Friend of the Devil

5

Templeton hated grotty old pubs like the Fountain. They were full of losers and tossers drowning their sorrows, and an atmosphere of failure hung in the air along with the stale smoke and ale. Just being in such a place made him cringe. Give him a modern bar, chrome-and-plastic seating, pastel walls and subdued lighting, even if the beer did come in bottles and the music was too loud. At least he didn’t walk out smelling like a tramp.

The place was almost empty at three in the afternoon, only a few pathetic diehards with no lives worth living slobbering over their warm pints. A young man in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, shaved head and black-rimmed spectacles, stood at the bar polishing glasses. They still looked dirty when he’d finished.

“You the landlord?” Templeton asked, flashing his warrant card.

“Me? You must be joking,” the man said. He had a Geordie accent. Templeton hated Geordie accents, and he heard far too many of them around Eastvale. “The landlord’s away in Florida, like he is most of the time. I don’t think he’s set foot in the place more than twice since he bought it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jamie Murdoch.”

“Manager, then?”

“For my sins.”

“You look too young.”

“And you look too young to be a detective.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“Must be.”

“Anyway, much as I love a bit of banter, I’ve got a few questions for you about Saturday night.”

“Yeah?”

“Who was working?”

“I was.”

“Just you?”

“Aye. Jill called in sick, and we couldn’t get anyone else at short notice.”

“That must have been fun, on your own on a Saturday night?”

“Hilarious. Anyway, it happens often enough. This about the poor wee lassie who got killed?”

“That’s right.”

He shook his head. “A tragedy.”

“Did you serve her?”

“Look, if you’re asking me were her and her friends intoxicated, they might have had a few, but there was no way they were so drunk I would have refused to serve them.”

“Do you know they got kicked out of the Trumpeters before they came here?”

“No, I didn’t. They must have been rowdy or something. They were well behaved enough here. It was the end of the evening. Things were winding down. It wasn’t them causing the trouble.”

“But someone was?”

“Isn’t someone always?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Nothing much to tell, really.” Murdoch picked up another glass from the dish rack and started drying it with the tea towel. “It was Saturday night, wasn’t it? Saint Patrick’s Day, too. There always seems to be something, even on a normal Saturday. You get used to it. Didn’t Elton John have a song about it? ‘Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting’?”

“Don’t know that one,” said Templeton. “And this time?”

“Gang of yobs from Lyndgarth got into a barney with some students in the poolroom. Eastvale’s version of town and gown. It came to nothing. Lot of sound and fury signifying nothing.”

“Where’d you get that line from?”

“It’s Shakespeare. Macbeth.”

“Go to college, do you?”

“I’ve been.”

“So, tell me, an educated lad like you, how does he end up working in a dive like this?”

“Just lucky, I suppose.” Murdoch shrugged. “It’s all right. There are worse places.”

“So back to Saturday night. You’re here behind the bar all alone, you’ve just calmed down a fracas. What happens next?”

“The Lyndgarth lot left and the girl and her friends came in. They knew some of the other students, so some of them started playing pool and the rest just sat around chatting.”

“No incidents?”

“No incidents. That was earlier.”

“The fracas?”

“And the vandalism.”

“What vandalism?”

“The bastards smashed up the toilets, didn’t they? Ladies and gents. I think it was the Lyndgarth mob, but I can’t prove it. Toilet rolls shoved down the bowl, lightbulbs broken, glass all over the floor, piss—”

“I get the picture,” said Templeton.

“Aye, well, I was here until nearly half past two in the morning cleaning it up.”

“Half past two, you say?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“We saw you leaving on the CCTV, that’s all.”

“You could have said.”

Templeton grinned. “Look at it from my point of view. If you’d said you went home at half past twelve we’d have had a discrepancy, wouldn’t we?”

“But I didn’t. I left at half past two. Like you said, it’s on candid camera.”

“Anybody vouch for you?”

“I told you, I was here alone.”

“So you could have nipped out into the Maze, raped and killed the girl, then got back to cleaning up the bog?”

“I suppose I could have, but I didn’t. You already said you saw me leave on the CCTV.”

“But you could have sneaked out earlier and come back.”

“Look around you. There’s only two ways out of this place on account of its location. There’s not even a window opens on Taylor’s Yard. We take all our brewery deliveries down the chute at the front. The only ways out of the place are the front, which leads to the market square, and the other side, the passageway between the toilets and the kitchen, which leads to Castle Road. I assume you’ve got CCTV there, too?”

