Maltese Falcon about when a man’s partner gets killed he’s supposed to do something. Annie hadn’t been killed, thank God, but he still knew that he had to do something, and he could start by putting Chambers in his place. Annie would approve.

“A policewoman has been shot,” Banks repeated. “The media and the politicians won’t be all over the AFOs and their Tasers from now on. They’ll be on our side. The hue and cry will be about how many illegal handguns are floating around out there, and you will have nothing to gain from crucifying anyone inside the department.”

“That’s not what I-”

“So why don’t you think about that? Circumstances change. If you want to be a poster boy for the media, get with the game. And make sure you’re on the right side. Close the door behind-”

Just then there was a tap at the door. Chambers stepped back and Detective Superintendent Gervaise popped her head around. “Didn’t interrupt anything, did I? Ah, Superintendent Chambers, I see you’re finding your way around without any difficulty. Alan, welcome back. Fancy a cup of tea and a chat? My office. Now.”

TRACY COULD tell that Jaff was fed up with walking. He had been quiet and sulky for the past hour, no doubt trying to come up with a new plan, like growing wings.

They had been walking under cover of as many wooded areas as they could find, which were few and far between up on the moors, and as far from even the most minor unfenced roads as they could get. At one point they had spent over an hour walking along the narrow bottom of a weed-and-nettle-choked gully, getting stung all over. Surely somebody must have found the abandoned car by now and reported it to the police, Tracy reckoned. She wondered how long it would take them to link it with her and Jaff and Annie. Would they have Vic’s name on their records? How was Annie doing? Was she still alive? There were too many questions she couldn’t answer.

They had managed about eight or nine miles in all since they’d left the cottage, having driven only the first two before the car broke down, and they were now deeper into the moors than she had ever walked with her father. Tracy had lost the advantage of knowing the lie of the land. She hadn’t heard the helicopter again, and they were too far away to hear cars on the road. Not that there were any roads. To anybody seeing them from a distance they would probably look like a pair of ramblers, though closer observation would have revealed they were hardly dressed for the part, and that Jaff’s walking skills certainly left a lot to be desired. Most of the time he seemed to walk as if he were striding down a city street, Tracy thought, without paying attention to the land beneath his feet. Which was why he tripped and fell so often.

Tracy had been alert the whole time, but there hadn’t been a single opportunity to steal away without the certainty of Jaff ‘s catching her. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight for a moment; her failed escape attempt after the car broke down and the embarrassing experience that morning should have told her as much.

It was mid-afternoon when they came to the crest of a long grassy slope and saw the car park below. There was no village, no houses, only the half-full car park, with its public toilets, stone walls and Pay-and-Display machines, at the end of a rough track that wound away into the distance and disappeared over the next hill. On the far side a stile in the drystone wall led to a public footpath with a wooden signpost which stretched for several hundred feet then dipped into a wooded area and disappeared from sight. Tracy recognized where they were now. She had been here before.

“What the fuck’s that?” Jaff asked.

They lay on their stomachs looking over the brow of the hill. A blade of grass tickled Tracy’s nose, and she rubbed it. “It’s popular walking country around here,” she said. “I think that’s the car park for Rawley Force, a local beauty spot. A lot of people do a circular walk from there.”

“How long does it take?”

“About three and a half hours. Why, do you fancy trying it?”

“Don’t be fucking clever. But I do have an idea. We could practically be in London in three and a half hours.”

Tracy’s heart sank when she realized what he was saying. “You’re going to have to come up with something better than that,” she said. “Haven’t you realized that every copper in the country will be looking for you since you shot Annie Cabbot?”

“Stupid bitch asked for it.”

Tracy sighed. “I’m hungry,” she said, hoping he would admit to feeling the same way and delay what he obviously had in mind.

“Me, too,” he said. “But it’ll have to wait. Come on, let’s get closer.”

