Careless Love

5

‘Laurence Edward Hadfield,’ said Gerry as she and Annie hurried down to the police garage to sign out a car. ‘The cleaning lady’s waiting for us there. Her name is Adele Balter. She’s fifty-three years old, been cleaning for him for going on ten years now. Here, I pulled a picture of Hadfield from LinkedIn.’ Gerry passed her a thin file folder and Annie paused to examine it. An Internet image of Hadfield sat next to her father’s interpretation of Peter Darby’s crime-scene photograph. ‘Doesn’t it look like the same person?’

Annie agreed that it did.

Gerry drove, heading east out of town on the main dale road, and Annie relaxed in the passenger seat. It was Friday morning, and she was planning to attend an ex-colleague’s surprise fortieth birthday party in Ripon that evening. It promised to be quite a blowout, but with any luck, she would have a couple of days to recover. Weekends were notoriously slow in investigations, and unless there was an urgency or some sort of time factor involved in the case, most detectives tended to do what everyone did and take the weekend off. Either that or catch up with the paperwork.

‘Hadfield’s sixty-six years old,’ Gerry went on, from memory. ‘A banker by profession. Runs a private investment bank in the City. Or ran. He’s semi-retired, or whatever you call it when people like him hand most of the work over to others. He’s had his little hideaway in North Yorkshire for twenty years. It’s called Rivendell. He spends most of his time up there these days, but he still keeps a flat in Mayfair. Got his OBE eight years ago. Reputed to be extremely wealthy. No number, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, you certainly don’t get poor running a private investment bank,’ Annie commented.

‘Might make a few enemies as well,’ Gerry said.

‘Now, now. You know what the super said. Let’s not go seeing a murder where there’s no evidence of one. We don’t even know if he’s our man yet for certain.’

‘But it is all pretty dodgy, you must admit, guv. Reported missing around the same time we find an unidentified body of a male in his sixties dressed in an expensive business suit.’

‘Dodgy, yes. Murder, no. Not yet.’

Soon they had left the last housing estate behind and passed an area of allotments, dotted with ramshackle garden sheds, where in summer men worked their little strips of earth with their sleeves rolled up, or sat having a smoke and a chat beside the vegetable patch. Today, the allotments were deserted and bleak even in the winter sunlight. Ahead of them stretched The Leas, where the valley bottom widened and flattened and the river meandered through meadows made unseasonably green by the recent rains. Beyond, on the opposite side of the dale, they could see Lyndgarth high on the valley side, beside the ruins of Devraulx Abbey.

‘Well connected, by all accounts,’ Gerry went on. ‘Politicians, financiers, managing directors, that crowd. Even a rock star and a footballer or two. Liked mixing with celebrities, apparently. Generous with his charitable donations. Oxfam, Save the Children, War Child and so on. Or at least he was until the scandals hit.’

‘Any form?’

‘None. Brought up in front of the Financial Conduct Authority once. Suspicion of insider trading, I believe. Never got beyond a preliminary investigation. No charges. That’s it.’

Annie turned left at Fortford, by the Roman fort unearthed on the hill beside the village green, which still had its ancient stocks planted firmly at its centre. They had found a body there not so long ago, she remembered, and far worse had happened at St Mary’s, about half a mile out of the village, the previous winter. As they passed the church, Annie shuddered at the memory of the scene of the mass murder, bodies dead and wounded lying about the ancient country churchyard. Today it looked like any other innocent country church on a sunny day, except for the heaps of flowers by the lychgate. There were always flowers beside the lychgate now.

‘What about his family background?’

Gerry flipped a page in her folder. ‘Parents deceased. Twin sisters, three years younger than him. Wife died three years ago after a long struggle with cancer.’

‘Children?’

‘Uh-huh. Two. Son Ronald, age thirty-eight, following in father’s footsteps. Also works in the City. Lives in Hampstead with wife Olivia and two boys Rufus and Roderick, aged eight and ten.’

‘Poor sods,’ said Annie.

‘I know. I felt terrible when I lost my grandfather, even though we weren’t all that close.’

‘I mean their names. All the R’s. Wonder Olivia didn’t have to change hers to Regan or something.’

‘Oh, right. Yes. Well, with names like that they’d probably fit right in at Eton.’

‘Eton? Really.’

‘Oh, yes.’

Annie turned and flashed her a grin. ‘You said two children. Who’s the other?’

‘Daughter named Poppy.’

‘Good Lord.’

‘She’s the black sheep of the family,’ Gerry went on. ‘No banking for her. Went through a variety of jobs, played in a garage band for a while, tried acting but didn’t make the grade. There’s rumours of a couple of soft porn shoots. Hooked up with a bad-boy rocker, Nate Maddock — Mad Dog, they called him. Usual exploits. Drugs. Wrecked hotel rooms. Assault. Weapons charges.’

‘Weapons?’

‘Liked his guns, apparently, did Mad Dog.’

‘Liked?’

‘He’s dead. Two years back.’

‘Don’t tell me. Drug overdose?’

‘How on earth did you guess that?’

Annie looked over at Gerry and saw that she was grinning. ‘So what’s she up to these days, our Poppy?’

‘Nothing much. Gets an allowance from Daddy, makes the society pages occasionally, usually for getting photographed in some nightclub or other without her knickers. I get the impression she’s a sort of walking wardrobe malfunction. Got a supermodel for a girlfriend now. The latest accessory. All the rage. Nobody you’ll have heard of.’

‘Sounds like a barrel of laughs. I take it both offspring live in London?’

‘That’s right. I’ve already put a call through to the locals to get in touch with Ronald, see if he knows anything of his father’s whereabouts.’

‘And Poppy?’

‘Erm... well, according to Adele Balter, Poppy’s here already.’

Annie’s eyes widened. ‘Is she, indeed? Well, how interesting.’

‘I can’t say Adele sounded too thrilled about it.’