“We have,” said Templeton.

“There you go, then. You tell me how I’m supposed to get out, rape and murder a girl, and come back without being seen.”

“Mind if I have a look around?”

“Not at all. I’ll show you.” Murdoch put the glass down, called to one of the regulars to keep his eye on the place and first took Templeton upstairs, where there were an office, a toilet, a storeroom full of cases of wine and spirits piled against the wall, and a sitting room with a TV set, fading wallpaper and a let-down sofa.

Next, Murdoch showed him the poolroom and the toilets downstairs, which weren’t in such bad shape; then the kitchen near the back, which was clean as it should be; and the side exit onto Castle Road. They went into the cellar next, a dank place with damp stone walls and barrels of beer in a row and crates of ale piled up. It stank of yeast and hops. The walls were solid everywhere, probably about three feet thick. Templeton couldn’t see any possible way out, and he didn’t particularly fancy staying down there a moment more than he needed, so he headed back up the worn stone steps.

“Seen enough?” asked Murdoch when they got back to the bar.

“For now,” said Templeton. “This incident with the toilets. When did it happen?”

“Don’t know for certain,” said Murdoch. “The Lyndgarth yobs had been gone maybe about ten minutes or so when one of the students came and told me. Not that there was anything I could do about it right there and then, like, when I had drinks to serve. It was about that time the girl and her friends came in.”

“Pretty near closing time, then?”

“Aye, not far off. I’d have closed up early except I had paying customers. I reckoned I’d see the punters off the premises at the usual time and get it cleaned up. Never imagined it would take so bloody long.”

“This Lyndgarth lot, did they stick around the square?”

“I didn’t see them again, but then I didn’t get out till late.”

“Any names?”

“Why? Are you going to prosecute them?”

“For what?”

“Vandalizing the pub.”

“No, dickhead. They might be suspects in a murder investigation. Why, are you going to bring charges?”

“No way. I value my life.”

“I’d still like to talk to them. Names?”

“You must be joking. Maybe one of them called his mate Steve, and there was another called Mick.”

“Wonderful. Thanks a lot.”

“I told you. Anyway, it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to find them if you want. Just ask around. Lyndgarth’s not a big place and the yobs are probably pretty well known there.”

“And you’d recognize them again?”

“Aye, I’d recognize them.”

“Had you seen the girl and her friends before?”

“They’d been in once or twice, yes.”

“Regulars?”

“I wouldn’t call them regulars, but I’d seen them occasionally in here on a Saturday night. Never caused any trouble.”

“Did you hear anything from Taylor’s Yard while you were cleaning up the toilets?”

“No.”

“Did you see anyone go by the front?”

“No, but I wouldn’t have, anyway. See, I was in the toilets, at the Castle Road side, as you’ve seen. Besides, I wasn’t really paying attention. Cleaning up vandalized toilets sort of demands all your attention, if you know what I mean.” Murdoch worked at a glass, then narrowed his eyes. “I can hardly believe it, you know.”

“Believe what?”

He gestured over toward the toilets. “While I was busy cleaning up in there, what was happening in the Maze. That poor girl. I can hardly get my head around it.”

“Don’t even try,” said Templeton, heading toward the door. “It’ll only give you grief.” And he left, rather pleased with himself for his piece of sage advice. He paused at the door and turned back. “And don’t run away,” he said, pointing his finger at Murdoch. “I might be back.”

As befitting that of a senior partner, Julia Ford’s office was both larger and better appointed than Constance Wells’s. She had the same fine view of the square, but from higher up, and the room was fitted with a thick-pile carpet and a solid teak desk. What looked to Annie like an original David Hockney Yorkshire landscape hung on one wall.

Julia Ford herself was elegance personified. Annie had no idea where her simple dark-blue business suit and plain white blouse had come from, but it definitely wasn’t Next or Primark. She bet there was a designer’s name on it somewhere, and it probably came from Harvey Nicks. Her straight chestnut-brown hair fell to her shoulders and was imbued with the kind of luster Annie had seen only in television adverts. Julia Ford stood up, leaned across the table and shook hands with both Annie and Ginger, then bade them sit. Her chairs were padded and far more comfortable than Constance Wells’s. She regarded them both with watchful brown eyes, then turned to Constance, who lingered in the doorway. “That’s all right, Constance, thank you very much,” she said. “You can go now.” Constance shut the door behind her.