They kept behind the brow of the hill and made their way in a sweeping curve toward the car park. When they were directly above it, about two hundred yards away, Jaff commanded her to stop and lie low again. The deep cleft of a dried-up streambed ran beside them down the hillside. Jaff pointed to it. “If we go that way, no one will be able to see us from the road or the footpath. Can we get to the M1 from here? And don’t lie. I’ll soon find out, and you’ll regret it.” Tracy pointed to their left. “We have to take that track. It’s the only way out. I think it ends at a B road and we turn left to get to the A1. It joins the M1 further south, around Leeds.”

“Right. I know that part. That’s what we’ll do. And you’d better not be lying.”

Tracy started to get up, but Jaff pulled her down beside him again. “Don’t be too hasty. We wait till the next car turns up. That way we know we’ve probably got three and a half hours before they call the alarm.”

Resignedly Tracy lay on her stomach again. They didn’t have to wait long. It was a beautiful afternoon, just enough of a light breeze to take the edge off the heat you build up on a good long walk. An old white van pulled up, and a young man and woman got out. They wore walking boots and had tucked their trouser legs into their socks. They also carried sticks and rucksacks, and the man had some maps in a plastic bag hanging around his neck. “Perfect,” Jaff said. “Anoraks.”

“But how are you going to get it started? What about the alarm?”

“An old banger like that? Piece of cake.”

And it was. They scrambled down the streambed, Jaff only falling and cursing once, and approached the van. There was no one around. Jaff got the back doors open easily with one of the keys he carried in his pocket, and once inside, it took him no time at all to hot wire the ignition. The inside of the van smelled of paint thinner and sawdust.

“I can see you’ve done this before,” Tracy said.

Jaff grinned. “You could say that. Put it down to a misspent youth. I used to work for a bloke who collected luxury cars for shipment overseas. Know what I mean? Years ago. I was just a kid. Fresh out of uni. Some of the newer models are really tough because of all those computerized keys and alarm systems, but these things are a doddle. And it’s perfect. Everyone’ll think it’s a builder’s van. No one takes any notice of crappy white vans.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel and whooped, “All right! London, here we come!” Then they set off toward the A1.

“YOU LOOK terrible, Alan,” said Gervaise as they sipped tea in her office later that afternoon.

“Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” Banks said. “Only somehow I don’t think I’ll be getting one for a while.”

“I’m sorry about the cottage, but I’m sure you understand. We have no choice. We can arrange for alternate accommodation, if you like?”

“Not a problem,” said Banks. “It’s sorted. I could use a car, though.

Mine’s in the garage. At least I assume it’s still there?”

“It’s there,” said Gervaise. “Don’t worry. You can sign one out from the pool in the meantime. How are you doing, Alan? Seriously. I feel I should welcome you back, but I’m afraid it’s not much of a welcome.”

“I feel about as bad as I look,” Banks said. “You’re right about the homecoming. Seeing Annie there in the hospital, I…” He shook his head and turned away as his eyes filled with tears. Then he took a deep breath, felt his anger stir, and sipped some tea. “But I’ve got to hold it together somehow. It won’t do anyone any good if I go to pieces.”

“It’s not your responsibility to hold everything together. Perhaps you should go and catch up on sleep.”

“I really don’t think I could do that. Not with Annie at death’s door and Tracy out there with some homicidal creep. Could you?”

“Perhaps not. How was the holiday?”

“It was great. Really. Just what the doctor ordered. I’m sure it did me the world of good. A bit of a distant memory now, though.” It was hard to believe that only yesterday he had woken up beside Teresa in San Francisco, had breakfasted with her at the Monaco and waved good-bye as she left for the airport in her taxi. He had had time for one last walk around Union Square and a quick lunch at Scala’s Bistro, beside the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, before packing, checking out and heading for the airport himself. It had been a beautiful, fresh day. The blue skies, fluffy clouds and sweet, gentle Pacific breeze were no harbingers of what lay ahead.

“I assume you’re up to speed with what’s been going on?” Gervaise asked.

“Most of it.”