Annie drove on through the deep channel of the pass to the next dale south, taking an unfenced road to the south-west, not far from where she lived in Harkside. She then wound through some woods to the edge of the reservoir, easternmost in a chain of three, where Laurence Edward Hadfield’s house stood high on the northern bank. It was an ideal location, she thought, pulling up on the tarmac drive beside the house, which was hidden from the road by the woods, and faced south over the water to the rolling Pennine hills beyond. It was also far enough away from where his body was found that the officers making door-to-door enquiries hadn’t reached the area yet.

‘Well, here we are,’ she said, parking behind a shabby green Hyundai, in front of which a red sports car was parked diagonally. ‘Looks like Poppy got here before the char.’

Perhaps mansion would be a better word than house to describe the place, Annie thought. Laurence Edward Hadfield had to be a wealthy man indeed. Instead of the usual Victorian gothic pile or Elizabethan extravaganza, this was an art deco construction with a large rounded front covering all three floors. Some of the windows resembled large portholes. Built of reinforced concrete, most likely, the whole place was clad in white stucco and looked a bit like an iced cake. It had two wings, one extending from each side, also round-edged, and a separate, more functional double garage. The house was far too large for one person and could have doubled as an apartment building, Annie thought, housing a whole village of Syrian refugees.

They got out. Annie sniffed the air. It was fresh and cold. She could hear the reservoir, stirred by the wind, lapping against the bank below. Diamonds danced on the water’s surface. She heard the click of a door opening round the corner. ‘Right,’ she said to Gerry. ‘Gird your loins and let’s go and see how the other half live.’

‘Thanks for coming, Ray,’ Banks said after they had given their orders in the Black Bull in Lyndgarth. ‘And thanks for your efforts with Peter on the sketch.’ It was Friday lunchtime, and the pub was almost full, mostly with off-season tourists, who had parked their cars all over the village green. Banks was happy to have his familiar Porsche back, though it was looking distinctly old these days. Still, he’d never be able to afford a new one, so he would hang on to it until it fell apart.

‘You didn’t have to offer to buy me lunch to get me to meet you,’ Ray said.

Banks smiled. ‘My pleasure.’ He raised his pint. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

They both sipped some Black Sheep bitter, then Banks smacked his lips and said, ‘Thanks for dinner the other night, Ray. It was great. Zelda’s a fine cook.’

Ray’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know I made most of that meal?’

Banks laughed. ‘I complimented you often enough about your cooking when you were staying with me. This time, you can pass on my compliments to Zelda.’

‘It’ll go to her head.’

‘Better than it going to yours.’

Ray grunted. ‘So what is it you want to see me about? You want to argue Cipollina over Garcia or Kaukonen?’

‘No contest,’ Banks said. ‘Jerry wins hands down every time. But thanks for the Quicksilver. I enjoyed that. And the Donovan and Bridget St John. Haven’t listened to them in ages.’

‘I got the impression that my wayward daughter wasn’t too impressed by the music. Or the evening.’

‘Annie’s musical tastes run the gamut of A to B. That’s Abba to Beyoncé. I’ve given up on her as far as that’s concerned. She puts her hands over her ears if you play Dylan. As for the other stuff, give her time, Ray.’

‘Of course. But what is it? Doesn’t she want me to be happy? Surely she can’t be feeling it’s disrespectful to her mother after all these years?’

‘I don’t think it’s that, no. As I said, just give her time.’

‘Zelda was upset, you know, after you’d gone. She wants Annie to like her.’

‘So was Annie,’ said Banks. ‘With her it usually comes out as anger. Though I think she was more angry with herself than anyone else. Except me, maybe. Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

Their lunches arrived, two giant Yorkshire puddings filled with roast beef, vegetables and onion gravy. Perhaps not the healthiest meal around, but one of the tastiest, especially with a good pint to wash it down. The sounds of conversation and laughter rose and fell around them. Beyond the window, on the edge of the green, a group of ramblers with sticks and all the right Gore-Tex winter gear stood listening to someone giving them instructions.

‘So, what is it?’ Ray asked, after a bite of Yorkshire pudding and a swig of beer.

‘What we suggested to Zelda the other night, about trying to locate Phil Keane, or whatever his name is now.’

‘Oh, that.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d like you to tell her to stop, not to do it.’

‘You think she’ll listen to me?’

‘Make her listen, Ray. The man’s poison. He tried to kill me. Nearly succeeded. He’d have killed Annie, too.’

‘I know that. But you obviously don’t know Zelda. Once she gets her teeth into something she never lets go.’

‘I can understand that when it comes to the work she’s doing against the traffickers. But this isn’t her fight. And it’s too dangerous. Tell her to hand what information she has over to us, and we’ll pursue it through the proper channels.’

‘I don’t think Zelda trusts the proper channels. Besides, it’s not as if she’s going out on the streets to search for him herself. All she ever does is look at pictures. And she’s made it part of her fight now. She’ll ask around, that’s all.’

‘From what little you and Zelda told us the other night, Ray, I think you’re taking a pretty naive view of what Zelda does when she goes off on her little work trips.’

Ray put his knife and fork down. ‘What do you mean by that? What do you know about it?’

‘Doesn’t it worry you, her going off like that for days at a time?’

‘Oh, that. I gave up being possessive and jealous years ago. Especially as far as women are concerned. It only brings you grief. Besides, Zelda’s a free spirit. She can do what she wants. I’m just happy she seems to want to spend some time with me.’

‘Noble sentiments, Ray, and very sixties, love the one you’re with and all that, but that’s not what I meant. I know something about the kind of people she works for. They’re ruthless. They wouldn’t hesitate to put Zelda in harm’s way if it meant netting a big catch. And those are the good guys.’

‘That’s rubbish. She just sits in a room and studies pictures.’

‘That might be what she wants you to believe, but it must be more dangerous than that. She cares about you, Ray. She doesn’t want you to worry about her. Why do you think she does it?’

‘Because she feels she owes it to the victims. I don’t know all the details of her background, but I know she lost someone close to her to those people.’

