A Dedicated Man

FIVE

The storm finally broke at about five a.m. Sharp cracks of thunder woke Banks from a vaguely unpleasant dream. He had a dry mouth and a thick head. So much for control. But at least he hadn’t made a fool of himself; that he remembered.

Careful not to disturb Sandra, he walked over to the window and looked out on the back garden just in time to see a jagged bolt of lightning streak from north to south across the sky. The first few drops of rain, fat and heavy, came slowly. They burst at intervals on the windowpane and smacked against the slates of the sloping tool shed roof; then they came more quickly and slapped against the leaves of the trees that lined the back alley beyond the garden gate. Soon the rain was coursing down the window and over the slates into the gutter before it gurgled down the drainpipe.

Banks made his way to the bathroom, took two Panadol tablets and went back to bed. Sandra hadn’t woken and the children remained silent. He remembered when Tracy had been afraid of storms and had always run to her parents’ bed, where she nestled between them and felt safe. But now she knew what caused the electrical activity – knew more about it than Banks did – and the fear had gone. Brian had never really cared either way, except that an evening thunderstorm meant the television had to be unplugged sometimes in the middle of his favourite programme. It was something Banks’s father had always done, and Banks followed suit without really knowing why.

The steady rhythm of the rain and the sudden release from tension that the start of a storm brings helped Banks to drift uneasily off to sleep again. Only seconds later, it seemed, the alarm clock rang and it was time to get ready for work.

When Banks arrived at the station, he was surprised to find an unusual flurry of activity. Superintendent Gristhorpe was waiting for him.

‘What’s going on?’ Banks asked, hanging his wet mackintosh in the cupboard.

‘A young girl’s been reported missing,’ Gristhorpe told him, bushy eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

‘From Eastvale?’

‘Get yourself some coffee, lad. Then we’ll talk about it.’

Banks took his mug to the small lunch room and poured himself a cup of fresh black coffee. Back in the office, he sat behind his desk and sipped the hot drink, waiting for Gristhorpe to begin. He knew there was never any point in hurrying the superintendent.

‘Helmthorpe,’ Gristhorpe said finally. ‘Local bobby down there, Constable Weaver, got woken up by worried parents just after the storm broke. Seems their young lass hadn’t come home, and they were worried. The mother said she sometimes stayed out late – she was at that age, sixteen or so – so they hadn’t worried too much earlier. But when the storm woke them and she still wasn’t back… Apparently she’s not done anything like that before.’

‘What’s the girl’s name?’

‘Sally Lumb.’ The words sounded flat and final in Gristhorpe’s Yorkshire accent.

Banks rubbed his face and drank some more coffee. ‘I was talking to her just the other day,’ he said at last. ‘In here. She came to see me.’

Gristhorpe nodded. ‘I know. I saw the report. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Attractive young girl,’ Banks said, almost to himself. ‘Looked older than she was. Sixteen. Interested in acting. She wanted to get away to the big city.’ And all of a sudden he thought of Penny Cartwright, who had been to so many big cities only to return to Helmthorpe.

‘We’re covering that angle, Alan. You know as well as I do how most of these cases turn out. In all likelihood she’s run off to Manchester or London. Her mother told Weaver there’d been a few rows at home lately. Seems the lass didn’t get on too well with her father. She probably just took off somewhere.’

Banks nodded. ‘Most likely.’

‘But you don’t believe it?’

‘I didn’t say that, sir.’

‘No, but you sounded like it.’

‘Shock, I suppose. There could have been an accident. She goes off with her boyfriend. You know, they find isolated places where they can kiss and cuddle. That area’s full of old lead mines and gullies.’

‘Aye, it’s possible. For the moment we’ll just have to assume it’s either that or she’s run off. We’ve wired her description to all the big cities. I just hope to God we’ve not got a sex killer on our hands.’ He paused and looked through the window, where the steady downpour had almost emptied Market Street and the square. Only a few shoppers soldiered on under umbrellas. ‘Trouble is,’ he went on, ‘we can’t organize search parties in this kind of weather. Too bloody dangerous by far up on the moors and valley sides.’

‘What do you think’s happened?’ Banks asked.

‘Me?’ Gristhorpe shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Alan. Like I told you, I’ve been reading through that interview report again and I can’t really see as she gave us any valuable information. She just helped us pinpoint the time the body was dumped, that’s all. She didn’t actually see anything.’