“This is a very delicate situation,” she went on, making a steeple of her hands. “We’re understaffed and overworked and, as you saw, we’ve got Superintendent Chambers breathing down our necks.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about him.”

“But I do. It’s very important that you don’t go charging in like a…a…”

“Bull in a china shop?”

Gervaise smiled. “I was trying to think of something less crude than the usual cliché, but that’ll do for the moment. Yes.”

“Softly, softly catchee monkey.”

“Good God, give it a rest. Look, you were out of the country when the shit hit the fan,” Gervaise went on, “so you might think there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t work on this. But there are three reasons.”

“Annie and Tracy, for starters?”

“Yes. You’re emotionally involved, and that should disqualify you from any active roll in these investigations. You also know the Doyles, don’t you?”

“Yes. Our kids more or less grew up together. Pat was a good mate, though I hadn’t seen him in a while. I’m gutted to hear what happened to him.”

“It’s a terrible business. You’re also very close to Annie, and we don’t know how deeply Tracy’s involved yet.”

“Surely the main thing right now is that she’s in danger, and that we need to find her?”

“Yes. Yes, of course it is. And we’re sparing nothing. Our budget’s already gone to hell in a handbasket. The local air search and rescue team is involved, and they’re sending the helicopter out again as we speak. But what I’m saying is that there might be some surprises ahead, and I don’t want you on a short fuse. I also don’t want you to give Chambers or anybody else even the slightest impression that you’ve been in a position to tamper in any way.”

“Tamper with what?”

“You know damn well what I mean. Fix things if it turns out your daughter is in this nasty business up to her eyeballs.”

“I appreciate your plain speaking on this, but I don’t think you know either me or my daughter as well as you think you do.”

“Don’t go all defensive on me, Alan. I don’t need that.”

“What do you expect? You accuse my daughter of being a criminal and me of being corrupt enough to tamper with evidence. Just what the bloody hell do you expect me to say?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Perhaps I went a bit too far. Put it down to pressure. These last few days have got everyone’s nerves in a tizzy. I was simply trying to stress that Superintendent Chambers is already dead set against you having any involvement at all in this. I’m going out on a limb here. I know damn well what you’re like. If I warned you off, you’d do it anyway, and that could cause problems for everyone. We can hardly lock you in a cell until it’s all over, and if you go off on your own half-cocked, God only knows how much damage you could end up doing. Now, I’ve talked to ACC McLaughlin, he’s talked to the Deputy Chief Constable, and we all agree that there are good reasons you should be brought in, assuming you want to be, but that you have to play down the personal angle. You have to toe the line. You can’t let your personal feelings drive you. Objectivity, Alan; that’s what we want from you. Your brain, not your brawn. Do you think you can manage that? We’ll all be keeping a sharp eye on you. And you have to stay away from the Taser business altogether. You must be aware of the risk we’re taking in doing this? Superintendent Chambers-”

“Chambers can go back to his kennel and lick his balls as far as I’m concerned.”

“An interesting image, but not one I care to dwell on. Look, I know there’s no love lost between the two of you, but he’s not without influence with the DCC, or even the chief constable.”

“People like him never are.”

“Alan, I’m trying to help you here!”

“I know. I know,” said Banks. “And I’m grateful. Yes, I want in. Yes, I’ll keep my personal feelings under control. I’ll behave myself. I’ll stay away from the Taser business, and I’ll try not to throttle the toe rag that’s got my daughter when I find him. No, I won’t tamper with any evidence. And I’ll try to keep out of Chambers’s way. Good enough?”

“It’ll have to be, won’t it? Shall we get down to business?”

“Absolutely. Anything more on the gun?”

“Yes. Naomi Worthing from Forensic Science Services rang me from Leeds a short while ago. She got the bullets that killed Marlon Kincaid from West Yorkshire Homicide and Major Enquiries. SIO was a Detective Superintendent Quisling. Retired now. Lives in Shipley. Better still, our killer also left the spent casings at the scene, so she’s got them, too. That should provide an exact match of gun and cartridges used in the crime when she gets back to the lab.”