‘I’m not quibbling with the work she does — that’s admirable — I’m just trying to set you right about the true nature of the kind of people who employ her. Don’t be so trusting about their motives. Or their methods. Not to mention the criminals they chase. What I am saying is that you have to try to persuade her not to go off half-cocked against someone like Phil Keane, not to let anyone know she’s interested. He’s a psychopath, Ray, a cold, clever psychopath with no qualms about killing anyone who gets in his way. And he’s manipulative. He draws people in. He could sell ice cream to Eskimos, as they say. He forged the provenance of some very pricey works of art, including a Turner, for crying out loud. That meant getting access to the archives, getting influential and important people in the art world to trust him. And it takes nerve.’

Ray picked up his fork again. ‘What are you suggesting I do, then?’

‘Talk to her. Or let me talk to her. I’ll try again to persuade her to put me in touch with her supervisor. There’s nothing wrong with a little cooperation.’

‘I could try,’ Ray said slowly.

‘Because the moment she becomes even a blip on Keane’s radar, she’s in danger. You, too, for that matter.’

Ray sighed and played with his food, then turned back to Banks. ‘I’m not a fool, Alan. I’m well aware that Zelda might have been a victim herself, forced into it, and it’s easier for her to make up a story about someone close to her being trafficked than it is to tell me the truth. But for whatever reason, she hasn’t talked to me about her past, and I don’t want to push her. The balance is fragile enough as it is. What I do know is that she lived much of her life before we met in danger and fear. She was a child in Eastern Europe in the late eighties and early nineties, and that must have been bad enough. She let slip once that she’s an orphan, too. She’s told me some of it, but not all. OK, so maybe she does want to protect me from the hard truth. She has dark moods, and she disappears for hours, days sometimes. Places I can’t touch her. Disappears, I mean, in her workshop, or walking the moors, or whatever. It was the same in Cornwall. She’s haunted, troubled, and she probably always will be. When I met her just over a year ago she was like some ragamuffin street urchin. I kid you not. She wore baggy clothes. She’d cut her hair short. No make-up. I honestly didn’t know at first whether she was a boy or a girl. And do you know, she has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. That lady of the lowlands is no contest. If I tried for a million years I’d never be able to capture that sadness on canvas. When she came back to the colony with me, I gave her her own place. Only a small caravan, but private. She spent a lot of time alone there. It was three months before she came to me one night and climbed into bed beside me. And the night after that she came again, and so on. Just for comfort, you understand. For someone to hold her and make her feel safe. I never put the slightest bit of pressure on her to go any further. That came only in time, slowly. And it came from Zelda. Now here we are, to all extents living together as man and wife. But I know there are parts of her I’ll never get close to, aspects of her past that she will never share, perhaps things she has had to do to survive. I’ve accepted that, or at least got used to it. She doesn’t want to cause me pain. She’s an incredible woman, Alan. Every day I count my blessings. What we have is enough. It has to be enough.’

‘I’m not arguing with you, Ray. I know how special Zelda is, and I can imagine only an inkling of what she’s been through if what you say is right. Like I said, I know a little bit about that world. That’s why I’m talking to you now. Humour me and ask her to do as I say. I’m sure she’s got enough on her plate anyway without chasing after new demons. Think about it. All I want is a contact. Her boss or case handler. I can take it from there. She doesn’t need to get involved. Believe it or not, I’ve got a few contacts of my own.’

‘Oh, I believe it.’ Ray took another bite of his lunch and looked at Banks as he chewed. His eyes misted over, and finally, he nodded, pointing with his fork. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise anything. Do you think I don’t know I’m one of the luckiest men on earth? An old codger like me living with a woman like Zelda. And it’s real. She loves me. But do you think I don’t worry about losing her? Of course I do. The sixties stuff is mostly just talk. Sure, I get jealous and possessive, but I manage to rationalise the feelings away most of the time. And I know her work might be dangerous, but it comes with the territory, mate. So do the black moods. Do you think I don’t worry about her running off with some thirty-year-old stud while I’m down in London at some gallery opening or showing? Or her meeting someone on one of her trips down there? Of course I bloody do. But that comes with the territory, too. And you know what? I’d rather have the territory with all the shit that comes with it than not have the territory at all. That’s why I try not to let possessiveness and jealousy rule all my days. Because if I did, I couldn’t stand it. So I’ll talk to her, OK? But no guarantees. She’s her own woman, and I, for one, want to keep it that way.’

‘It’s all I ask, Ray.’

‘Good. OK. We understand one another. Now back to that facile claim you made about Jerry Garcia.’

‘It can’t be Daddy, it simply can’t be,’ said Poppy Hadfield, handing back the sketch. Annie almost expected her to stamp her little foot, only it wasn’t so little. Poppy had stringy blond hair, bright red lipstick, far too much make-up on her rather horsey face, and the kind of figure most men would call voluptuous but Annie called wobbly. Bracelets jangled on her wrists and chains hung around her neck. There was a ring on every finger, two on some. She wore skin-tight ice-blue jeans artfully torn at the knees and thighs, and a black PUSSY RIOT T-shirt, also torn in a place Annie thought might cause a bit of an uproar at a posh society dinner. She could see what Gerry had meant by describing Poppy as a walking wardrobe malfunction. She was in her early thirties, perhaps a bit too old to be dressed the way she was. But hers was another world.

‘Please calm down, Miss Hadfield,’ said Annie. ‘We don’t know anything for certain yet. Only that your father is apparently missing. You’ve seen the artist’s impression. We would like you to come and—’

‘Oh, no. I’m not doing that. You can’t make me do that. No way. I’m not looking at a DEAD BODY, no matter whose it is. You can get someone else to do that. I need a lie down. Where’s my bag, Balter? I need my pills.’

Thinking that pills and a lie down for Poppy might be a good idea for everyone’s sanity, Annie suggested she go and do just that while they talked to Adele Balter, who was standing by the sixty-inch flat-screen TV, wringing her hands and staring at the three of them, horrified, with red-rimmed eyes.

