Not Dark Yet

10

Banks was in his office early the following morning, having made his way past the crews of two TV vans parked in the market square and a knot of reporters on the front steps of Eastvale Regional HQ.

While Stephen Hough played some late Brahms piano music in the background, Banks pored over Ordnance Survey maps, but he was distracted by mulling over whether he should cancel his outing to see the Blue Lamps’ farewell concert at the Sage that evening. Mark and Tracy could easily get there by themselves. Though he had arranged to have a meal with them beforehand over the river in Newcastle, they would surely understand that he had a crisis on his hands. He also had tickets for Ray and Zelda, but they would have to go unused unless he could find someone in the station who wanted them.

But if he stayed at the office or at home, what would he do but worry? He could take his mobile to the concert with him, set on vibrate, even in the hall; he wouldn’t be far away, and he could respond immediately to any breaks in the case. It wasn’t as if he was expected to be out crawling over the moors with a magnifying glass and a deerstalker looking for clues himself. But could he even pay attention to his family and the music if he went? That wasn’t the issue, he realised. He mustn’t let his son down just because leaving the investigation for an evening made him feel as if he were playing truant. This wasn’t about him; it was about Brian. Wherever Banks’s mind was, at least his physical presence should be there in the Sage concert hall while his son played one of his last gigs with the band he’d been with for years.

Eno’s Reflection had done the trick the previous night, and Banks had slept well. First, he called Ray to find out how he was doing. Ray was hungover and depressed and told him the ‘bloody forensics blokes’ had just turned up again to make his day even worse. Banks told him that the media would probably arrive in Lyndgarth soon, and he could go and hide out at Newhope Cottage if he wanted. But Ray said he was going to lock himself in his studio and try to immerse himself in work and music. It was the only way he thought he had any chance of surviving this whole business. He had just taken delivery of a rare vinyl copy of Jan Dukes de Grey’s 1969 debut album Sorcerers and that should get him through the morning. Even Banks didn’t have that one, only Mice and Rats in the Loft and Strange Terrain.

Next, Banks phoned Adrian Moss and asked him to organise a press conference for later that morning. Zelda had been missing for a day and two nights now, and they were no closer to finding her, so the more publicity the better. Surely someone had seen something?

His last call was to the Croatian authorities asking them for help in locating Tadić. It appeared they knew all about Petar and Goran and said they would be only too willing to help if either was foolish enough to return to Croatia any time soon. But they had no idea where the brothers were.

AC Gervaise had talked to Assistant Chief Constable Ron McLaughlin and the chief constable himself, and Zelda’s disappearance was now an official Category-A investigation, with a budget to match. They would need it, too, with the extra men drafted in, then the Swaledale Mountain Rescue Team, based at Catterick Garrison. Banks had heard that it cost around a couple of thousand just to get the SAR helicopter up in the air. Still, with its heat-seeking capabilities, it could help isolate a living human figure in a vast landscape.

Despite their name, the search team didn’t restrict themselves to Swaledale, but also carried out operations in Wensleydale and Swainsdale. They had worked on the Claudia Lawrence search back in March 2009, when Claudia, a chef at the University of York, had disappeared. Sadly, Claudia still hadn’t been found, though various theories of her murder had been brought forward, including the possibility that she was a victim of the serial killer Christopher Halliwell. The search team had also helped out in recent flood relief efforts, including the collapse of Tadcaster Bridge.

Frustration began to set in quickly, as it so often did with missing persons cases. Things just weren’t happening fast enough. Every moment Zelda was missing Banks felt the tension in him rack up a notch. It was partly the impotence, of course, and the not knowing, but also the fear of what might be happening to her and, as time went on, the fear that she might already be dead.

Banks shuffled the papers on his desk. There was a lab report informing him that the cigarette ends found in the hollow near the cottage were Ronhill, a popular Croatian brand, and that they would yield DNA if required. Again, it was all pretty brazen, or careless, on Tadić’s part. DNA tests were expensive, but flushed with his newly approved budget, Banks ordered one.