Julia Ford continued to regard Annie and Ginger with those serious eyes and made a steeple of her hands on the table. No rings, Annie noticed. “I understand that Karen Drew has been murdered?” she said finally.

“That’s right,” said Annie. “We’re trying—”

Julia Ford waved her hand dismissively. “I should imagine you are,” she said, a definite smile now playing around the edges of her thin lips. “And I should also imagine you’re not getting very far.”

“It’s like squeezing the proverbial blood out of the proverbial stone,” Annie said. “We were wondering if Ms. Wells might be able to help, but she seemed to think we should talk to you.”

“I thought you should talk to me. Constance has very specific instructions regarding Karen.”

“And can you help?”

“Oh, I think you’ll find I’ll be able to help you a great deal,” said Julia Ford.

“But will you?”

“Will I?” She spread her hands. “Of course I will. I’ve never hindered a police investigation.”

Annie swallowed. Julia Ford had a reputation as a tough barrister who would do anything she possibly could to discredit the police and get her client off.

“Can you tell us about her background, then?” Annie asked.

“I could, but I don’t think that’s really the main issue right now. You’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”

“Ms. Ford,” said Annie, “with all due respect, aren’t we supposed to be the ones who decide what questions we should ask?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to be rude, and I’m not trying to do your job for you. What I’m trying to tell you is that there is something more important you need to know first.”

“And what’s that?”

“Karen Drew wasn’t her real name.”

“I see… May I ask what her real name was?”

“You may.”

“And…?”

Julia Ford paused and played with her Mont Blanc on the desk in front of her. Annie knew she was indulging in typical courtroom tactics for dramatic effect, but there was nothing she could do but wait out the theatrics. Finally, the barrister tired of playing with her pen and leaned forward across the teak. “Her real name was Lucy Payne,” she said.

“Jesus Christ,” whispered Annie. “Lucy Payne. The Friend of the Devil. That changes everything.”

“So what do you think of Jamie Murdoch?” Banks asked. He was sitting in his office comparing notes with Kevin Templeton and Winsome Jackman. Templeton, he noticed, kept sneaking glances at Winsome’s thighs under the tight black material of her trousers.

“He’s got an attitude,” Templeton said, “and he’s a bit of a plonker. But that hardly qualifies him as a murderer. No more than being a Geordie does. I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll be able to verify his story about the vandalized bogs when we talk to Hayley’s friends and the yobbos from Lyndgarth. We’ve got film of him leaving on his bike at half past two, and no sign of him before that. Like he says, there’s no access to the Maze from the pub without using the front or side exits, and they were both covered by CCTV.”

“Okay,” said Banks. “Now, what do we make of this new angle Winsome’s come up with?”

Winsome had been watching the rest of the CCTV footage and noticed someone coming out of the Maze from the narrow shopping arcade that led off Castle Road at twelve-forty, which was twenty minutes after Hayley had gone in. There was no CCTV record of the person’s having entered. The images were indistinct, but Winsome thought he resembled one of the people Hayley Daniels had been talking to earlier in the square, just before she went off down Taylor’s Yard by herself.

“Well,” said Templeton, “he certainly hadn’t been shopping at that time of night. Someone searching for her? A friend?”

“Could be,” said Winsome. “Maybe he got worried when she didn’t turn up at the Bar None. But why not use the Taylor’s Yard entrance? It’s nearer the Bar None.”

“Is there a back way from the Bar None to the Maze?” Banks asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Templeton. “A fire exit.”

“So he could have left that way,” said Banks. “And I suppose it’s possible that he knew about the market square CCTV, which is the setup that gets all the publicity, but not about that on Castle Road. He didn’t know he’d be seen coming out. Twenty minutes isn’t very long, but it’s probably long enough for what the killer did, and he seems in a bit of a hurry. This looks very promising. DC Wilson’s at the college working on that list of names. It could take some time to get through them all. Do you think you can get technical support to come up with a still image from the video? Enhanced?”

“I can always try,” said Winsome. “They’re already working on that car number plate, but no luck so far.”

“Ask them to do their best,” said Banks. “It’s another long shot, but it might save us time.” Banks leaned back in his chair and ran his hand across his closely cropped hair. “Okay,” he said, “let’s review what we’ve got so far.” He counted off on his fingers as he spoke. “Joseph Randall, who swears he was at home alone when Hayley was killed, but has no real alibi and also can’t account for the eleven minutes between finding the body and reporting it. Oh, and he also eyed up the victim in the Duck and Drake earlier on the evening she was killed. After making a fuss, he volunteered a DNA sample and signed the waiver. The lab’s working on it.