After Adele had found the required bag on the floor behind an armchair, Annie signalled Gerry to follow Poppy upstairs and see what she was up to, then she asked Adele Balter to sit down. She sat down on a huge sofa upholstered in some sort of black-and-white striped horsehair material. Annie tried hard to be a vegetarian most of the time, and she didn’t really want to know what animal the hair had come from. Maybe a zebra. At any rate, it was enough that it seemed ugly and uncomfortable. She remained standing.

‘Are you up to answering a few questions, Miss Balter?’

‘I’ll try. And it’s Mrs Balter. But call me Adele, please. Like the singer.’

‘I like her,’ said Annie. ‘Nice name, too.’

‘Well, it’s better than Geraldine,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘That’s my first name.’

Annie coughed and put her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. She would have to tease Gerry about that. She walked towards the fireplace, intending to keep standing, but found the mantelpiece was far too high to lean on. She felt awkward. In the end, there was nothing for it but sit in a black-and-white armchair. It felt prickly, even through her clothes.

‘I’ll do it.’ Adele said.

‘Do what?’

‘Identify that body for you. You heard Poppy. She won’t do it without going hysterical, and who knows where Mr Ronald is, or whether he can get away?’

‘But this could be his father.’

‘He’s an important man, Mr Ronald. He has obligations. He’s away a lot. But I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he can.’

Gerry came back down, mouthed the words, ‘Prescription Valium’ to Annie, then sat in the other chair. The walls were papered in turquoise and white diamonds, which Annie found a dazzling combination. Luckily, a reproduction Bayeux tapestry practically covered one wall, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase another, and the other two were so cluttered with framed watercolour landscapes, seascapes and portraits in oils, that they covered most of it up. Annie certainly didn’t envy Adele Balter having to clean the place. Too many hiding places for dust.

‘Miss Hadfield is tired and emotional,’ Adele said. ‘She really is very highly strung. She was already in a bit of a state when I got here. She’ll be better after a rest.’

‘She was here when you arrived?’

‘Yes. She said she drove up last night.’

‘Was she expecting her father to be here?’

‘Mr Laurence doesn’t always tell people when he’s coming or going, but Miss Poppy said she had expected him to be here. He knew she was coming up last night, apparently. But he wasn’t here. She said she tried his mobile but it went straight to messages. It’s in the study there.’ She pointed towards the panelled door, which looked about half a mile away. ‘I tried it, too, and I heard it ring. Well, they don’t ring so much as make funny sounds these days, do they? His goes off like a xylophone or something.’

Annie glanced at Gerry, and they walked over to the study. The room was neat and tidy inside, with bookcases full of binders and biographies of rich and powerful men throughout history rubbing shoulders with tomes on fly-fishing. A computer sat on the desk, just a large screen with a wireless keyboard. Beside it was a thin laptop and a recent model smartphone. Annie was tempted to pick up the phone, but it was the rule to hand these things intact to IT, or at least have a more senior officer, like Banks, present when handling them. Any messing about with mobiles or computers could damage or contaminate any evidence that might be on them and compromise a case. The geek team would have to go through all Hadfield’s files, paper and electronic, anyway, if he was confirmed to be the unidentified male on the slab in Eastvale mortuary.

‘Was there any particular reason for Miss Hadfield’s visit?’

‘She just told me she needed to get away to the country for a while, that she wanted some fresh air and wide open spaces. She does that sometimes. Turns up at all hours of the day and night. The city was closing in on her. That’s exactly how she put it. “Closing in on me.” Like I said, she’s very sensitive.’

‘Hmm. I remember that feeling,’ said Annie. ‘Does Mr Hadfield go away often?’

‘He travels quite a lot. All over the world.’

‘Business?’

‘Yes. People in his line of work never really retire, do they?’

‘But he’s here a lot?’

‘Oh, yes. Most of the time. He loves it here.’

‘Has he been anywhere recently?’

‘Not for a month or so.’

‘Where did he go then?’

‘Cape Town, I think. He goes there quite often. And Singapore. Zurich. And Hong Kong.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘He doesn’t tell me his reasons for going where he goes. I assume he has business interests there.’

Annie knew that Hong Kong, Zurich and Singapore were major financial centres, but she wasn’t sure about South Africa. Whenever she heard about it on the news, it always seemed to be because of some problem or other. The last time, it was water, or lack of it, in Cape Town, and corrupt politics. But the business travel was perhaps an angle worth investigating. ‘Are Poppy and her father close?’

‘I’d say so. He adores her. In his eyes, she can do no wrong. She comes up here once every month or so. I’ve never heard them exchange angry words, if that’s what you mean. She’s his only daughter.’

‘Right. I’m assuming she has a key, the run of the house and all?’

‘Oh, yes. Mr Laurence is very generous. Especially with his children and grandchildren.’

‘And Ronald?’

‘He’s not here so often. He’s a very busy man.’

‘What does he do, exactly?’

‘I’m not really sure, but it’s something to do with high finance, like his father. I don’t really understand that world myself. Stocks and shares and footsies and what have you.’

‘Me, neither,’ said Annie. ‘Do they get on, as far as you know?’

Adele’s pause before answering spoke volumes. ‘Not quite as well as Mr Laurence and Poppy.’

‘I see,’ said Annie. ‘I understand that Mr Hadfield’s wife died three years ago?’

‘That’s right. Katherine. A terrible tragedy. She was a lovely woman.’

‘Cancer, right?’

‘Yes. It was slow and painful. Mrs Hadfield was stoic. The end was a blessing.’

‘Was she at home or in hospital?’

‘Hospital. Just the last week. She took a fast turn for the worse. Until then she stayed at home, which was London then, with full-time nursing care, of course. Mr Laurence was devoted to her. It was only after... you know... that he retired and moved up here more or less permanently. Rivendell had just been a weekend escape before.’