Radio 3 was playing Weinberg’s ‘Kaddish’ Symphony, No. 21. It was close to the end when a melancholy keening female voice entered. The strange melody was so moving that Banks stopped what he was doing for a few moments and just listened. He didn’t know the composer’s work well but had read about him recently in Gramophone and liked what he was hearing. Amazing to know there were at least twenty more symphonies out there waiting to be heard. Weinberg had also written quite a lot of music for viola, one of Banks’s favourite instruments, up there with the oboe. He had known a very beautiful violist years ago, and had almost had an affair with her. Almost.

When the symphony finished, the announcer mentioned that the wordless singing was performed by the conductor of the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra herself: Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla. Even more impressive. Banks only wished he could learn to pronounce her name.

As his thoughts began to drift, he was struck with an idea he thought might produce some positive results. Zelda, Banks was almost a hundred per cent certain, was being kept somewhere in the area. But where? It seemed unlikely they would keep her in a village or small town, as newcomers would draw too much attention in such places — especially newcomers like Tadić and Zelda — where everyone knew everyone else’s business. But given that Blaydon owned dozens of vacant properties all over Yorkshire, and that Tadić had been connected with Blaydon, wouldn’t these be logical places to search, along with recent holiday cottage lets, Airbnbs, converted barns, and so forth?

The problem with this line of thinking was that Blaydon was dead. But that didn’t have to be a game-stopper. Tadić had used Blaydon’s properties before as pop-up brothels, so he probably had a good idea of what was available out there. In the same way, Leka Gashi had used them for his county lines operations. The connection might seem obvious, and something to be avoided by a cautious criminal, but as Banks had already seen, Tadić was far from cautious: he was brazen and arrogant. Perhaps he might also be careless or stupid enough to use one of Blaydon’s empty properties to keep Zelda.

Banks phoned through to the squad room and talked to Gerry, who assured him that their files on the Blaydon murder investigation contained comprehensive lists of all the properties on his books. Ever since he had become more interested in speculation and property development — projects like the Elmet Centre — rather than mere ownership, Blaydon had let many of the places he already owned go to seed, or had simply rented them out and forgotten about them. Now he was dead, his daughter would inherit them, along with everything else, but she had already indicated that she had no interest in her late father’s businesses and would rather just sell the whole kit and caboodle and go live in St. Kitts and Nevis.

Banks asked Gerry if she could make time to come up with a list of vacant, isolated Blaydon properties within a radius of, say, twenty miles of Windlee Farm, and she said she would.

‘So charlotte Westlake is lying about not knowing the girl?’

‘So it would appear,’ said Gerry. She was sitting at her desk in the squad room of Eastvale Regional HQ the day after talking with Tamara Collins. ‘The interesting question is why.’

‘We both felt there was something she wasn’t telling us,’ Annie said. ‘And this is probably it. She’s more involved than we thought.’

‘It’s not much, though, is it? Mistaken identity. Poor photograph. Easy to explain away. Maybe she genuinely didn’t recognise this Marnie from the photo, especially if she didn’t know her well?’

‘It’s a connection. That’s what’s important. And it tells us she’s a liar. You specifically asked her if it might have been someone who worked for her at the parties, and she had every chance to come up with a possibility or two. Remember, she didn’t study the photo closely. She just rejected it out of hand. Fair enough, it’s not a great photo, but if you’d hired the person depicted in it, there’s a reasonable chance you might recognise her from it, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Why should we trust anything she tells us? For all we know she might be in cahoots with Tadić on supplying the girls. Maybe she’s a madam with a ready-made stable.’

Gerry smiled. ‘Hang on a minute... It is still possible that Charlotte was telling the truth and she didn’t recognise Marnie from the picture.’

‘I know. I know,’ said Annie. ‘Maybe I’m exaggerating, making too much of it. But we have to consider that Charlotte Westlake might be lying, out of loyalty to Blaydon, or to cover up some involvement of her own. In exactly what, I don’t know. Remember she said she knew him vaguely before she went to work for him. Maybe he’s the rapist, and Marnie told Charlotte about it, cried on her shoulder? What would Charlotte do about that? At the very least she ought to be able to supply us with the victim’s last name now we can tell her the first one, which is a hell of a lot more than we have right now.’

‘True enough,’ Gerry agreed. ‘But are you also thinking Charlotte might have had something to do with Blaydon’s murder because of what he did to Marnie?’

‘Or Marnie herself,’ she said. ‘But I can’t see either of them going that far. And gutting him...? No. Charlotte’s already told us she was finding Blaydon’s behaviour harder and harder to take. That’s why she left.’