“Next we’ve got Jamie Murdoch, pub manager of the Fountain, who says he was fixing broken toilets during the time Hayley was raped and killed. He appears to have had no access to the murder scene, at least not without being spotted, and he doesn’t show up on CCTV until he leaves on his bike at half past two. Finally, one of Hayley’s friends is seen exiting the Maze by the Castle Road arcade at twelve-forty, but not seen going in. What had he been doing in there? How long had he been there? What was he hoping for? A quick grope in the ginnel?”

“Hayley’s stepmother said she didn’t have a steady boyfriend,” Winsome said, “but she did think Hayley was sexually experienced.”

Banks noticed Templeton give a little smile at Winsome’s discomfort in talking about sex in front of them.

“We probably won’t find out any more about that until we talk to the people she was with,” said Banks.

“There’s still the possibility that someone was lying in wait,” Templeton said. He glanced at Banks. “A serial killer just starting out. Someone who knew how to come and go in the Maze without being seen, which probably means he’s a local and knows the area.”

“We won’t forget that possibility, Kev,” said Banks. “But so far we’ve had no luck with the local sex offenders.” He turned back to Winsome. “What about the family? You talked to them.”

“Yes, sir. I can’t say I was very impressed by the father, but maybe it’s hard to be impressed by a bloke you find tied naked to a bed in a hotel room.”

“Oh, Winsome,” said Templeton. “You disappoint me. Don’t tell me it didn’t turn you on.”

“Shut up, Kev,” said Banks.

Winsome glared at Templeton. “There’s no way either of the parents could have done it,” she went on. “Donna McCarthy was watching a DVD with Caroline Dexter, and Geoff Daniels and Martina Redfern have a watertight alibi. I found the taxi driver who drove them back from the nightclub to the hotel around two-thirty, and even he remembers them.” She gave a nervous glance at Templeton, then looked back at Banks. “They were… you know… in the back of his taxi.”

Even Banks had to smile at that. Templeton laughed out loud.

“Okay,” said Banks. “So far our only suspects who don’t seem to have an alibi are Randall and the mysterious figure on the Castle Road CCTV, and he should be easy enough to track down.” Banks stood up. “Then there’s the Lyndgarth yobs to sort out. They were angry at Jamie Murdoch. They could have hung around the Maze hoping to get a crack at him and found Hayley instead.”

“The CCTV just shows them walking away,” said Templeton.

“They still need looking into. Which is what we ought to be doing now instead of sitting around here. Thanks for bringing me up-to-date. Now let’s get to work and see if we can close this one before the week’s out.”

A stunned silence followed Annie’s response to the revelation of Karen Drew’s real identity. Annie could hear other noises from the building — phone conversations, the clacking of a computer keyboard — mixed with the sounds of cars and birds from outside. She tried to digest what she’d just heard.

“You weren’t involved in that case, were you?” Julia Ford asked.

“Peripherally,” said Annie. “My boss was SIO.”

Julia Ford smiled. “Ah, yes, Detective Superintendent Banks. I remember him well. How is he?”

“He’s fine,” said Annie. “Actually, he’s a DCI. He was only acting super. I handled the Janet Taylor investigation.” Janet Taylor was the policewoman who had killed Lucy Payne’s husband, Terence, after he had murdered her partner with a machete and come at her with it. The law about reasonable force being what it was, she had been suspended and put under investigation, until she died in a drunk-driving accident. The whole affair still left a bitter taste in Annie’s mouth.

Julia Ford made a sympathetic grimace. “A tough one.”

“Yes. Look, do you think you could—”

“Explain? Yes. Of course. I’ll do my best.” She glanced at Ginger. “Are you aware of who Lucy Payne was, DC…?”

“Baker,” said Ginger. “And yes, I’m aware of who she was. She killed all those girls a few years ago. The newspapers called her the ‘Friend of the Devil.’”

“So very melodramatic,” said Julia Ford. “But what would you expect of the gutter press? As a matter of fact, Lucy Payne didn’t murder anyone. Her husband was the killer, the ‘devil’ in question.”

“And how convenient that he was dead, so he couldn’t tell his side of the story,” said Annie.