‘You mean she wasn’t a danger to anyone – to our killer?’

‘Aye. Naturally you make connections when something like this happens. You’d be a poor copper if you didn’t. But you can’t let it get in the way. As it stands now, we’ve still got a murder to solve and we’ve got a missing girl to cope with, too.’

‘But you do think there might be a connection?’

‘I hope not. I bloody hope not. It’s bad enough knowing there’s someone who killed once out there, but a hell of a lot worse thinking they’d go as far as to kill a kid too.’

‘We can’t be sure she’s dead yet, sir.’

Gristhorpe looked at Banks steadily for a few moments then turned back to the window. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Was there anything else? Anything else to link her to the Steadman case?’

‘Not that I know of. The only time I saw her was when she came to tell me about hearing the car. I got the impression that she went away distinctly dischuffed with me for giving up the bright lights. We had Willy Fisher in at the time, too. He put up a bit of a struggle with two uniformed lads, and I think that unnerved her a bit.’

‘What are you getting at, Alan?’

‘I don’t know, really. But maybe if she did figure anything out, she might not have come to me with it.’

‘You can’t blame yourself for that,’ Gristhorpe said, rising wearily to leave. ‘Let’s hope she’s run off somewhere. The link’s got to be pursued, though. Were you thinking of going to Helmthorpe today?’

‘No. It’s so bloody miserable outside I thought I’d go over the paperwork again. Why?’

‘The paperwork can wait. I’d feel easier if you did go.’

‘Of course. What do you want me to do?’

‘Have a word with the boyfriend, for a start. Find out if he saw her last night, or if not, why not. And Weaver tells me she hung around the coffee bar with three other girls. You might have a chat with them. Weaver will give you the names and details. Be as casual as you can. If she knew anything, or had any theories, she’s far more likely to have told her friends than her parents. No need to trouble them.’ Banks was relieved. Twice before he had had to spend time with the parents of missing children and he could think of no worse task.

‘I’ll take care of the rest,’ Gristhorpe added. ‘We’ll be getting search parties organized as soon as this rain slackens off a bit.’

‘Should I leave now?’ Banks asked.

‘No hurry. In fact, it might be better if you held off till mid-morning. I don’t know a lot about teenage lasses, but I shouldn’t imagine they’ll be up and about right now. It might be best if you can find them in the coffee bar. It’ll be a more comfortable environment for the kind of chat you want, and you’ll get them all together.’

Banks nodded. ‘You’ll keep me up to date, sir?’

‘Yes, of course. Just check in with Weaver. I’ll send Sergeant Hatchley on later, too. He’s busy getting the girl’s description around the country right now.’

‘Just a small point,’ Banks said, ‘but it might be a good idea if you had someone get in touch with theatre companies, drama schools, that kind of place. If she has run off, the odds are she’s headed for the stage.’

‘Aye,’ Gristhorpe said, ‘I’ll do that.’ Then, looking tired and worried, he left the office.

Outside, it was still pouring bucketfuls on to Market Street and looked as if it would never stop. Banks stared down at the shifting pattern of umbrellas as pedestrians dodged one another crossing the square on the way to work. He scratched his chin and found a rough patch the electric razor had missed. Gristhorpe was right; they had to think in terms of a connection with the Steadman business. It had to be pursued quickly, as well, and the irony was that they had to hope they were wrong.

Banks looked over Sally Lumb’s interview transcript and tried to visualize her as she had sat before him. Was there something she hadn’t told him? As he read the printed words he had written up from his notes, he tried to picture her face, remembering pauses, changes in expression. No. If there was anything else, it must have occurred to her after the interview, and she might then have gone to the wrong person with her information or ideas. Banks tried to stop himself imagining her battered body stuffed down a disused mineshaft, but the images were hard to dismiss. Sally may have been eager to move away to the big city but she had struck him as a sensible girl, even calculating – the kind who would make a clean and open move when the right time came. According to her mother, nothing dramatic had happened at home to make her run away. Rows were common enough surely, and, if anything, the parents seemed too liberal. Banks remembered the curfews (broken, many of them) of his own adolescence as he tried to coax his pipe alight. The blasted thing remained as reluctant as ever. In a sudden flash of anger and frustration, he threw it across the room and the stem snapped in two.