‘Do you happen to know whether Mr Hadfield has a... well, I don’t suppose girlfriend sounds right, but a female companion, a new partner?’

‘A lover?’

‘Well, I suppose so.’

Adele Balter stiffened. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t possibly know about things like that. He doesn’t confide in me. Even if he did...’

‘Have you ever seen him with someone? Has a woman ever been here in the house when you’ve arrived at work?’

‘No. Never. If there ever was anything, he was very discreet. But I really can’t imagine... no.’

‘How often do you clean here?’ Annie asked.

‘Every week.’

‘Always on a Friday?’

‘It varies, depending on his movements and my schedule. Usually I do Thursdays, but I had to make a switch this week.’

‘And last week?’

‘I was here Thursday last week.’

‘Was Mr Hadfield in?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does he usually stay in the house while you work?’

‘If he’s at home, Mr Laurence usually stays in his study while I do my cleaning work.’

‘You don’t clean his study, too?’

‘No. It’s private. I never go in there, not even when he’s away.’

‘Did you check to see if he was in there this morning?’

‘Yes. Of course. I searched the whole house and grounds for him before I called you.’

‘Did Poppy help? Hadn’t she already looked when she arrived last night.’

‘She was... well, you know, you saw her. I think she got here very late, after dark. She’s scared of the dark.’

‘Was there anything strange about Mr Hadfield’s behaviour when you last saw him a week ago yesterday?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Was he any different from usual?’

‘Oh, no. He was the same as normal.’

‘Depressed, cheerful, what?’

‘Quite cheerful, really. Excited, like, as if he’d made a good business deal or something. He even paid me a little early Christmas bonus.’

‘That must have been nice,’ Annie said. ‘Did he say what he was excited about?’

‘No.’

Pity, thought Annie. But then Hadfield would hardly talk to the hired help about his business or his private life. ‘Do you know what his plans were for the weekend?’

‘No. He never told me things like that.’

‘Do you know if he was planning on going away? Taking another trip somewhere? Could that have been why he was excited?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about it. It could have been, I suppose, but business trips didn’t usually excite him. He hated flying. An occupational hazard, he called it.’

‘Did you notice any other signs of disturbance when you got here?’

Adele paused. ‘Only... well, this. Poppy, you know.’ She gestured to the room. ‘She’s not exactly the tidiest of house guests, if you see what I mean. And as for her own room... well...’

‘Right.’ Annie followed her gaze. There were a few empty glasses on the table with bright-red lipstick marks on the rim, one empty bottle of cognac on its side on the carpet, and an ashtray full of cigarette ends, also smeared with lipstick. An expensive suitcase sat on the floor by the bottom of the staircase, contents strewn on the carpet — a suede jacket, jeans, silky underwear, a spilled packet of tampons. ‘So you found it just like this?’

‘Yes. I haven’t had chance to clear up anything yet.’

‘What made you think something was wrong? You said Mr Hadfield goes away a lot. Might he not simply have gone off somewhere without telling you?’

‘It was the phone. And the wallet.’

‘What wallet?’

‘Mr Laurence’s wallet. On that table over there.’ Adele pointed.

Gerry walked over to the table, picked up the wallet and handed it over to Annie. It was a bulging leather wallet stuffed with ten- and twenty-pound notes, along with several debit, credit and loyalty cards in the name of Laurence Edward Hadfield. The credit cards were almost all platinum, she noticed.

‘Mr Laurence would never go anywhere without his mobile and his wallet,’ Adele Balter said. ‘I mean, they’ve got everything in them, don’t they? Money, contacts, everything. And where could he go? His car’s still here.’

Annie remembered the house keys that were all she had found in the deceased’s suit pockets. She took the key ring from its bag in her briefcase. ‘Do you recognise this, Adele?’

‘Yes. They’re Mr Laurence’s house keys.’

‘So one of these keys should fit the front door, right?’

‘Yes.’ Adele pointed. ‘That one.’

‘Come with me, please.’

The three of them walked over to the front door and Annie tried the key. It fitted. They walked back to the living room. It was beginning to seem more and more likely that Hadfield was their man, unless his keys had found their way into someone else’s pocket.

‘Is he likely to have gone for a walk or something?’

‘Mr Laurence isn’t much of a one for exercise. Besides, he wouldn’t have been out walking all night, would he, and certainly not in the sort of weather we’ve been having lately?’

Annie supposed not. Unless he’d fallen in the reservoir and drowned or something and wasn’t lying in Eastvale General Infirmary’s mortuary. But that was highly unlikely. It was becoming more evident to Annie that Laurence Edward Hadfield was the body on the moors.

‘What kind of car does Mr Hadfield drive?’ she asked.

‘He has an “S” series Mercedes,’ she said proudly, as if it were hers. ‘A silver one. He’s given me a lift in it once or twice when my car was in the garage. It’s a lovely motor. Hardly feel you’re on wheels.’

‘Where is it?’

‘It’s in the garage. And the car keys and the automatic door opener are on that little table by the door, where he always keeps them. Do you see what I mean? Why would he go out without his wallet or his car? Where would he go?’

‘I’ll go and check it out,’ said Gerry, picking up the car keys and the garage opener from the table.

Annie nodded. Adele Balter was right, she thought. The house was in a very remote spot, and you couldn’t really get anywhere without a car. Hadfield certainly couldn’t have walked to Tetchley Moor from where he lived; it was over ten miles. Unless someone had dropped by to pick him up. She heard the distant sound of a garage door opening. ‘And all this had you worried enough to call us?’

‘I saw the picture on TV last night, the one you showed me and Poppy earlier. Only for a second, fleeting, like, and I thought it looked a bit like Mr Laurence, only the nose and mouth were wrong. I suppose when I got here today and saw... well, that he wasn’t anywhere to be found, and Miss Poppy in a such state, like, then I thought back on it, and I realised it could be him. That’s when I got worried enough to call you. The nose and mouth are wrong, but everything else is right. I can understand if someone had described him to an artist, like, they could have got that wrong easily enough. It’s all a bit of a puzzle. I just thought you people would be best to sort something like this out.’