“Prints?”

“Nothing new. No matches on IDENT1, and we checked them against Erin Doyle’s and her mother’s. No matches there, either.”

“We need to check them against Jaff McCready’s, too,” said Banks.

“It’s in motion. Leeds police are getting a warrant to enter his flat in his absence. They’ll get prints from some of his personal effects.”

“Ask them if they can find a photograph of him, too. The media…?”

“They’re still frothing at the mouth over the Taser incident and Annie’s shooting. Christ, Alan, it’s hard to believe, I know, but it only happened last night. Everything’s moving so fast. Anyway, that should distract them for a while, but not for long. They’re already watching us like hawks. We’re keeping a lid on this manhunt as best we can. Certainly on the fact that a senior police officer’s daughter is involved.”

“I appreciate that. But Tracy’s not involved; she’s been abducted.”

“Alan, there’s no concrete evidence of that yet, just the broken mobile.”

“You can’t tell me that Tracy would willingly have anything to do with the shooting of Annie Cabbot, or any shooting, for that matter.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. I’m with you on this. Stop being so bloody-minded. We have to play it carefully. As I said, we’re still keeping a lid on it. But they have a way…”

“I know their ways. It means we need to move even faster than they do. We also need to talk to Ian Jenkinson and-”

“Hang on, hang on, Alan. You’re going too quickly for me already.”

“Didn’t Winsome explain?”

“Explain what? She hasn’t had a chance to explain anything yet.”

Banks told her about the Marlon Kincaid murder, Ian Jenkinson and the connection with Ciaran and Darren, who were now looking for Jaff and Tracy, and who were connected with The Farmer, George Fanthorpe.

Gervaise whistled. “Curiouser and curiouser. Okay,” she said. “In the light of what you’ve just told me, you’re right. We do need to talk to Ian Jenkinson and to Detective Superintendent Quisling. I’ll send Doug Wilson and Geraldine Masterson.”

“What was Erin doing with the gun?” Banks asked. “I take it you do believe it belonged to McCready from the start, and that she didn’t come across it through some other means?”

“We don’t have any concrete evidence of that, and we haven’t charged her with anything yet. She’s on police bail. But that’s what we think. Annie thought so, and Winsome agrees. We’re still digging into McCready’s background. But we’re not sure why it was in Erin’s possession.”

“Well,” said Banks, “I’d guess that he either gave it to her for safekeeping, or she took it.”

“Why would he need her to keep it safe for him?”

“Maybe he was expecting trouble from the police?” Banks suggested. “We can ask Ken Blackstone in Leeds. Maybe he got nervous about having it around the flat in case he got caught doing something else he was planning, and they searched the place.”

“And if she took it?”

“Angry with him. Trying to make him mad, get his attention.”

“There is some evidence that they were involved in a dispute at a Leeds club the day before Erin arrived home with the gun.” Gervaise cleared her throat, then said, “I’m sorry, but there’s also evidence your daughter was involved in that dispute, too.”

“Tracy?” said Banks. “I hadn’t heard about that. How?”

“Jealousy.”

“Tracy and Erin were fighting over McCready?”

“Sounds that way.”

Banks put his head in his hands. Suddenly he felt more weary than he had ever imagined he could. “I thought she had more sense.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gervaise. “Not your problem.”

“Well, it is, actually.”

“What do you think happened?”

“From what I’ve been able to piece together, I think Erin and McCready ended up back at his flat after the fracas at the club. Maybe they made up, but somehow or other they got to fighting again, maybe the next morning.”

“And Tracy, at this point?”

“Home in her own bed. We think McCready was in Amsterdam and London over the weekend. It’s likely he left on Friday morning, and if Erin was alone in his flat for a while, she could easily have taken the gun out of spite and decided to go home for a few days to chill out, as they say.”

“That would explain why McCready didn’t go looking for her that weekend.”

“Yes. He didn’t know she had it,” Gervaise agreed. “He wasn’t home. And it probably wasn’t something he checked on every day, anyway.”