‘If she’s telling us the truth about that.’

‘Fair enough. But Marnie was just another employee. And what about Gashi? Maybe he was the rapist? Maybe he killed Blaydon because he thought he had something on him, or he found out about Roberts filming it? Don’t forget, we’ve always leaned towards the theory that the Albanians killed Blaydon. We just lacked any evidence. Maybe this is it? At least it gives us a clearer motive. Perhaps we should go and have another word with Charlotte, push her a bit harder.’

‘We could have the local force pick her up and bring her in,’ Gerry suggested. ‘Use an interview room. Give her the full treatment. Be more intimidating.’

Annie thought for a moment. ‘Good idea. We’ve got Tamara’s statement that Charlotte met with the girl in her office. That gives us something to confront her with, more ammunition.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Gerry said, sliding off the desk. ‘I’d better get back to work on Blaydon’s empty properties for the super first, see if we can find a suitable property Tadić could be using to keep Zelda prisoner.’

‘It’s as good an idea as any.’

The door opened and the bright light of a heavy-duty work lamp flooded in. Zelda blinked at the onslaught. When her eyes adjusted, she noticed Petar Tadić standing there with a scruffy, thuggish man she didn’t know. She retreated to her corner and pulled up her knees. She could tell from the way Tadić looked at her that he still had no idea who she was, that they had met before, that he had raped her. The light elongated and distorted their shadows on the walls, so they resembled deformed creatures from a horror film. Freaks. Dracula in his cape. Nosferatu.

‘Sit up straight against that wall by the radiator,’ Tadić said.

Zelda didn’t move.

Tadić stepped forward and kicked her on the hip. She cried out.

‘Against the wall.’

Zelda shuffled herself into position.

Tadić turned the light full on her, and his sidekick took a digital camera from his pocket and squatted in front of her.

‘Hold your head up. Don’t smile for the camera,’ Tadić said and grinned.

That was easy to do. The sidekick took several photos of her head and shoulders. ‘Done, boss,’ he said.

‘Give the camera to Foley. He’ll know what to do.’

He picked up the light and they left without another word. Zelda breathed a sigh of relief as she was once again consigned to darkness.

The interview room wasn’t especially designed to scare the shit out of anyone questioned there, nor was it created to inspire a sense of calm and well-being. The walls were either institutional green or dishwater grey, depending on the light, which came in through a tiny high window covered by a grille. The furniture consisted of a metal table bolted to the floor, along with two hard-backed chairs on each side. Against one wall stood another table laden with tape-recording equipment, and high in one corner, the CCTV camera looked down on the proceedings and recorded every twitch and tic. The room’s starkness was symbolic of its purpose: to get down to the bare bones.

The day Charlotte Westlake was led inside, the walls were decidedly pale grey in contrast to the bright sunshine outside, and to Charlotte’s yellow blouse and green skirt. There was no air-conditioning, and the heat rose steadily throughout the interview. At the end, everyone was sweating, not only Charlotte Westlake.

When she was brought in, she first leaned, palms down, on the table and addressed Annie and Gerry: ‘I want it on record that I very much resent this intrusion into my life for no apparent reason.’

‘Sit down, Mrs. Westlake,’ said Annie. ‘The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be finished.’

Charlotte sat slowly, the anger still etched into the hard lines of her face. She wore her hair pulled back, fastened in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and the tightness of her hairline accentuated her high cheekbones and narrow jaw. Her sapphire eyes were blazing with rage. ‘Should I be sending for my solicitor?’

‘Up to you,’ said Annie. ‘As far as we’re concerned, this is what we call an “intelligence interview” and you’re here simply to answer a few questions about a crime. You haven’t been arrested or charged with anything.’

‘I know you lot,’ she said. ‘You’re sneaky. You’ll get me to admit things.’

‘Admit to what things?’

‘You know what I mean. You’re at it already.’