‘We’re glad you did, Mrs Balter,’ said Annie. ‘We’re going to have to talk to Poppy at more length at some point soon, but in the meantime, we’d like to phone Ronald. Do you have the number?’

‘It’ll be in Mr Hadfield’s contacts book, on the study desk.’

The door opened and Gerry came back in. She glanced at Annie and shook her head. ‘Nothing interesting,’ she said. ‘But the car’s there all right. The engine’s cold.’

‘OK. We’ll need to have a look around in Mr Hadfield’s study, too,’ she said to Adele. ‘And we’ll see if we can get a couple of constables to have a walk around the reservoir, just in case. We’ll get you over to the infirmary. I have to tell you, it’s not a pretty sight. There’s been some animal activity.’

‘I used to be a nurse,’ said Adele. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not squeamish or I wouldn’t be offering.’

Banks rang the doorbell and heard it ring faintly inside the house. At first nothing happened, then a small, sad voice came over the intercom. ‘I don’t really want to talk to anybody now. Please go away.’

Banks glanced at Winsome before leaning forward. ‘Neela? Neela Mitchell? It’s the police. We’d really like to talk to you about Adrienne. We won’t take up much of your time.’

There was another silence, then a buzz and a click. Banks turned the doorknob and the front door opened into a hallway that seemed to be filled with bicycles. They made their way through without injury and climbed the stairs to the second floor, by which time Banks was feeling a bit short of breath. He could feel his heart beating fast and realised he was terribly out of shape. He would have to do something about it. Soon.

When they arrived at the flat, Neela Mitchell was standing in the open doorway clutching a handkerchief. That she had been crying was obvious enough, even before she sniffled and led them inside the bedsit. Hers was about the same size as Adrienne’s two streets away, but the house was slightly more rundown, and it didn’t seem as if there was an en-suite bathroom.

Neela was a small, large-breasted girl, which made her seem slightly top-heavy, and she was wearing a baggy sweater and black tracksuit bottoms with a white stripe down the sides. She had wavy hennaed hair, a round face with light brown skin, and she wore wire-framed glasses. From her name and features, Banks guessed that her mother was Indian or Pakistani and her father British. Behind the lenses, her reddened eyes appeared slightly enlarged. She seemed so young and vulnerable that Banks felt his heart go out to her. She had just lost her best friend. But he had to be objective; it wouldn’t do to take anything or anyone at face value. The room smelled fresh, as if Neela had just given it a shot of lemon air freshener. Banks noticed a crushed cigarette butt in an ashtray on the windowsill and realised she probably had. Smokers were feeling guiltier and guiltier these days.

The bedsit felt crowded with three of them in it. There was a sink and hot plate in a little alcove, and Neela offered to make tea, but they declined.

‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Winsome said. ‘Professor Stoller at the college said you were Adrienne’s best friend, that we should talk to you.’

Neela nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I was so rude over the intercom, but I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone.’

‘We’ll be as quick and painless as we can,’ said Banks.

‘It’s all right. I’d like to help if I can. I just can’t understand any of this, what happened to her. It doesn’t make sense. The papers mentioned she was in a car or something, had an overdose of drugs. That wasn’t like Adrienne. She didn’t take drugs.’

Banks and Winsome exchanged a glance. Again, the incompetence of the local paper was warping people’s perceptions of what had happened. Banks thought he might have to have a sharp word with Adrian Moss. Not that Moss wrote the rubbish, himself, but he was supposed to be their media liaison officer.

‘It wasn’t what you’d call a drug overdose,’ Winsome explained. ‘I mean, nobody’s saying she was a regular drug user. The doctors think she died of an overdose of sleeping pills.’

Neela’s eyes opened wide. ‘Sleeping pills? Adrienne? You mean, like, accidentally?’

‘We don’t know for certain,’ said Winsome, glancing at Banks. ‘But at the moment, we don’t think it could have been an accident.’

‘You mean she... she took them herself? On purpose?’

Winsome nodded. ‘That’s the thinking. I’m sorry.’

Neela shook her head violently. ‘No way. I don’t believe it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she wasn’t the kind of person who’d do something like that. Kill herself. Not Adrienne. She loved life. She was saving up to go on safari in Africa after her finals the year after next. She wanted to go to a game park, climb Mount Kilimanjaro, see the big five and all the rest and then get a job with VSO. She would never kill herself before doing that. It was her dream.’

‘People can change, you know, Neela,’ Banks said.

Neela shook her head vigorously. ‘No. Not Adrienne. Not without my knowing.’

‘Do you know if Adrienne had any problems lately, anything weighing heavily on her mind?’

‘No. Not as far as I could tell. Nothing that serious. Oh, sometimes she’d been feeling a bit down lately, you know, but that happens to all of us. She had her moods. And she could get sulky.’

‘Did you ask her what was wrong, why she felt down?’

‘I might say, “What’s wrong?” or something like that, you know, but she’d just shrug and say, “Oh, nothing” and flash that little smile of hers. I don’t know what it is you want me to say, but there was really nothing odd or unusual about Adrienne lately. Or different. Maybe her moods were a bit more frequent or lasted longer sometimes, and she was more subdued than last year, but basically she was still Adrienne. She hadn’t undergone a personality change or anything.’

‘Was she seeing anyone, a counsellor, therapist or psychiatrist? Someone like that?’

‘No. Why would she?’

‘If she was troubled by something, depressed or anxious.’

‘But she wasn’t. Like I said, she got a bit blue sometimes, like the rest of us. And maybe she’d been a bit distracted recently, off in her own world, but I didn’t realise it was a such bad place that she was in.’

‘Distracted by what?’ Banks asked.

