A Dedicated Man

FIVE

It was about six thirty, after what passed for rush hour in that part of the country, when Banks pulled into Helmthorpe’s main car park. He had attended the brief inquest, given the press a snippet or two of information, and managed a quick dinner at home with Sandra and the kids.

Penny Cartwright was washing up the dinner dishes and enjoying the play of evening sunlight as it reflected from the shiny surfaces and skittered about the walls. When she heard a knock at the front door she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and went to answer it. She knew immediately that the dark-haired wiry man standing there was the policeman Barker had told her about. She hadn’t expected him to be so good-looking, though, and immediately felt unattractive in her apron with her hair tied back in a long ponytail.

‘You’d better come in,’ she said. ‘We wouldn’t want to give the neighbours too much to talk about.’ She pointed him to a worn armchair and slipped into the kitchen, where she quickly divested herself of the stained apron, untied her hair and brushed it swiftly so that it fell around her face and spilled over her shoulders.

If Banks was struck by the abrupt casual manner of his hostess, he was also struck by her beauty. She looked good in close-fitting jeans, and her striking hair framed a proud, high-cheekboned face without a trace of make-up. The combination of jet-black hair and sharp blue eyes added to the stunning effect.

Penny sat in a straight-backed chair by a writing table and asked Banks what she could do for him.

He began casually, trying to establish a friendly tone: ‘Maybe nothing, Miss Cartwright. I’m just talking to Mr Steadman’s friends, trying to get some idea of what he was like.’

‘Do you really need to know?’ Penny asked. ‘I mean, do you care?’

‘Perhaps not in the way that you do,’ Banks admitted. ‘After all, I didn’t know him. But it might help me to find out who killed him. And I care about that. Obviously somebody did, but all I’ve heard so far is how wonderful he was – the kind of man who didn’t have an enemy in the whole wide world.’

‘What makes you think you’ll get anything different out of me?’ Penny asked. Her lips curved slightly in a mocking smile.

‘Just fishing.’

‘Well, you won’t catch anything, Inspector. Not from me. It’s all absolutely true. I can’t imagine for the life of me who’d want to do a thing like that to him.’

Banks sighed. It was going to be a difficult evening. ‘Fortunately, Miss Cartwright,’ he said, ‘it’s not your life we’re concerned about, it’s Mr Steadman’s. And somebody brought that to an abrupt and cruel end. Do you know anything about his business affairs?’

‘Do you mean that fuss over Crabtree’s Field? Really, Inspector, does Teddy Hackett strike you as the murdering kind? He wouldn’t have the guts to kill a worm if his life depended on it. He might be a ruthless businessman – though the competition around here isn’t much cop and, if you ask me, he’s got by more on good luck than good management – but a killer? Hackett? Never.’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘Oh, I know. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,”’ she quoted.

‘It might not be a serious possibility,’ Banks went on, ‘but it’s the only one we’ve got so far.’

‘Typical bloody police, that is,’ Penny mocked. ‘Crucify the first poor bastard that comes out less than squeaky clean. Still,’ she added, ‘Hackett’s no great loss to society. Not like Harry.’

‘How long had you known Mr Steadman?’ Banks asked.

‘Depends on what you mean by “know”.’ Penny lit a long filter cigarette and went on. ‘I first met him years ago when I was a teenager and he and Emma came up to Gratly for their holidays. They’d been two or three times before I got to know them through Michael. That’s Michael Ramsden. They stayed at his parents’ bed-and-breakfast place, the house they live in now. I was about sixteen, and Michael and I were sweethearts at that time, so, naturally, I saw them quite often.’

Banks nodded and sucked on his pipe. That archaic word ‘sweethearts’ sounded wonderfully erotic coming from Penny’s lips. It seemed unselfconscious, at odds with her tight and aggressive manner.

‘We went on walks together,’ she continued. ‘Harry knew a lot about the countryside and its history. That was his real love. And then… well. It was a beautiful summer, but it passed, as all summers do.’

‘Ah, yes. “But where are the snows of yesteryear?” ’ Banks quoted back at her.

