A Dedicated Man

THREE

The two men walked slowly along Helmthorpe High Street deep in conversation. Banks had one hand in his trouser pocket, and the other held a light sports jacket slung casually over his shoulder. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up above the elbows and he had loosened his tie enough to allow him to open his top button. Banks hated ties, and wearing them loosely was his way of compromising. He walked with his head bowed, listening to Hatchley, who towered beside him. The sergeant had both hands clasped behind his back and his head was tilted back on his thick neck as if he were examining the rooftops; a well cultivated beer belly hung over his tight belt. The weather was still undecided, and the sun popped in and out between quick-moving clouds that raced over on the wind and cast their shadows across the bright face of Crow Scar.

‘Said he was in a bit of a state,’ Hatchley went on. ‘Shook up, like. Downed a quick double Scotch and went on his way.’

The scrap of information Constable Weaver had been so eager to impart was that the barman of the Dog and Gun had told him Steadman had dropped in just after ten o’clock on Saturday night. He hadn’t come forward earlier because he had been away fishing in Scotland and hadn’t even heard about the murder.

‘I can tell you the reason for that,’ Banks said, and proceeded to tell Hatchley about his interview with Major Cartwright. This took some of the wind out of the sergeant’s sails, and he muttered a surly ‘No’ when Banks asked him if there had been any other developments.

Hatchley began to smile again, however, as soon as he sniffed the beer fumes and tobacco smoke in the Bridge. They sat at the same scarred table as they had on their previous visit, and soon had two pints of Theakston’s bitter before them and two steak and mushroom pies on order.

‘Steadman could have gone back to the cottage though, couldn’t he?’ Hatchley said. ‘Maybe he came to the boil when he thought about how he’d let the major walk all over him, so he went back to settle things. We can’t rule him out yet, or the girl.’

‘No, we can’t. Steadman could have waited for the coast to clear and gone back to finish what he and Penny had started before they were interrupted. The major’s certainly very protective towards her.’

‘From what I hear,’ Hatchley said with relish, ‘she always was a bit of a wild ’un. Running off to London, hanging about with those freaks and musicians. There were probably drugs involved, too, and I doubt she was very careful about who she hopped in and out of bed with. I think if she were a daughter of mine I’d keep her on a short leash after that.’

‘But the woman’s twenty-six years old. Besides, Steadman was a safe enough companion, wasn’t he?’

Hatchley shrugged. ‘As far as we know he was. But there could be more to it.’

‘Oh, there’s more to it all right. There’s always more to things like this. As far as Penny Cartwright’s concerned, there are two points in her favour. First, the old woman didn’t hear anyone else call at the cottage later, and she says Penny didn’t go out either; and second, I doubt that she was strong enough to drag the body to its hiding place.’ Banks was about to add that he had also been convinced by Penny’s genuine display of affection for Steadman, but he knew it wasn’t the kind of evidence Sergeant Hatchley would appreciate. Besides, the spell of her presence had worn off, and he was beginning to wonder if she was not just a consummate actress. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘she could have had help with the body; and there is a back door, so the old woman might not have heard if she was in the front room.’

‘Do you think the Cartwright girl really was having it off with Steadman, then?’ Hatchley asked.

‘I don’t know. You can never tell about things like that. Sometimes couples can be having affairs for years and nobody knows.’

‘Why else would he be hanging around her?’

‘There is such a thing as friendship, you know.’

‘In a pig’s eye,’ Hatchley muttered.

The pies came and the two men ate silently until their plates were empty.

‘Steadman had a lot of money,’ Banks said, reaching for his second pint. ‘And his wife stands to inherit. I’d say that was a pretty good motive, wouldn’t you?’

‘But we know she couldn’t have done it,’ Hatchley objected. ‘I mean, why complicate something that’s difficult enough already?’

‘She could have hired someone.’

‘But Helmthorpe isn’t New York or London.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I once knew of a chap in Blackpool who had a price list – arms fifty quid, legs seventy-five and so on. Mind you, his rates have probably gone up a bit with inflation now. It’s naive to think that kind of thing is restricted to the south, and you should bloody well know that as well as anyone. Are you telling me there’s no one in Eastvale would take a job like that? What about Eddie Cockley, for one? Or Jimmy Spinks? He’d slit his own mother’s throat for the price of a pint.’

‘Aye,’ said Hatchley, ‘but how would a woman like Mrs Steadman get mixed up with the likes of Cockley and Spinks?’

‘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.