Neela looked at him as if assessing whether to answer or not. ‘I don’t know if there was anything in particular,’ she said. ‘Certainly there was nothing she told me about. All I mean is that I hadn’t seen as much of her as I used to. She’d been stopping in more on her own, said she had to work. She became a bit sort of withdrawn, maybe less enthusiastic about going out and having fun and doing stuff. She seemed a bit anxious, nervous, you know. I suppose distracted isn’t quite the right word. But not depressed or suicidal. Once or twice she seemed sort of frightened. No, that’s not really right. More apprehensive.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing in particular.’

‘Perhaps she really did have to work?’

Neela nodded. ‘We both did. It’s a hard year academically and exams are notoriously tough. You worry about things like that. It’s a big cause of stress. But they’re a long way off. Like I said, it was nothing, really. She had her moods. We all do.’ Neela sniffed again and blew her nose.

‘Do you know if she was taking any prescription medications?’

‘Not that she ever told me about. I mean, it’s something that might have come up, you know, if she had been. We talked about all kinds of stuff. Or we used to. But she didn’t have any problems with her health. She went to the gym twice a week and worked out. She went swimming most mornings. We both did.’

‘When did you see her last?’

‘Just before last weekend. Friday morning. We went swimming.’

‘And after that?’

‘No.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘A bit, I suppose. But it was only the day before yesterday I heard... you know... about what happened. That was only Wednesday. She hadn’t turned up for our tutorial with Professor Stoller.’

‘Weren’t you worried?’

‘No. We didn’t live in each other’s pockets. Not seeing her from Friday to Wednesday wasn’t a big deal.’

‘What about weekends?’

‘I never saw her much then, anyway. She worked at that animal shelter and usually stopped over with friends in Darlington.’

‘Do you know their names?’

‘No. They weren’t uni people. Just people she knew from the shelter, like.’

‘Did you talk on the phone often?’ Banks asked.

‘We mostly texted. But not so much lately. She seemed to have lost interest.’

‘Was Adrienne very attached to her mobile?’

‘Well, she used to use it a lot. I mean, we all do. Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Spotify, or whatever classical streaming service she used, but she wasn’t a slave to it. Me, neither. We used Snapchat and WhatsApp mostly to keep in touch, send selfies and stuff, but again, not so much this term.’

‘Would she go out without it?’

‘Not usually, no.’

‘Was she forgetful? Might she leave it behind in her flat when she went out somewhere?’

‘Are you saying that she didn’t have her mobile with her when you found her?’

‘It was in her bedsit.’

Neela shook her head. ‘That’s odd. Even though she seemed a bit off it lately, I don’t think she would normally leave home without it. I mean, would you?’

‘Do you know if she ever used Internet dating? Tinder, that sort of thing?’

‘Not as far as I know, she didn’t.’

‘You said earlier that Adrienne didn’t take drugs. Are you sure about that?’

Neela looked down at her hands clasped in her lap.

‘Neela, it would be best if you told us everything,’ Banks said.

‘All right. She took E now and then. We all did. OK?’

‘All?’

Neela nodded. ‘But only now and then. Nothing bad ever happened. It’s not like she was addicted or it was dangerous or anything. Besides, you said she died of an overdose of sleeping pills. E isn’t a sleeping pill. Adrienne said it took her out of herself a bit, made it a bit easier for her to socialise.’

‘When did you get this E? Where?’

Neela paused before answering, ‘At The Cellar Club.’

‘Who from?’

‘Just someone who hung out there. Not a student.’

‘I saw The Cellar Club mentioned on a poster on my way to see Professor Stoller,’ said Winsome.

A few nightclubs had sprung up around the college campus since the expansion, most of them simply back rooms of pubs fitted with a loud sound system and a few flashing coloured lights. But The Cellar Club was far more sophisticated. It consisted of a large cellar that used to belong to an old carpet sales centre and warehouse, now an arcade of student boutiques and used bookshops. Like the famous Cavern of old, it was dark and dank, with arches and walls of stone and brickwork plastered with concert posters. Though Banks had never been there on a busy warm night, he imagined sweat dripping down the walls as the strobe lights flashed and the beat pounded away mercilessly. But he had been there. They advertised raves. Not the old-style raves or the more recent illegal parties, where hundreds of people, alerted by phone or social media at the last minute, congregated and orgied all night in abandoned warehouses, but just dances that went on really late. The fire brigade had been out there once or twice on overcrowding issues. And The Cellar Club was a known magnet for drug dealers and users. Since its expansion, Eastvale College had become a target for dealers from Leeds and Manchester.

‘Why The Cellar Club?’ Banks asked.

Neela shrugged. ‘It’s the coolest place near campus. And the DJ is really wicked.’

‘As in a DJ who plays records?’ Banks asked.

‘What? No, like, a real DJ.’

Banks assumed that she meant one of those idiots who spins records backwards and talks all the time. ‘And you and Adrienne used to go to these dances and take E?’

Neela nodded. ‘Sometimes. Not always. And not for a while. Mostly it was last year. There was a whole gang of us.’

‘All girls?’

‘No. Mixed. But we were all just, like, friends. Nobody was going out together or anything.’

‘Just E? Any other drugs? Cocaine, speed, downers? I happen to know you can buy just about anything at The Cellar Club, Neela. You probably also know that Eastvale has a growing drug problem these days, and the college especially. Places like The Cellar Club.’

Neela looked horrified. ‘No. Nothing serious like that. Honest. Just a little E. And only now and then.’

‘I know that E might seem safe,’ Banks said, ‘but it has caused problems with some people who’ve used it.’

‘That’s just dehydration, though, isn’t it? We always make sure we drink gallons of water.’

‘There can be other problems,’ Banks went on, aware he was sounding like a boring old fogey. ‘Contaminated pills. Depression. Heart disease. When was the last time you went to The Cellar Club?’

‘About a month ago. Just after the start of term.’

‘Did Adrienne take E on that occasion?’

‘No. None of us did.’

‘OK. Let’s move on. Did Adrienne have a boyfriend?’

‘Not this term.’

Adrienne’s parents had said the same, but Banks was more inclined to believe her best friend. ‘You sound very sure about that, Neela.’