Annie leaned forward and tapped her pen on the table. ‘This could be very simple,’ she said. ‘You answer a few questions, tell the truth, and it’s all over. Call your solicitor and, well, things can get very long and drawn-out from that point. We could fix you up with a duty solicitor, but somehow I don’t think that’s what you want. You complained to the officers who brought you here that you have tickets for Opera North tonight. If you simply let us do our jobs, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be there to enjoy the show. Believe me, we’re not trying to trap you into admitting anything criminal. This entire conversation is being recorded for your sake as well as ours, and you haven’t been cautioned. We can go through all the motions if you want, and perhaps we can charge you with wasting police time, or impeding an investigation, but believe me, it’ll be far more binding on you should anything more serious come of our little chat. And it’ll take time. So what’s it to be?’

‘I’m not being held on any charges?’

‘No.’

‘So I’m free to go?’

‘Yes.’

She stood up. ‘Then what’s to stop me?’

‘Nothing,’ said Annie. ‘Go ahead, if you like. All you need to know is that we think you have information we would like to have in our possession, too, and we don’t give up that easily. You either lied to us or you were mistaken the last time we talked to you. This is your chance to put things right. Maybe your last chance. So walk, if you wish. We can’t stop you. But we’re not going away.’ She paused. ‘And you would be obstructing us in our investigation.’

Annie held eye contact with Charlotte for what felt like a long time before the latter slowly subsided back into her chair and said, ‘Fine. Let’s get on with it, then, get it over with. What do you want to know?’

Gerry, who had been sitting quietly taking notes of anything that might not be obvious from a sound or video recording, slid over the photograph of Marnie. ‘Last time we talked to you,’ she said, ‘you told us you didn’t know this girl.’

Charlotte glanced at the photo, then quickly turned away. ‘That’s right,’ she said, her voice hesitant and shaky.

‘Her name is Marnie. Does that help at all?’

‘Marnie... I... I...’

Annie took over and tried to set her at ease. ‘Easy to be mistaken. We admit it’s not a very good image. But take another look. Go on. Take your time.’

Charlotte studied the picture, then said, ‘Well, it could be her... I suppose. She does seem sort of familiar on closer inspection.’

‘So you do know a Marnie?’

‘I... er... yes.’

‘Is this her?’

‘It could be. Who told you that?’

‘It doesn’t matter. The point is that we found out. What’s her surname?’

‘Sedgwick. Marnie Sedgwick. If that’s who she is. Is this the one...? I mean, God, I’m so sorry about what happened to her.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Old enough. Nineteen.’

‘Old enough for what?’ Gerry asked.

‘To do the job I employed her for, of course, which might have included serving alcohol at some events.’

‘Did it?’

‘No. She turned out to be better suited to behind-the-scenes work.’

Annie picked up the questioning again. ‘How did you become acquainted with her?’

‘If it is the person I’m thinking of, then she’s an employee. An occasional employee, I should say.’

‘Gig economy?’

‘Has to be, in my business. I can’t guarantee her full-time or even part-time employment. It’s on an event-by-event basis. I used her as and when she was available and when I needed someone.’

‘For Blaydon’s parties?’

‘Yes. And his other events — sales conventions, retirement parties, and so on. The usual sort of events most businesses have to cope with.’

‘Did you first meet her when she applied for a job?’

‘Yes. I don’t advertise. At least, only by word of mouth. It would be one of the other girls who suggested her.’

‘Which one?’

‘I have no idea. As I said, I don’t know her well. All I know is she came to me looking for a job, I interviewed her, and she seemed satisfactory, worth taking a chance on.’

‘Perhaps you can furnish us with a list of all your employees, however casual they may be? I do believe we asked you for this last time we talked. We haven’t got it yet.’

‘I know... It’s just... I don’t know. What about privacy?’

‘Theirs or yours?’ said Gerry. ‘We’re not interested in tax avoidance, if that’s what you’re worried about. We don’t care how many jobs they’re doing on the side, or whether they’re claiming benefits at the same time. Nor do we care whether your business is registered in Jersey or the Isle of Man. Not our department.’

Charlotte gave her a sour smile. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘So Marnie’s one of your regular helpers now?’ said Annie.

‘Yes. She was.’

‘Is she not still with you?’

‘No. That was when I was working for Connor.’

‘And now?’

‘I’m afraid I have no idea where she is.’

‘You let her go?’

‘She could have come with me, but she chose not to.’

‘Where did she go?’

‘I have no idea. She didn’t confide in me.’

‘Any idea why she left?’