“Why did Tracy go to McCready’s flat in the first place?”

“We think she dashed over to warn McCready that the police might soon become interested in him.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Better perhaps. Why do you think?”

“The question assumes that Tracy knew he was dodgy, if she felt she needed to warn him.”

“Maybe she did.”

“How?”

“We’re pretty sure that McCready supplied a good deal of E to the club scene in Leeds. Maybe other things, too.”

“Are you suggesting that Tracy takes drugs?”

“Who knows? Maybe she does. Who knows what kids get up to, Alan? But my point is only that maybe she knew somehow that McCready was involved in drugs, and she liked him enough to want to warn him. Young people have different priorities.”

“Then she took off with him?”

“It appears that way. I suppose it seemed like a bit of an adventure. Nobody had been killed, or shot, at that point, remember-a least the news of Patrick Doyle’s death hadn’t been announced before the time they would have left McCready’s flat, and his death was a Taser-related accident, anyway.”

“I suppose if he’d chucked Erin and taken up with Tracy, that might explain some of it,” Banks mused. “Would Tracy have known about the gun? How much had been on the news by then?”

“We hadn’t given the media any information by then, but the TV cameras on the evening local news showed the AFO walking out with a gun-shaped object wrapped in a tea cloth. It wouldn’t have taken a lot of imagination to figure out what had happened, if they were watching.”

“So McCready would immediately check on his gun and find it was gone.”

“Yes. But he might not have told Tracy what the problem was. We just don’t know.”

“I can tell you one thing for certain,” Banks said. “Tracy might have gone with McCready willingly at the start, but she’s not with him of her own free will now, not after what happened to Annie. Tracy may make mistakes, maybe she even takes drugs and has rotten taste in men, but she’s a decent girl at heart. I ought to know.”

“I’m not here to argue with you, Alan. As a matter of fact, I agree that she’s in serious trouble, and probably in danger, too. I don’t say that to alarm you, and I wouldn’t mention it if I thought you didn’t know it already. We need to find them and bring this to a peaceful conclusion as soon as possible.”

“How’s the search going?”

“We need more men. There’s a lot of countryside out there.”

“Where?” said Banks.

“Well, you’d know better than I would, but we doubt they took the road to Eastvale from your cottage because they’d have been seen. The patrol cars sent in response to the call kept their eyes open. That leaves the moorland to the south and the wild areas to the north and west. We’ve had the helicopter out, but they spotted nothing. We’ll be doing more aerial sweeps as the day goes on. We’ve got men on foot, patrol cars, the lot. But as I said, there’s a lot of ground to cover, and they could have gone in almost any direction. Is there anything more you can tell me about Erin Doyle? Had you seen much of her lately?”

“Not a lot,” said Banks. “You don’t when they grow up, do you? I’m afraid I’ve been a bit neglectful of even my own daughter, too. Obviously. It’s been a hard summer. Personal problems.”

“So would it surprise you to hear that Erin had a reputation for running a bit wild?”

“No more so than any other attractive girl her age, I shouldn’t think. But no, I wasn’t aware she had that reputation.”

“Liked bad boys.”

“That’s hardly unusual.”

“It explains McCready.”

“You’re assuming she knew how bad he was.”

“If she took the gun and knew he dealt drugs, she had to have some inkling.”

“Are you suggesting that whatever he was into, Erin was involved?”

“It’s a possibility we need to consider. She was hardly an innocent bystander.”

“Tracy, too?”

“I’m not saying that. If Tracy does have any sort of relationship with McCready, it’s a very recent one. Maybe they just fancied each other, and he was tired of Erin Doyle. But he’s shown his true colors now. She can’t be too happy about it. She must know she’s made a very bad error in judgment.”

“I’m sure she does,” said Banks. “What’s going to happen to Erin?”

“No idea. She’s still not talking.”

