Gallows View

I

When Banks met Robin Allott the next morning, he could see exactly what Sandra meant. He had expected to hate the man, but Robin, looking rather like a tonsured monk with the dressing fixed over the shaved center of his skull, was pathetic. Banks found it easy to detach himself and deal with him as he would with any other criminal. Richmond sat in the corner taking notes.

"What did the hospital say?" he asked.

Allott shrugged and avoided looking Banks in the eye. "Not very much. They dressed the wound and sent me away with this." He held up a card which explained how to handle patients with head wounds. "I spent the rest of the night in your cells."

"Want to talk?"

Allott nodded. The first thing he did was apologize. Then he confessed to all the reported peeping incidents in addition to several more that had gone either unnoticed or unreported by the victims.

There was, however, another important matter to discuss. The timing of Allott's peeping on Carol Ellis coincided almost exactly with Alice Matlock's late evening visitor, who, if he wasn't her killer, was the last person to see her alive. Banks asked him if he had seen anyone as he ran along Cardigan Drive.

"Yes," Allott said eagerly. "I liked Alice. I've been wanting to tell you but I couldn't find a way without… It's been torturing me ever since. At first I thought he would have reported me. Then when he didn't… I'm so glad it's all over. I tried to suggest it might not have been kids, that it might have happened some other way, when you came to talk to me."

"I remember," Banks said. "But you didn't express the theory very forcefully."

"How could I? I was scared for myself."

"Who did you see?"

"It wasn't anyone I knew, but it was a man in his late thirties or early forties, I'd say. Medium height, slim. He had light brown hair combed back with a parting on the left."

"What was he wearing?"

"A beige overcoat, I think. I remember it was a chilly night. And gloves. Fawn gloves."

"Did you see where he came from?"

"No. He was by the end of Alice 's house when I ran by on the other side of the street. You know, the end of the block that runs at right angles to Cardigan Drive. Gallows View."

"So he was actually on Cardigan Drive, walking by the end house of Gallows View."

"Yes. Just across the street from me."

"And you got a good look at him?"

"Good enough. There's a street-lamp only yards from the junction."

"Would you recognize him again?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

Jenny had asked if she could talk to Allott, and Banks had agreed, stipulating that he be present throughout the interview. When he had finished with his questions, he asked Richmond to call in at the interview room where she was waiting and send her along.

There was still something nagging at his mind. Though it often worked wonders on half-formed ideas, sleep had failed to solve the problem this time. It was like having the right word on the tip of his tongue but being unable to utter it.

Jenny seemed to be making a deliberate effort to hide her beauty by wearing some very unflattering horn rimmed glasses and drab, baggy clothes that made her figure seem shapeless. She also wore her hair tied back in a severe bun.

Robin Allott looked up when she walked in stiffly with a file folder under her arm and a pencil behind her ear. She sat down opposite him, opened the folder, and only then, Banks noticed, did she look him in the eye.

"Would you like to tell me when you started watching women undress?" she asked first, in a business-like tone.

Now, Banks thought, it's my turn to watch the professional at work.

Allott looked away at the autumn scene on the calendar. "It was after my wife left me. I couldn't… she wasn't happy… She put up with me for a long time, but finally she couldn't stand it any longer. We hadn't had a proper life together, a real marriage. You know what I mean."

"Why was that?"

"I don't know. I didn't like to touch her. I couldn't be a man for her. I just wasn't interested. It wasn't her fault. She was a good woman, really. She put up with a great deal."

"What did she think?"

"She once told me she thought I was a latent homosexual, but I knew that was wrong. I never had any feelings like that for men. The whole idea repelled me. I never had any real feelings at all."

"What do you mean, you didn't have any real feelings?"

"You know, the things people are supposed to feel and do. Everything normal and carefree, like talking and kissing and loving. I felt like there was a big wall between me and the rest of the world, especially my wife."

"So she left you and then you started watching women get undressed. Why did you do that?"

"It was what I wanted to do. All I wanted to do, really. There was nothing else that gave me such a thrill. I know it was wrong but I couldn't… I tried to stop…"

"Can you think of any reason why you chose to do that particular thing? Why only that could satisfy you?"