“Well, you’ve only got Janet Taylor to blame for that, haven’t you?”

“Janet did—”

“Look,” Julia Ford interrupted, “as you know, I defended Lucy, so I’m hardly going to say she was guilty, am I? The Crown reviewed the evidence at the preliminary hearing, such as it was, and threw the case out of court. She never even went to trial.”

“Wasn’t that something to do with the fact that she was in a wheelchair?” said Annie.

“The state of her health may have been a mitigating factor. HM prisons have very limited facilities for dealing with quadriplegics. But the fact remains that there wasn’t enough evidence against her to prove that she killed anyone.”

“Weren’t there some dodgy videos?” Ginger asked.

“Showing at the most sexual assault, at the least, consensual sex,” said Julia Ford. “The Crown knew they were on shaky ground with the videos, so they weren’t even admitted as evidence. As I said, the case collapsed before it went to trial. Not enough evidence. As is, sadly, so often the case.”

Annie ignored the barb. “The fact that one of the star prosecution witnesses, Maggie Forrest, had a nervous breakdown and was unable to testify might have helped, too,” she said.

“Possibly. But these things happen. Besides, even Maggie had no evidence to connect Lucy with any murders.”

“All right,” said Annie, raising her hand. “We’ll get nowhere now debating Lucy Payne’s role in the rape, torture and murder of those young girls.”

“I agree,” said Julia Ford. “I simply wanted to lay my cards on the table and let you know who you’re really dealing with. The events took place six years ago, when Lucy was just twenty-two. When faced with arrest, Lucy jumped out of a window, Maggie Forrest’s window. Lucy was in hospital after hospital for a long, long time, and the firm took care of her affairs. She had a number of serious operations, none of which was entirely successful, but they managed to keep her alive, after a fashion. In the end, we found her a place at Mapston Hall. Given the publicity surrounding the Payne case, once she had managed to disappear from the public view, and from the media, we thought it best that she assumed a new identity for the rest of her days. It was all perfectly legal. I have the papers.”

“And what about the car accident they told us about at Mapston Hall? Drunk driving?”

“Another necessary fiction.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Annie, “and I’m not really here to contest any of that. I thought I was looking for the killer of Karen Drew, but now I find out that I’m looking for who killed Lucy Payne. That changes things.”

“I hope knowing that won’t stop you from putting just as much effort into it.”

Annie glared at her. “I won’t even dignify that with a reply,” she said.

“There were plenty at the time who said Lucy got exactly what she deserved when she ended up in a wheelchair. Perhaps you were one of them.”

“No.” Annie felt herself turn red. She had never said that, but she had thought it. Like Banks, she believed that Lucy Payne had been as guilty as her husband, and spending the rest of her days paralyzed was fitting enough punishment for what the two of them had done to those girls in their cellar, whether Lucy had actually delivered the killing blows or not. The videos showed that she knew all about what was going on and had been a willing participant in her husband’s sick, elaborate sexual games with his victims. No, Lucy Payne’s fate elicited no sympathy from Annie. And now someone had put her out of her misery. It could almost be viewed as an act of kindness. But she wouldn’t let any of that cloud her judgment. She wouldn’t give Julia Ford the satisfaction of being right. She would work this case as hard as any other, harder perhaps, until she had discovered who killed Lucy Payne and why.

“How does it change things?” Julia Ford asked.

“Well, it brings two important questions to mind,” said Annie.

“Oh?”

“First: Did the killer know she was killing Lucy Payne?”

“And the second?”

“Who knew that Karen Drew was Lucy Payne?”

“Well, Stuart,” said Banks. “I think you’ve got some explaining to do, don’t you?”

Stuart Kinsey sat opposite Banks in the interview room that evening pouting, picking at a fingernail, glancing at Winsome out of the corner of his eye. It had been a long two days; everyone was tired and wanted to go home. Kinsey wore the typical student uniform of denim and a T-shirt proclaiming The Who’s triumphant return to Leeds University the previous June. His hair was shaggy, but not especially long, and Banks supposed he might be attractive to women in that surly, moody sort of way some of them liked. Whether he had been attractive to Hayley Daniels was another matter.

“Am I under arrest?” he asked.

Banks looked at Winsome. “Why does everyone ask us that?” he said.

“Don’t know, sir,” said Winsome. “Maybe they think it makes a difference.”

“Doesn’t it?” said Kinsey.