“I remember when she was a little kid,” Banks said. “Erin. She used to wear pigtails and she had freckles across her nose and on her arms. Cute. I took her and Tracy to Blackpool Illuminations once. They loved it. Though I think it was more the staying up late after dark than the illuminations themselves. They both fell asleep in the car on the way home. Brian, too.” Banks shook his head to clear the memory. “Sorry,” he went on. “You’re right. It’s a bit close to home.”

“When Juliet Doyle came to report the gun, she asked for you.”

“So Chambers said. Made quite a big deal of it, in fact. But it makes sense to me. She knows me. Turning in her own daughter must have been a terrible decision for her.”

“Do you reckon she thought you’d go easy on Erin?”

“Probably,” said Banks. “But I’d like to think I could have defused the situation without anyone getting killed.”

“Maybe you could have, but you weren’t here, and hindsight’s no use to us now.”

The phone rang. Gervaise answered it, listened for a moment, then thanked the caller and hung up. “That was Winsome,” she said. “We’ve just had a bit of a break. We found the car. Or a car. Up behind your cottage, on the moors road.”

Banks gripped the arms of his chair. “Abandoned?”

“Hidden in the woods behind a wall. Local birdwatcher found it, remembered the news about the shooting and reported it. Preliminary examination indicates the gears were stripped.”

“So they’re out on the moors on foot. They can’t have got far.”

“Don’t get too excited. We can’t be sure it’s their car yet. Though there is confirmation of sorts.”

“What?”

“The last entry in Annie’s notebook. It was the car’s number plate.”

“She must have made a note of it when she dropped by my cottage.

Seeing a strange car there would have struck her as odd under any circumstances.”

“Maybe. But that’s all there was. A car number. No time, place, or date. She could have seen it anytime that day, or even before. This wasn’t her official notebook, you understand.”

“But still…it’s a bit too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Yes. We’ve got men out on foot and in patrol cars looking, as well as the search and rescue team. Now we can narrow our search, concentrate on the moors. But it’s pretty wild up there, as you know. It looks as if they may have spent the night in a ruined barn about three miles from the cottage.”

“What do you think?” Banks asked.

“I think a city boy like McCready will be feeling too exposed up there. Twelve miles of bad roads, or no roads at all for the most part. He’ll want to find the nearest large village or small town and probably steal a car. Head for the city.”

“Risky.”

“Everything’s a risk since he shot Annie. And the stakes are high.”

“I know,” said Banks. “The nearest village is Baldersghyll. It’s not very big, though.”

“The local station there’s been alerted. There’s more. The car’s registered to a Victor Mallory. Lives in Horsforth, Leeds.”

“Stolen?”

Gervaise shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe. But according to Winsome, Victor Mallory comes up on West Yorkshire’s radar as one of McCready’s suspicious cronies.”

“Any connection with The Farmer, or with Ciaran and Darren?”

“Not that we know of.”

“So Jaff borrowed the car from this Mallory?”

“Looks that way. It’s the best lead we’ve got so far.”

“Anyone talked to him yet?”

“The Leeds police are keeping an eye on his house for us. I thought, perhaps, it would be a good place for you to start. And while you’re down there, you could have a word with The Farmer, too. But tread softly.”

“I promise,” said Banks. “And thanks. I mean for letting me in on this. I won’t let you down.”

“Better not,” said Gervaise. “Or you’ll be the one in the kennel licking your balls. They’ll hurt so much.”

ON HIS way back to the office, Banks bumped into the female AFO officer he had met in the hospital. She looked as if she had been lurking in the corridor.

“Any news?” she asked as he opened his office door.

“Come in,” Banks said, and she followed him. “Sit down. PC Newell, isn’t it?”

Nerys sat. “Powell, sir.”

“Right,” said Banks. “I remember now. You must excuse me. I’m a bit jet-lagged. Usually I have a much better memory for names and faces.”

“That’s all right, sir. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I was just worried about Annie…about DI Cabbot, that’s all. I wanted to ask if you have any news.”

“No good news, I’m afraid. It’s just a matter of waiting, the doctor said. They’ll know more if she makes it through the first twenty-four hours.”