Allott hesitated and bit his lip. "Yes," he said, after a few moments. "I did it before-a long time ago when I was a boy-and I couldn't get it out of my mind."

"What happened?"

He took a deep breath and his gaze turned inward.

"We lived on a narrow street with a pub on the corner-The Barley Mow, it was called-and lots of times when I was supposed to be asleep in my room, I'd see this woman opposite walk back from the pub alone, go upstairs and undress for bed. She always left the curtains open, and I watched her.

"She was a beautiful woman and nobody in the neighborhood really knew her. She never spoke to anyone and people tended to keep away from her, as if she was cold or above them somehow. People said she was foreign, a refugee from Eastern Europe, but nobody really knew. She was always alone. She was a mystery, but I could watch her unveil herself. At first it didn't feel like much, but I suppose it was just about that time of life when you change… and over a few weeks I had strange feelings watching her, feelings I'd never had before. They scared me, but they were exciting. I suppose I started to… to play with myself, unconsciously, and I remember thinking, 'What if she sees me, what will she do? Til be in trouble then.' But in a way I wanted her to see me, too. I wanted her to know about me." He leaned forward on his chair and his liquid brown eyes began to shine as he talked.

"Did she ever see you?"

"No. One day she was just gone. Simple as that. I was devastated. I'd thought it would go on forever, that she was doing it just for me. When she left it felt as if my whole life had been smashed in pieces. Oh, I did all the usual things like the other boys, but it always felt like there was something missing-it was never as wonderful as the others made out it was, as I thought it should be. Even girls, real girls…"

"Why did you marry?"

"It was the normal thing to do. My mother helped me, arranged introductions, that kind of thing. It just didn't work, though. I was always thinking of this woman, even… I could only do it if I thought of her. When my wife left, something snapped in me. It was like a sort of fog came over my mind, but at the same time I felt free. I felt like I could do what I wanted, I didn't have to pretend anymore. Oh, I could always be with other people easily enough-I had the Camera Club and all, but it was all inside, the mist. I felt I had to find her again, recapture what I'd lost."

"And did you?"

"No."

"What was she like?"

"Beautiful. Slender and beautiful. And she had black eyebrows and long, golden-blond hair. That excited me, I don't know why. Maybe it was the contrast. Long, straight, blond hair down over her shoulders. She looked like Sandra. That's why… I wouldn't have hurt her, never. And when it had gone so far, I just couldn't go through with it." He glanced over at Banks, who lit a cigarette and looked out of the window on the bustle of the market square.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing clear. I wanted to touch her. Make love to her, I suppose. But I couldn't. Please believe me, I wouldn't have hurt her, honestly."

"But you did hurt her."

He hung his head. "I know. I'd like to tell her, say I'm sorry…"

"I don't think she wants to see you. You frightened her a great deal."

"I didn't mean to. It seemed like the only way."

"I'm not here to judge you," Jenny said.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"You need help. We'll try to help you."

"You?"

"Not me, but somebody qualified."

Robin gave a resigned nod. "I didn't mean to scare her. I would never have harmed a hair on her head, you've got to believe me. I thought it was the only way. I had to find out what it felt like to touch her, to have her in my power. But I couldn't do anything. I couldn't."

Jenny and Banks left him with a uniformed constable and walked out into the corridor. Jenny leaned against the institutional-green wall and took a deep breath, then she removed her glasses and loosened her hair.

"Well?" Banks asked.

"I think he's harmless," she said. "You heard him insist that he wouldn't have hurt Sandra. I believe him."

"But he did hurt her."

"I told him that, and I think he understood. He meant physically. What more can I say, Alan? He's suffering. Part of me hates him for what he did, but another part-the professional bit, I suppose-understands, in a way, that it's not his fault, that he needs help, not punishment."

Banks nodded. "Coffee?"

"Oh, yes, please."

They walked across Market Street to the Golden Grill.

"You still seem a bit preoccupied, Alan," Jenny said, sipping her coffee. "Is there something else? I thought you'd caught enough criminals for one night."

"Lack of sleep, I suppose."

"That all?"