‘I am. She didn’t have time, working at the shelter on weekends and keeping up with her term work during the week. Then there was her music. She thought it was important to keep practising her violin, even though she didn’t have enough time for the orchestra any more. She told me she wasn’t planning on dating anyone this year, and as far as I know she didn’t. Besides, she would have told me.’

‘Usually when any of my best friends got boyfriends,’ said Winsome, ‘I saw a lot less of them. You say you saw less of Adrienne. Might that not be why?’

‘No. Not in this case. I would have known. Besides, she told me she didn’t have or want a boyfriend. Why would she lie?’

Good point, Banks thought. Though if the boyfriend were someone who might elicit Neela’s disapproval, Adrienne might keep it to herself. On the other hand, they say that young love puts a spring in your step, and best friends notice things like that.

‘And last year?’

‘Colin Fairfax.’

It was the boyfriend Adrienne’s parents had mentioned. The ‘nice lad’ she took home for tea.

‘What happened between them? Did they have a row?’

‘Dunno. Don’t think so.’

‘There was no big split up, no fight or falling out?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘Was it because of someone else? Because Adrienne took up with another boy, or Colin with another girl?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did Adrienne cry on your shoulder? Was she upset about the break-up?’

‘I’m sure she was upset, but she wasn’t the type to cry on anyone’s shoulder. We shared lots of stuff like best mates do, but she could be secretive, could Adrienne, and sometimes she kept her feelings bottled up.’

‘Is Colin Fairfax still around?’

‘Yes. We bump into him every now and then.’

‘At The Cellar Club?’

‘Not so much there. Just around campus. The coffee shop, the pub.’

‘And did he and Adrienne get along all right?’

‘They were fine. Just, like, old friends. But he wasn’t part of the gang. Mostly we hung around with Jessica, Cameron, Chloe and Callum and the rest.’

‘Can you give us the full names, Neela?’

Neela did so and Winsome wrote them down.

‘There was Mia, too, at first,’ Neela said, ‘but she dropped out. I’m sorry I don’t know her second name.’

‘When did she drop out?’

‘Quite early. I remember she was around at the start of term, that was the twenty-fifth of September, but she’d gone by mid-October at the latest.’

‘Why did she leave? Where did she go?’

‘Dunno. I didn’t know her very well. I guess she decided Eastvale College just wasn’t for her.’

‘And Colin Fairfax wasn’t part of the gang?’

‘No. Like I said, we just saw him occasionally, to say hello to.’

‘What’s he studying?’

‘Modern languages.’

‘Is there any chance he might have been stalking Adrienne? You know, pestering her to get back with him or anything like that. Is that what might have made her distracted, on edge? Frightened or apprehensive, even?’

Neela shook her head. ‘She certainly didn’t say anything like that to me, and I’m sure she would have done if there was a problem like that. Anyway, Colin’s not particularly scary.’

‘So you never noticed him hanging around when he wasn’t wanted, that sort of thing?’

‘No. Like I said, we just saw him in the coffee shop or the library sometimes.’

‘OK, Neela,’ said Winsome. ‘Have there been any wannabe boyfriends since Colin Fairfax? Anyone Adrienne was interested in, or who was interested in her?’

Neela made a snorting sound. ‘There was always someone interested in Adrienne. You should have seen her. She was so pretty. Boys fell all over themselves to buy her drinks and stuff.’

‘But she didn’t single out anyone in particular for her affections?’

‘No. She wasn’t interested. Just wanted to save up and go to Africa. That was her dream. We always did stuff as a group, like. Not pairing off in couples.’

It was what a lot of young people today did who didn’t want commitment or unwanted attentions, Banks knew. ‘What about money?’ he asked.

‘What about it?’

‘Was it a problem for her?’

‘Money’s always a problem. It’s very expensive to go to university.’

‘But surely the scholarship must have helped?’ said Winsome.

Neela frowned. ‘Scholarship? What scholarship?’

‘The one she got this year. The one that paid her fees and allowed her to avoid taking out student loans.’

Neela shook her head. ‘I know nothing about any scholarship.’

‘She never told you?’

‘No. But come to think of it, she was a bit more flush this year. She didn’t go on about money problems as much as she did last year. Never asked to borrow any. She even paid me some back. I thought maybe she’d got a raise at the shelter as well as working extra hours there, but they don’t really do things like that, do they, not in jobs like that? Mostly they expect you to volunteer because you love animals. Adrienne would have done it for nothing. As it was, they barely paid her the minimum wage.’

‘Did she work there more hours this year?’ Banks asked.

‘Yes. Most of the weekend. All of it, sometimes.’

‘And you know nothing about any scholarship?’

‘No. And it’s not the sort of thing she’d keep secret. I mean, she wouldn’t have any reason not to tell me, would she? She’d have been over the moon.’ Neela laughed. ‘She’d probably have taken us all out for a slap-up meal and bought us a bottle of champagne. That’s what Adrienne was like.’

Banks could think of a couple of reasons Adrienne might not have mentioned her good fortune. Perhaps she had wanted to keep the money to herself, add it to her Africa fund, or perhaps its origins were connected with the drug trade. If she really was as generous as Neela thought, then perhaps she would have treated her friends. So why didn’t she? It was odd that Adrienne hadn’t told her best friend about the scholarship. He remembered how excited Tracy was when she got a postgraduate scholarship in Newcastle. She couldn’t wait to tell everyone.

‘Can you think of any reason at all why Adrienne might have committed suicide?’ Banks asked finally.

Neela was silent for a few moments, her lower lip quivering, tears in her eyes. Then she said, ‘No.’ The tears spilled over and she started to sob, burying her face in her hands. ‘I should have known, shouldn’t I? I should have seen it coming. I was supposed to be her best friend, and I let her down. Why would she do something like that? She was beautiful, she was a sweet person, she was clever, she had everything going for her.’ Neela looked up at Banks, imploring through wet, reddened eyes. ‘Why?