“You mean there’s a chance she might not?”

“There’s always a chance.”

Nerys bit her lip. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “I know that you and her were…you know. I know she means a lot to you.”

“It was a long time ago,” said Banks.

“Yes, sir. But I’m sure she still means a lot to you. You couldn’t just forget someone like her, could you?”

“If I might ask,” Banks went on, “why all the concern on your part? I mean, other than that for a fellow officer wounded in the line of duty?”

Nerys turned away and began to fidget. “Like I said at the hospital, sir, I feel a bit responsible. We were working together. And we talked. She gave me some advice. That’s all.”

“Responsible? How could you be?”

“I don’t mean it’s logical, sir. It’s just…you know…the call…the Taser.”

“You’re the officer who-”

“No, sir. It wasn’t me. That was Warby. PC Warburton. But I was with him. I’m his partner. He’s a mate.”

“Right. I see. And just how does that make you responsible for what happened to Annie?”

“It doesn’t. Not directly, sir. I just feel partly to blame. If things had gone differently…”

Banks leaned back in his chair. “Look, PC Powell,” he said. “If we all adopted that attitude we’d never get anywhere. If. If. If. I could just as well blame myself for not being here when Juliet Doyle came to see me. If I had been, things would have been different again, wouldn’t they?” And my daughter probably wouldn’t be God knows where in the grip of some psycho, or Annie lying in a hospital bed close to death’s door, he thought. “You were only doing your job,” he said. “Don’t start assuming the burden of guilt, second guessing. There’s no future in that.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, I’m not complaining. Everyone’s been very good. There’s lots of support. Lots of choices. It’s nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be.”

Banks smiled. He knew she meant Chambers, who liked to pride himself on the fact that his name and reputation went before him and sent a chill up everyone’s spine, put the fear of God in them. “Hang in there.”

“I’d like to help.”

“Help what?”

“The investigation. DI Cabbot’s shooting, the-”

“Hold on a minute,” said Banks. “Aren’t you under suspension?”

“No, sir. They offered me a spot of gardening leave, but I don’t want it. I don’t think we did anything wrong, and I want to keep working. There’s no requirement says I have to take leave or should be suspended. It’s just that nobody quite knows what to do with me, where to reassign me. And I like to think DI Cabbot is a friend.”

“I understand your position, believe me,” said Banks, “and I appreciate it. But it’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“For a start, you’re a PC and an AFO. You’re not CID or Major Crimes.”

“It’s not as if DC would be a promotion.”

“I know that. But those transfers take time, paperwork, official approval. And we don’t have time.”

“There must be something. I can do other things than just shoot guns. Temporary assignment? Surely there’s some way I could help?” She seemed so crestfallen and forlorn that Banks felt sorry for her. But there was nothing he could do. He knew he was already in a precarious position himself, and if he encouraged young PC Powell in her ambitions, he could get them both dismissed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s no place for you here right now. Besides, I don’t have any power in the matter. It’s not my case.”

“But you could put in a good word for me.”

“It wouldn’t be any use.”

“I’m a trained firearms officer. I’m good at what I do.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Banks, suppressing a smile, “but that’s another problem right there.”

“What is?”

“That you’re a firearms officer. And that you were one of the firearms officers who entered the Doyle house. Whether you agree with it or not, you and your partner are under investigation. Also, we don’t need an Authorised Firearms Officer on this case.”

“With all due respect, sir, this man you’re after is armed and dangerous.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“There are rumors…”

“What rumors?”

“Just stories going around. That your daughter is somehow involved. That makes you emotionally involved in the case.”

So the word was out. Banks wasn’t particularly surprised. In many ways, a police station was just like any other workplace. Rumors and gossip abounded. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” he said stiffly.

“I don’t, sir. But I’ve heard that this Jaff McCready is a nasty piece of work. If it was his gun at the Doyle house, and if he was the one who shot DI-”

“I’m sorry, PC Powell. Nerys. I’m really sorry, but we’re ending this conversation right now. I can’t give you what you want. I promise I’ll do my best to keep you informed about DI Cabbot’s progress, but that’s all. Do you understand?”