"Probably not. There's something bothering me, but I'm not quite sure what it is. You know we haven't got Alice Matlock's killer yet?"

"Yes."

"Allott gave us a description. It's definitely not the kids."

"So?"

"I feel that I ought to know who it is, and why. Like it's staring me in the face and I just can't bring it into focus."

"Is there some clue you can't think of?"

"No, it's nothing like that. It's a whole jumble of impressions. Not to worry, another night's sleep might do it. Maybe I'll even try an afternoon nap and hurry it along."

"So it's not all over?"

"Not yet."

"And our intrepid chief inspector won't rest until it is?"

Banks smiled. "Something like that. I'll tell you one thing, though. When I moved up to Yorkshire, I sure as hell expected a softer time of it than this."

II

Back at the station an excited Sergeant Hatchley came rushing to meet Banks. "We've got him!"

"Who?"

"Lenny Webster. The fence. Mick's brother." Banks grinned. "So London came through, then?"

"Didn't they just? Paid him a visit in the middle of the night at that address we got from the letter."

"Yes?"

"And sure enough, he was there. Babysitting an assortment of drugs-marijuana, cocaine, uppers, downers, even some heroin."

"Enough to put him away for a while?"

"Enough to put him away for a long while, sir."

"I'll bet he was intending to bring it all back up here to sell, am I right?"

"Exactly. And there's more."

"Go on."

"It seems that young Lenny's not as tough as he makes out, if you know what I mean. In fact, a little heavy leaning and he breaks down completely. First off, they've got the bloke who gave him the gun, and they found three more at his place-not duff ones, mind you. And next, Lenny sings all about his plans with Micklethwaite."

"Moxton."

"Pardon?"

"That's his real name. Moxton. Larry Moxton."

"Oh. Well, Webster knows him as Micklethwaite, and they were going to unload the stuff between them. Also, Micklethwaite put him onto the Ottershaw and Pitt jobs."

"Right, we'd better bring Larry in then, hadn't we?"

"Do you think we've got enough to nail him?"

"I think so, if we add it to what Thelma Pitt and Ottershaw have to tell us. What puzzles me is how a con man like Larry could get mixed up with a low-life thug like Webster."

"That's explained in the telex," Hatchley said. "Apparently it's through the chap who was getting the drugs for them. He'd served time with Micklethwaite, and when he heard he was going to relocate up north he put him in touch with Lenny."

"Ah, the old-boy network. Right little den of thieves we've caught, haven't we?"

Hatchley beamed, his red balloon-face glowing with success.

"Aye, we have that, sir. Oh, I almost forgot. There's a woman waiting in your office for you."

"Not…"

"No, not that Wycombe woman. I've never seen this one before. Wouldn't say who she was. Wants to see you, though."

Curious, Banks poked his head around the office door. It was Mrs. Allott, Robin's mother.

"What's all this nonsense about my son Robin?" she asked, puffing herself up.

Banks took a deep breath and sat down. It was the last thing he needed, another irate parent.

"Your son has been charged on several counts of voyeurism, Mrs. Allott, and on one count of attempted rape. He threatened a woman at knife-point. That woman happened to be my wife."

Mrs. Allott's tone altered not a jot. "Always look after your own, you coppers do. Well, you've got the wrong man this time. My Robin wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Perhaps not," Banks conceded, "but he's behaved very badly toward women."

"Who saw him, then? How many witnesses have you got?"

"We don't need witnesses, Mrs. Allott. Your son gave us a full confession."

"Well, you must have sweated it out of him. You must have got the rubber hose out."

Banks got to his feet. "Mrs. Allott, it's a cut-and-dried case. There's nothing more to be said about it. If you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

"He was with me," she persisted. "All those times you say he was snooping on women he was with me. I've looked after him ever since that bitch of a wife ran off and left him, the no-good hussy. I warned him about her, I did. Told him she'd only bring trouble."

"Why don't you give a list of the dates and times your son was with you to the desk sergeant, then we'll see if we can match them with the incidents. I have to repeat, though, it's no use. Your son has already confessed."

"Under duress, I'm sure. He can't have done those things you say he did."

"I can assure you that-he did do them."

"Then that wife of his drove him to it."