‘It was summer; there wasn’t much snow.’

Again Banks noticed that tiny twitch of a smile at the corners of her pale lips. ‘That would be about ten years ago, wouldn’t it?’ he asked.

Penny nodded slowly. ‘Ten years, almost exactly. Yes. But things changed. Michael went to university. He was eighteen. I went away. Years passed. Harry came into some money and bought the house. I’d been back about eight months then – sort of return of the prodigal daughter. Black sheep. Most people had no time for me, but Harry always did.’

‘What do you mean they had no time for you? Where had you been? Why did you come back?’

‘That’s a long story, Inspector,’ Penny said, ‘and I’m not sure it comes under the heading of relevant information. Briefly though, I spent about eight or nine years away, in the music business. Mostly I was homesick, despite all the fun and a moderate amount of acclaim. Finally, I got very cynical, and I decided it was time to come home. People weren’t friendly because they can’t accept anything modern around here and they no longer knew how to behave towards me. I’m sure they made up stories to suit their opinions. They didn’t know who or what I was, so they made a lot of assumptions based on what they read in the Sunday papers about the music business – and I don’t mean the Sunday Times, either. To them I became a degenerate, a scarlet woman. In fact, I always had been – they couldn’t admit they’d ever been wrong about me. Does that answer your questions?’

She paused but didn’t look at Banks for a response. ‘It was very hard for my father, but he took me back. Why don’t I live with him? Is that what you were going to ask next? For my sanity, Inspector, my mental health. He’s just a bit too solicitous of my welfare, shall we say. And I think I’m a big girl now. It seemed best for both of us if I took this little cottage. Surely you can understand that?’

‘Of course. There were rumours, too, weren’t there?’

Penny laughed. ‘Oh, you know about that as well, do you? See what a nice close little community our village is? Well, don’t be embarrassed, Inspector, ask me. Go on, ask me.’

Her bright blue eyes glittered with anger. Banks said nothing. Finally, Penny gave him a scornful look and turned away to pull another cigarette from her packet.

‘So only your father and Harold Steadman were kind to you?’

‘Yes.’ Penny hesitated. ‘And Jack Barker, too. He’d been here a year or so by then, but he knew nothing of what had happened. Not that it would have mattered to him. He’s a friend, too.’

‘And now?’

‘Oh, now?’ Penny laughed. ‘People are beginning to say hello again.’

‘Do you still see Michael Ramsden?’

‘Not much. Only when he calls in at the Bridge or drops by with Harry. Sometimes when you drift apart you never really drift back together.’

‘And you can’t think of any reason why anyone would want to harm Mr Steadman?’

‘None at all. I’ve told you.’ Penny’s smooth brow creased in thought and she shook her head sadly. ‘He wasn’t greedy or scheming. He never cheated or lied.’

‘What did his wife think of your relationship?’

‘Emma? Nothing much, I should imagine. Probably glad to get him out of the way.’

‘Why do you say that? Were they unhappy together?’

Penny looked at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a stone and blew her smoke out angrily. ‘How should I know? Ask her.’

‘I’m asking you.’ Things were taking the kind of turn he had hoped to avoid, but with someone as anti-establishment as Penny Cartwright, he reflected, it was bound to happen. She had been toying with him all along. He pressed on: ‘Still no answer?’

‘I told you, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, what do you want me to say?’

‘Was their marriage normal?’

‘Normal! Ha! What the bloody hell does that mean? Yes, I suppose so. I’ve never been married myself, so I’m hardly the best person to ask.’

‘Were they happy?’

‘I should think so. As I said, I don’t really know. It’s not as if I was his confidante or his shoulder to cry on.’

‘Did he need one?’

Penny sighed and rested her head in her hands. ‘Look,’ she protested tiredly, ‘this is getting us nowhere. What do you want from me?’

Banks ignored her question and pressed on: ‘What were you to Mr Steadman?’

‘Harry and I were friends. Just friends; I told you. We had interests in common.’

‘And his wife didn’t object?’

‘She never said anything to me. Why should she? Harry never said anything, either.’

‘You do know her, then?’