Nerys got to her feet and dragged them toward the door. “Yes, sir,” she said. “If you change your mind at all…”

“I won’t,” said Banks, and he stared thoughtfully at the closed door for almost a minute after she had left.

“YOU’RE USING the throwaway mobile, right?”

“Course, boss.”

“Okay. Go on.” The Farmer was walking his favorite path in his garden. It was a warm evening, but still he wore one of the chunky cable-knit jumpers he loved so much. The neatly trimmed hedges of topiary and crinkling sound the cinders made underfoot always calmed him down. Not that he needed it. He was confident that Ciaran and Darren would do their jobs and the Jaff problem would be dealt with quickly.

The only angle that caused him any worry at all was Banks’s daughter. He remembered Banks’s tenacity and realized he’d had a lucky escape last time they had crossed paths. It wouldn’t be so easy this time, especially if anything happened to the girl. Jaff could be a mad bastard-The Farmer had seen him at work-and if the girl became a liability, her chances weren’t very good. Banks would certainly connect him to Jaff in time, and had probably already connected him with Ciaran and Darren. They never usually left a trail of bodies behind them, which was usually a good thing, but it also meant that the girl they had talked to, Rose, would probably be able to identify them, and that would be enough for Banks. He was a tricky copper, and he wouldn’t give up this time. The Farmer had to weigh what the girl might know against the possible comeback on getting rid of her along with McCready before he came to his decision. If Banks got his daughter back alive, and if he knew that The Farmer had a hand in it, then a senior copper’s gratitude might not be a bad thing to have in the long run.

“We got a name,” said Darren. “Bloke by the name of Justin. Lives in Highgate.”

“That’s not much to go on, is it?” said Fanthorpe.

“He’s bent. Involved in people-smuggling and dodgy passports. An old mate of Jaff’s.”

“Well, well,” said Fanthorpe. “You need a bit of intelligence for fake documents and people trafficking, don’t you? Knowing Jaff, that probably means he’s a mate from public school or university. Isn’t that where you meet most of your dodgy friends?”

“Wouldn’t know,” said Darren. “Never went to either. Never went to the comprehensive much, either, come to think of it.”

“It was a rhetorical question, shit for brains.”

“What’s that?”

“You’d know if you’d been to school, wouldn’t you?”

“What do you want us to do now, boss?”

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” Fanthorpe reached the fountain where the four cinder paths met and stood for a few moments watching the bare-breasted mermaids around the edge spout water from their O-shaped mouths, and the little boy pissing at the center. Zenovia’s idea. “If this Justin’s bent,” he went on, “and if he’s involved in people-trafficking, the odds are that he traffics in other things, too. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? I mean, I do. If you’ve got the routes secured and the right people paid off, you use them. Am I right?”

“You are, boss.”

“Either way, Gavin Nebthorpe will know. He knows everyone in the business. Justin in Highgate, you say? Leave it with me, lads. I want you two to head down to London fast as you can. Set off now and you’ll probably be there before dark.”

“Where in London? It’s a big place.”

“I know it’s a big place, Darren. That’s why it’s the capital of the United Kingdom. That’s why the Houses of Parliament are there. Big Ben. Buckingham Palace. That’s why the Queen of fucking England lives there. I know it’s a big place.”

“Well. Where, then?”

“You’ll hear from me before you get there. Keep the throwaway turned on. If for any reason you don’t hear from me before you arrive, get yourselves a hotel. Something inconspicuous and anonymous. Out of the way. You’d stick out like spare pricks at a wedding in The Dorchester. You might be doing a bit of wet work down there. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, boss. We’re on our way.”

Fanthorpe ended the call and stood by the fountain, a frown creasing his brow, then he keyed in another phone number. As he waited for an answer, he looked at the fountain again. Little boy pissing, indeed. Silly cow.