"Make up your mind, Mrs. Allott. How could he be driven to do things you said he didn't do?"

"He was with me," she repeated firmly.

Banks couldn't be bothered to tell her that, in addition to her son's confession, he also had Sandra's statement. It was futile. Robin's innocence was fixed in her mind, and that was that. No amount of reason would change her opinion. She would even lie on the witness stand to save him.

"Look," Banks said in as kind a tone as he could manage, "I really do have a lot of work to do. If you'd care to give the dates to the sergeant at the front desk…"

"I'm not going to be soft-soaped like that. You're not going to fob me off with some menial. I demand my rights."

She was clinging as tight as a limpet and Banks was nearing the end of his tether. Brusquely, he picked up a clean sheet of paper and took out his pen.

"All right, then. The dates?"

"I can't remember the exact dates. What do you think I am, a computer? He's always at home. You know, you've seen him there. He helps me take care of his dad."

"I saw him there once, Mrs. Allott. And he was expecting me. Are you telling me he's at home every night?"

"Yes."

"Including Tuesdays?"

She thought for a moment, a wary expression flickering over her pinched face. "Tuesdays. He goes to the Camera Club on Tuesdays. With his friends. Any of them will tell you what a good boy he is."

Banks could think of one who certainly wouldn't, but he said nothing. In fact, Mrs. Allott's presence began to recede far into the distance as the subject of his recent brooding came slowly into focus. She had given him an idea. It still wasn't fully formed yet, and he wasn't sure what to do about it, but the lens was definitely closing in.

He forced his attention reluctantly back to the business at hand.

"So what you're telling me, Mrs. Allott, is that every night of the week except Tuesdays, Robin was with you from the moment he left work till the moment he went again the next morning?"

"That's right."

"He never went out?"

"No."

"All right," Banks said, losing interest in her lies again as his idea came into sharper focus. "I'll get somebody to take your statement, Mrs. Allott. You can go home now."

She got to her feet and flapped out of the office.

Almost as soon as she had slammed the door, Banks forgot her. He reached for a cigarette, asked Craig to send up some of the special new coffee, and slouched deep in his chair to think.

One hour, three cigarettes, and two cups of black coffee later, he knew what had been bothering him and what to do about it. He snatched up the phone and dialled the front desk.

"Put Sergeant Hatchley on," he snapped. He knew that Hatchley had a habit of chatting with Rowe.

"Sir?" Hatchley answered.

"Sergeant, I want you to go to Sharp's place and ask Graham Sharp to drop by and see me right away. Tell him it's to do with his son's statement and it's urgent. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"And don't take no for an answer, Sergeant. If he grumbles about locking up the shop and losing business, remind him what a difficult position young Trevor's in."

"Right," Hatchley answered, "I'm on my way, sir."

III

"Trevor Sharp's been bound over to the youth authorities," Richmond was saying. "Do you want me to get him over here?"

"No," Banks answered. "It doesn't matter. How's Webster?"

"The last I heard, sir, he's in fair shape. The surgeon managed to save that finger. Have you seen my report?"

"No, I haven't. It's been a busy morning. No time for reading. Give me a summary."

"It was just to tell you that Vic Manson got some good prints from the jewelry, sir. It seems the lads must have handled it at home after the burglaries, when they felt safe."

"And?"

"And both Sharp's and Webster's prints showed up, sir."

"We've got the buggers, then."

"Looks like it, sir. Webster's been doing a bit of talking, too. That shock to his system has shaken his ideas around no end. The doc won't let us talk to him for long yet, but he's already told us it was him and Sharp did the jobs."

"Good work," Banks said. "Could you bring in Allott for me, please?"

"The peeper, sir?"

"Yes. Robin Allott. Bring him up."

"Very well, sir. I'm afraid his mother's still downstairs on the bench. Refuses to leave until she sees the superintendent."

Banks scratched his chin. It was itchy because he hadn't shaved that morning. "I wouldn't wish her on him," he said. "Try and get rid of her. And whatever you do, make sure she doesn't see her son coming up."

"I'll do my best, sir."