‘Of course I bloody well know her. Harry and I weren’t carrying on a clandestine relationship, like you seem to think. I went to their house for dinner plenty of times. She was always very kind and charming. She was a good cook, too.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘When Emma was around?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nothing much. Just the usual stuff. She didn’t really share Harry’s passions. She likes music – mostly classical, though. Christ, what do you talk about when you go to someone’s house for dinner?’

‘Were you having an affair with Harold Steadman?’

At last, the inevitable question. And Banks felt a fool the moment it was out. If he had been expecting a burst of pent-up anger or a howl of derisive laughter in reply, he couldn’t have been more surprised. His question seemed instead to deflate the interview of all its mounting tension, and Penny gazed at him steadily, a spark of amusement in her sapphire eyes, as if, in fact, she had goaded him into bluntness.

‘No, Inspector,’ she said, ‘I was not having an affair with Harry Steadman, or with anyone else, for that matter. In fact, I’m not having an affair with Emma Steadman, or with my father, either. Everything is exactly as I’ve told you. I just didn’t feel that way about Harry, nor he about me, as far as I could tell.’ Banks thought Steadman must have been mad. ‘He didn’t excite me physically,’ she went on, lighting another cigarette and walking around the small room as she smoked it. ‘Only my mind, my imagination. And I liked him very much. I think he was a good man, a bright, sweet person. Perhaps I even loved him in a platonic sort of way, but that’s as far as it went.’ She tossed her hair back and sat down facing him, chin held high. Bright tears shone in her eyes but they never began to flow. ‘There you are, Inspector,’ she said with dignity. ‘I’ve bared my soul for you. Aren’t you pleased?’

Banks was moved by the obvious intensity of her feeling, but he didn’t want to let his disadvantage show.

‘When did you last see him?’ he asked.

Her eyes reflected a chain of options running through her mind. It was a phenomenon Banks had often observed in people who were trying to decide quickly whether to lie or tell the truth.

Penny opened her mouth, then closed it. She took a final drag on her cigarette, ground it out half smoked and whispered, ‘Saturday. Saturday evening.’

‘What time?’

‘About nine.’

‘After he’d left the Bridge?’

‘Yes. He dropped by here.’

‘Then why the hell didn’t you tell me before? You knew damn well you were holding back important information.’

Penny shrugged. ‘You didn’t ask me. I didn’t want to get involved.’

‘Didn’t want to get involved?’ Banks echoed scornfully. ‘You say you liked the man, that he helped you, and you couldn’t be bothered to help us try and find his killer?’

Penny sighed and began to wind a strand of hair around her index finger. ‘Look, Inspector,’ she said, ‘I know it sounds shabby, but it’s true. I don’t see how his visit to me could help you in any way. And, dammit,’ she flashed, ‘I don’t think I owe the police any bloody favours.’

‘That’s not the point. I don’t care about your personal feelings towards the police. What was important was the time. If nothing else, your information could help us pinpoint the time of the murder. When did he leave?’

‘About ten.’

‘Did he say where he was going?’

‘I assumed he was going to York. He’d mentioned it.’

‘But he didn’t mention any other calls he wanted to make first, any errands to run?’

‘No.’

It was another hour accounted for, anyway. Banks had nothing more to say; his session with Penny had exhausted him. She seemed irritated and the tension grew between them again, as tangible as a tightening hacksaw blade. Finally, Penny broke it.

‘Look,’ she began, ‘I’m sorry, I really am. I do care about Harry. The thing is that in my life involvement with the police has always meant trouble. I’ve never been involved in a murder investigation before, so I don’t know what matters and what doesn’t. When you’re a musician, young, in with a certain crowd, you get a very warped view of authority – police, customs men, immigration officials, security guards – they all seem against you; they’re all such a royal pain in the arse.’

Banks couldn’t help but grin. ‘Drugs?’ he asked.

Penny nodded. ‘Not me. I was never into it. Not in a heavy way. But you know how it is in London. There’s drugs all around you, whether you take them or not. Sure, I smoked a joint or two, maybe took some amphetamines to keep me awake on tour, but never the heavy stuff. Try and tell the drug squad that.’