“Not really,” said Banks. “See, we could arrest you. Nothing easier. A mere formality. I’d say, ‘Stuart Kinsey, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Hayley Daniels. You don’t have to say anything… blah blah blah.’ The standard caution. Something along those lines. Then—”

“Wait a minute!” said Kinsey. “Murder? Now hold on. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Then you’d ask for a solicitor, as is your right, and we’d have to bring one in for you. He or she would probably encourage you to answer most of our questions, so long as they didn’t incriminate you. Which they wouldn’t if you didn’t do anything wrong. We could go that route. After the arrest comes the charge, which is a lot more serious. That’s when we take you down to the custody suite, divest you of your belt, shoelaces and possessions and lock you in a cell for as long as we feel like.” Banks tapped the side of his head. “Oh, no, what was I thinking about? That was the good old days. Sorry. It’s twenty-four hours, unless our boss authorizes further periods. And she’s very upset about what happened to Hayley. Got kids of her own.” Banks could sense Winsome rolling her eyes. But it worked. Kinsey had lost his cool and sullen demeanor, and he now appeared like a very frightened young man in a lot of trouble, which was exactly what Banks wanted.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

Banks nodded to Winsome, who turned on the small television monitor they had set up. The first clip showed Hayley walking away from her friends, Kinsey included, and disappearing into Taylor’s Yard. The time, 12:20 A.M., appeared along the bottom, along with the date and other technical details to prevent tampering. The second excerpt showed Stuart Kinsey dashing out of the arcade onto Castle Road. The time was 12:40. After the videos had finished, Banks paused to let the images sink in, then he said, “Whichever way you look at it, Stuart, you’re in a lot of trouble. What were you doing running out of the Maze at twelve-forty on Saturday night?”

“All right, I’d been looking for Hayley. But I didn’t kill her.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“It was like you saw in the other tape. We all said good-bye outside the Fountain. Hayley was… well, she’d had a few, if you must know.”

“I think we were aware of that,” said Banks. “It looks as if you were arguing. Why was she going into the Maze alone?”

“You know.”

“Tell me, Stuart.”

“Look, she was going for a piss, all right? The bogs in the Fountain were out of order. She’d had a skinful and she was going for a piss. That’s all. If it looks like we were arguing, it’s because we were trying to persuade her not to be so daft. But you can’t tell Hayley anything when she’s made her mind up, especially if she’s had a few.”

“She never said anything about meeting anyone?”

“No.”

“Wasn’t she afraid?”

“What had she to be afraid of? She didn’t know there was a murderer lurking there, did she?”

“Okay,” said Banks. “Why didn’t she wait until she got to the Bar None?”

“She just did things like that. She liked to be outrageous. She didn’t care what people thought. Besides, she wasn’t coming with us to the Bar None. Said she didn’t like the music.”

“Where was she going?”

“Dunno.”

“Okay, Stuart. You went into the Maze through the back exit of the Bar None shortly after you got there. Why?”

“I went to see if Hayley was okay.”

“You were worried about her? But you just told me you didn’t think she was in any danger, or had any reason to be.”

“Yeah, well, it just struck me that it’s dark down there and, you know, she might get lost or something.”

“And you wouldn’t? You know your way around the Maze, do you?”

“I didn’t really stop to think.”

“No. You just dashed out back to go and watch Hayley Daniels have a piss. Are you a pervert or something, Stuart?”

“No! I told you, it wasn’t like that at all. I wanted to… I wanted to see where she went.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? After she’d finished… you know… I wanted to see where she went. I didn’t do anything. Please. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t have hurt Hayley. Not for anything.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“I don’t know about love,” Kinsey said, “but I fancied her something rotten.”

At least that sounded honest, Banks thought. “Did Hayley know that?”

“It was pretty obvious.”

“What was her reaction?”

“Said we were friends. She blew hot and cold, did Hayley.”

“What was your reaction?”

“What do you mean?”

“She rejected you. How did you react?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Do you mean she accepted your advances? I’m confused.”

“I didn’t make any advances.”

“So how did she know you were interested?”

“We talked, like, we got on, you know, had stuff in common, bands and things, went to the pictures a couple of times. And there’s like an electricity between people, you know, you can feel it.”

“Did Hayley feel it, too?” Banks asked.

“I don’t suppose she did. At least she wouldn’t admit it. Hayley could be very distant. You never really knew where you stood with her. Like I said, hot and cold. She liked to be a part of the crowd, the party girl.”