A few moments later, Robin Allott was escorted into Banks's office and told to make himself comfortable. Allott still couldn't meet the inspector's eyes, and Banks almost felt like telling him to stop dwelling on it, that it was all over and done with. But he didn't. Why let the bastard off the hook after what he'd done to Sandra? If she hadn't already known Allott, Banks thought, there wouldn't have been any pity in her feelings toward him.

About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Banks opened it to Sergeant Hatchley with an anxious Graham Sharp in tow.

"What is it, Inspector?" Sharp demanded angrily as he charged across the threshold. "Your sergeant told me it-"

And he froze. As the newcomer entered the room, Robin Allott had turned to see what the commotion was, and his jaw dropped in immediate recognition.

"That's him!" he said, pointing at Sharp. "That's the man I saw!"

Graham Sharp looked at him, then at Banks. His face drained of color and he reached out to support himself on the edge of the flimsy desk. Banks gestured to a confused Hatchley to stay and to pull up a chair for him.

"Like to tell me about it, Mr. Sharp?" he asked.

"What made you think of me?"

"Somebody else in your position."

"What do you mean?"

Banks looked at Robin, then back at Sharp. "His mother came in and swore blind he was with her when he had already admitted to being the peeper. I just got to thinking about the lengths some people would go to protect their families. After a while, it all seemed to fit. Your son insisted that he and Webster had nothing to do with Alice Matlock's death and that was the only thing I believed from him. I'd already suspected that it was a different kind of crime. There was no senseless damage to Alice 's sentimental possessions as there had been in the other cases, and she was the first victim to die.

"The problem then was who on earth would want to kill a harmless old woman, and why? Robin's mother gave me the answer. I remembered how protective you had been about Trevor, ready to perjure yourself and swear blind to false alibis. It didn't take much stretching of the imagination to figure out that you might go a lot further to protect your illusion of him. The simple fact is, Mr. Sharp, that your son's a callous, vicious bastard, but to you he's a bright lad with a promising future. You would do anything to protect that future. Am I right?"

Sharp nodded.

"I don't know all the details," Banks went on, "but I think that Alice Matlock found out something about your son. Maybe she saw him leaving the scene of a break-in, saw him with some stolen goods or noticed him hiding his balaclava. She wasn't a very sociable person, but everybody knew about the other women who'd been robbed. Am I still right?"

Sharp sighed and accepted a cigarette with a trembling hand. He seemed on the verge of a nervous collapse.

"Are you all right?" Banks asked.

"Yes, Inspector. It's just the relief. You've no idea what a burden this has been for me. I don't think I could have stood it much longer, pushing it to the back of my mind, pretending it never really happened. It was an accident, you know."

"Do you mean you would have come forward eventually?"

"Possibly. I can't say. I know how far I'd go to protect my son, but not how far I'd go to save myself."

"Tell me about it."

"Yes. Alice Matlock told me that she had heard Trevor bragging about the robberies with another boy one evening when she was walking home from a friend's house. She came into my shop that Monday just before closing and told me about it. Said she was going to report him to the police the next day. She had no proof, no evidence, and at first it didn't bother me much because I thought nobody would take any notice of an old woman. But then I got to worrying about what damage it might do, what questions we might have to answer.

"I couldn't believe Trevor was guilty, even though I knew there was something wrong. Maybe I did know it, deep down. I can't say. But I wanted to protect him. Is that so unusual in a father? I thought that whatever it was it was just a phase he would pass through. I didn't want his life ruined because of a few foolish juvenile exploits."

"If you'd come forward with your suspicions a long time ago," Banks remarked, "you would have saved everybody, including your son, a lot of grief. Especially Thelma Pitt."

Sharp shook his head. "I still can't believe my Trevor did that."

"Take my word for it, Mr. Sharp, he did. That's just the point."

Sharp flicked the ash off his cigarette and looked at the floor.

"What happened?" Banks asked.

"I went to talk to her that night. Just talk to her. I knocked on the door and she answered it. I'm not really sure that she recognized me. She seemed to think I was someone else. I told her what a good future Trevor had and what a crime it would be to spoil it for him. I was desperate, Inspector. I even pleaded with her, but it was no good."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing that made much sense to me. She said there was no point coming back and pretending to be him. I wasn't him. I was an evil imposter and she was going to the police. I couldn't talk any sense into her and when she started going on about calling the police I lost my temper and reached for her.