Banks wanted to argue, to defend the police, but he was too tired and he knew there would be no point anyway. Besides, he also knew that the police were just like everyone else; a lot were bastards and a few weren’t. He had known a high-ranking officer in the drug squad who routinely planted illegal substances on people he wanted out of the way, and that was by no means rare or unusual behaviour. Also, he smelled something familiar in the air of Penny’s cottage. He knew what it was, but he didn’t care to pursue the matter any more than he wanted to tell her that his full title was Chief Inspector. People often got it wrong.

He stood up, and Penny walked to the door with him. He felt that she was seeking some kind words of reassurance from him, some forgiveness for acting in a way contrary to her feelings for Steadman. But he didn’t know how to give it. At the door he said, ‘I hear you sing, Miss Cartwright?’

‘Actually, it’s Ms,’ Penny corrected him, a playful smile lighting her eyes. ‘Yes, I sing.’

‘Locally?’

‘Sometimes. I’m at the Dog and Gun this Friday and Saturday. Competing with the disco in the Hare and Hounds.’

‘I’ll see if I can drop by, then,’ Banks said. ‘If nothing turns up.’

‘Feel free.’ There was a trace of doubt in Penny’s voice, as if she couldn’t quite believe that a policeman would be interested in traditional folk music, or in any kind of music for that matter.

Banks walked down the narrow cobbled street by the church wall, and as soon as he got to the corner he heard a hissing sound behind him and turned. An old woman stood at the door of the cottage next to Penny’s and beckoned him over. When he got close enough she whispered, ‘You’ll be that there policeman they’re all talking about.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Banks,’ he said, reaching for his card. ‘At your service.’

‘Nay, nay lad, there’s no need for that. I believe thee,’ she said, waving it aside. ‘Been talking to ’er ladyship next door, I see.’ She jerked a shrivelled thumb in the direction of Penny’s cottage. Puzzled, Banks nodded.

‘Did she tell ’ee about Sat’day night?’

‘What about Saturday night?’

‘I thought she wouldn’t,’ the old woman said triumphantly, crossing her arms with great satisfaction. ‘A proper ruckus there were. T’ old major near flung ’im down t’ garden path.’

‘Flung who?’

‘Why, ’im as got ’isself murdered,’ she announced with obvious relish. ‘I don’t ’old wi’ married men sniffing around young lasses. And she’s a flighty one, yon missy is, you mark my words. There again, though,’ she laughed, ‘t’ major’s mad as an ’atter ’isself.’

‘What are you talking about, Mrs…?’

‘Miss,’ she said proudly. ‘Lived seventy-one years and never saw t’ need for a ’usband yet. Miss Bamford it is, young man, and I’m talking about Sat’day night when Major Cartwright popped in on ’is daughter and caught ’er wi’ that murdered chappie. ’Bout ten o’clock, it were. Now, don’t ask me what they was doing, cos I couldn’t say, but ’e flew off t’ handle, t’ old man did. Told ’im not to come around no more.’

‘You mean the major physically threw Mr Steadman out of Penny Cartwright’s house?’ Banks asked, trying to get things straight. He was sure that something was bound to have got lost in translation.

‘Well, not in so many words.’ Miss Bamford backed down; her chin retracted deep into the folds of her neck. ‘I couldn’t see proper, like. Pushed ’im, though – and that chap so pale and weakly from shutting ’imsen up wi’ books all day and night. I’ll bet she didn’t tell you about that, did she, yon Lady Muck?’

Banks had to admit that Penny had not told him about that. In fact, he had backed away from the whole issue of her father after she had challenged him to be direct.

‘Did she go out afterwards?’ he asked.

‘ ’Er Royal ’ighness? No. T’ door banged about eleven, but that were t’ major.’

‘Surely there’s a back door, too?’

‘Oh, aye,’ Miss Bamford answered. She hadn’t missed his meaning.

Banks thanked her. With a smug smile on her wrinkled face, the old woman shut her door. After a quick and puzzled glance back at Penny’s cottage, Banks walked towards his car and drove home.