“Center of attention?”

“Well, it wasn’t difficult for her. She was fit and she knew it. I mean, sometimes she got a bit rowdy, but it was just harmless fun. Sometimes I thought it was her way of, you know, keeping away any one particular person, being part of the group so you never really had to get close to someone, you could keep them at arm’s length. You’d get into a conversation with her, and then she’d say something, and before you knew it everyone would be involved and she was laughing at someone else’s joke. You couldn’t have her to yourself for very long.”

“That must have been very frustrating,” Banks said.

“You’re telling me.”

“So where did it lead?”

“Well, it didn’t lead anywhere, really. I didn’t sleep with her or anything. Just snogging and stuff. Sometimes I got the impression recently that she… no, it doesn’t matter.”

“It might, Stuart,” said Banks. “Let me be the judge.”

Kinsey paused and chewed on his fingernail. “Can I have a cup of tea or something?” he asked. “I’m thirsty.”

“Of course.” Not wanting to interrupt the rhythm of the interview, Banks signaled to Winsome, who got up and asked the constable outside the door to rustle up some tea.

“Won’t be long,” Banks said to Kinsey. “Now, Stuart, you were going to tell me about that impression you had.”

“Well, you know, it was just a sort of vague idea, like.”

“Even so…”

“Sometimes I thought maybe she’d got a bloke.”

“When did this start?”

“Couple of months ago. Around then.”

“Any idea who this bloke was? One of the others in the group?”

“No. Someone she was keeping secret.” He leaned forward on the table. “You see, that’s what I meant when I said I was in the Maze because I wanted to see where she went. I was going to follow her, find out who the mystery bloke was.”

“But you didn’t see her?”

“No. I thought she must have already gone. I mean, it was a good five minutes or so after we left her that I went in. It doesn’t take that long to… you know.”

“Right,” said Banks. Hayley had been sick, he remembered Dr. Burns telling him, which would have kept her there longer. “Did you see or hear anything while you were in there?”

“I… I thought I heard a door bang shut and a sort of… not a scream, but a muffled sort of cry. You don’t think it could have been her, do you? It creeped me out, I have to tell you.”

“What time was this?”

“Just after I went in. I wasn’t really aware of the time, but I suppose it was around twenty-five past, something like that.”

Just five minutes after Hayley herself had entered the Maze, Banks thought. “Did you see anyone?”

“No, nothing.”

“What did you do when you heard the noise? Is that why you were running?”

Kinsey nodded and studied the scratched table. “I got out of there pretty damn quickly,” he said. “I figured she must have finished before I got there and left already. You don’t really think it was her I heard, do you? Maybe I could have saved her, but I got scared. Oh, God…” Kinsey put his head in his hands and started crying.

Banks was almost certain that it was Hayley whom Kinsey had heard, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. His own imagination would torture him more than enough as it was. At least the time of the attack could be fixed more accurately now. Hayley’s killer had grabbed her about five minutes after she had gone into the Maze, just after she had been sick and finished what she had gone there to do. Perhaps watching her had excited and inflamed him.

The timing made perfect sense, of course. Hayley would hardly have been hanging around there unless she had made an assignation. Again, what Kinsey had said about the mystery boyfriend came back to Banks. Maybe she had made a date with him? Maybe that was who had killed her? But why arrange to meet him in the Maze if she was going to spend the night with him? It would make far more sense to go to his flat or wherever he lived. And why would a boyfriend resort to rape, or murder? Such things did happen, Banks knew. Not long ago, West Yorkshire police had arrested a man who regularly drugged and raped three girlfriends who would all have been perfectly happy to have consensual sex with him. Nothing much surprised Banks these days when it came to sexual deviance.

Hayley had carried condoms in her handbag, so she was obviously sexually active. Perhaps Stuart Kinsey had killed her, out of frustration, or out of jealousy. They were powerful emotions, as Banks knew from previous cases. Under the sway of jealousy, a man or a woman was capable of almost anything.

The tea arrived and Kinsey calmed down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just couldn’t bear the thought that I might have been able to do something, but I ran away.”

“You didn’t know what was happening,” Banks said. It wasn’t much consolation, but it was some. He leaned forward. “I’m very interested in this idea of yours about Hayley having a secret boyfriend,” he went on. “Any ideas who it might be or why she might keep him a secret?”