"I didn't intend to kill her, honestly. But she was so frail. I've got a terrible temper. Always have had. I couldn't help myself She fell backwards. I tried to reach out, to stop her, but it all seemed to happen in slow motion, like one of them dreams when you can't run fast enough. I heard the sound, her skull cracking on the edge of the table. And the blood on the flags… I…" Sharp put his head in his hands and sobbed.

"What happened next?" Banks asked, after giving him a couple of minutes to pull himself together.

"I messed the place up a bit, as if I'd been a burglar, and I took some things-some money, a set of silver cutlery. You'll find it all buried on the edge of Gallows Field. I didn't touch a penny of the money, honest I didn't."

"You didn't think to call an ambulance?"

"I was scared. There would have been questions."

"We didn't find any fingerprints, Mr. Sharp. Were you wearing gloves?"

"Yes."

"That would explain the muffled knocking," Hatchley interrupted, looking up from his note taking. "That Rigby woman said the knocking sounded muffled, distant, like it could have been a long way away."

Banks nodded. "Why were you wearing gloves, Mr. Sharp?"

"It was a cold night. I've got bad circulation."

"But you didn't have very far to go."

"No, I suppose not."

"And you didn't take them off when you got inside."

"I never thought. Things just started happening too fast. Don't you believe me? Are you suggesting I intended to kill the woman?"

"That's for the court to decide," Banks said. "I'm just gathering the evidence. Did you see Mr. Allott?"

"Yes, on my way in. He looked like he was running away from something himself. I didn't think he got a really good look at me. Still, I was a bit worried for a few days, but then I realized that, whoever he was, he hadn't come forward. Perhaps he hadn't heard of the old woman's death, or maybe he had his own secret to hide. I don't know."

"Did you have any idea why Alice Matlock didn't seem to recognize you but let you in anyway?"

Graham shrugged. "I can't say I gave it much thought. She was old. I suppose she did ramble a bit sometimes."

"Close," Banks said. "She probably couldn't even remember what day she overheard Webster and your son. You see, the irony of it is, Mr. Sharp, that by the morning she would most likely have forgotten all about the incident anyway. And you were quite right to think that nobody would believe a woman who was beginning to live more in the past than the present. You killed her for nothing."

IV

There wasn't much left to do. Statements had to be written up and filed, charges laid, hearing dates fixed. But as far as Banks was concerned, the real job was finished. The rest was up to the courts and the twelve jurors "good and true."

He believed that Sharp had killed Alice Matlock by accident, that he was basically a good man driven too far. But so many criminals were good men gone wrong. It sometimes seemed a pity, or at least an inconvenience, that society seemed to have discarded the concept of evil, something which, in Banks's mind, would always separate Trevor Sharp from his father.

As he had no other pressing business, he decided to go home early and spend some time with Sandra. He would see Jenny again, too. No doubt Sandra would insist that she come over for dinner some evening. But not for a while. It was time to heal the wound and attempt to build more frail bridges between male and female; and the fewer confusing distractions, the easier that would be.

He would buy Sandra a small present, perhaps: that simple gold chain she had admired in H. Samuels' window the last time they were in Leeds; or the new lightweight camera-bag at Erricks' in Bradford. Or he could take her out for dinner and a show. Opera North were doing Gounod's Faust next month. But no, Sandra didn't like opera. Going to see a new film would be a better treat for her.

As he walked home in the steady drizzle, Banks began to feel some of the pleasurable release, the sense of lightness and freedom that was his usual reward at the end of a case.

Before leaving, he had slipped a cassette of highlights from La Traviata , usually reserved for the car, into his Walkman, and now he fumbled around in his pocket to switch it on. He walked down Market Street enjoying the cool needles of rain on his face and hummed along with the haunting prelude. Tourists heading for the car park, merchants closing up for the day, and disappointed shoppers rattling already-locked doors all seemed like actors in the opening scene of a grand opera. When the jaunty "Drinking Song" began, Banks started to sing along quietly, and his step lightened almost to a dance.