‘I assumed she’d found something else. Something better paying, better hours, or steadier work, perhaps.’

‘Did she say what?’

‘No.’

‘How was she as an employee?’

‘She was a bit reticent, shy, when it came to the hostess work, and she made it clear that she didn’t like doing it. That’s why she didn’t work out on the service end. She’d worked as a waitress in a family restaurant, but this was different. There was a lot of alcohol involved, and the men... Well, I’m sure you know what I mean. Her attitude might have made her seem stand-offish. But she was good at the practical aspects of the job, the backroom stuff. She was no slouch. And she was reliable. Always turned up on time. You’d be surprised how rare that is these days.’

‘Just not so good at chatting up the men at front of house?’

‘That wasn’t part of her job. And it’s a strictly hands-off policy with my serving girls. Connor knew that. It’s not as if there weren’t enough of the other kind of women around recently. Marnie’s an attractive girl, it’s true, but she isn’t the type to display her cleavage and a bit of thigh. She’s a very serious girl, a thinker rather than a talker. She’s also good at being invisible when she needed to be. I liked that about her. And mostly she was stuck in the kitchen. You have no idea how much cleaning up, restocking, and ongoing maintenance there is to be done at events like those parties. They don’t run as smoothly without a lot of skilled help, you know.’

‘Maybe all of Blaydon’s guests didn’t know about your hands-off policy,’ Gerry cut in. ‘She certainly wasn’t invisible to one particular person on the night this image was captured. Sometimes people want what they can’t have, more than what’s on offer. Perhaps someone thought she was too stuck-up and wanted to bring her down a notch or two?’

‘I wasn’t there. I told you. I’m sorry about what happened. It’s terrible. You can’t believe how sorry. Maybe if I’d been there...? But it wasn’t my fault. I was in Costa Rica.’

‘Yes, we know,’ Annie said. ‘But the point remains that you do know Marnie Sedgwick. You employed her to work at that party on 13 April, as you had done before, even though you weren’t present yourself.’

‘Yes, but I don’t see how you could possibly hold me responsible for anything that occurred at that party.’

‘Who said anything about holding you responsible? We’re after information, that’s all, not to apportion blame. Do you feel responsible?’

‘No. I’m just upset. You’re twisting my words. I knew this was the sort of thing you’d do.’

‘Why did you lie to us about knowing Marnie?’

‘I didn’t lie. I just wasn’t sure. It’s a bad photo. Maybe I didn’t look closely enough. I don’t know. I just didn’t want to get involved.’

‘Involved in what? Did you already know what had happened to Marnie? Did you lie about that, too?’

‘Know? About the rape? Good Lord, no. But when the police come calling, you don’t think it’s about your TV licence being overdue, do you?’

‘Is it?’

Charlotte just stared at Annie.

‘Joke,’ Annie said.

‘Does it surprise you, what happened to Marnie at the party?’ Gerry asked.

‘Of course it does. It appalls me. I organised parties for Connor, not orgies. The guests were thoroughly vetted. I know they could get a bit wild sometimes, but every one of them was a trusted—’

‘Oh, come off it!’ said Annie. ‘He invited people he wanted to be seen with, people he wanted to impress, and people who might do him some good in business, make him more money. Do you really believe he wouldn’t bend over backwards to give one of them what he wanted if it was important to him? They were no more vetted for their morality than the American president. For crying out loud, you had Petar Tadić supplying trafficked girls, and Leka Gashi brought bowls of cocaine. So who saw Marnie Sedgwick and thought she was part of the package, too?’

Charlotte sat forward and placed her palms flat on the table again. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I didn’t even know there’d been an incident until you came along.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Gerry asked.

Charlotte glanced sideways at her. ‘Yes.’

‘Blaydon never told you?’

‘I don’t even know if he knew. And if he did, he didn’t tell me. Why would he? Isn’t it the kind of thing you cover up? He’s hardly likely to tell me that something so terrible happened in his house to one of my staff, at an event I organized, even if he didn’t do it. People were always slipping off to bedrooms, as I told you. I was getting tired of it, the atmosphere was becoming poisonous.’

‘But you said you only rarely attended the parties,’ said Annie.

‘One hears things. And I popped in from time to time. Some of these things are hard to miss, even on brief acquaintance. I’m not that bloody naive.’

‘You also told us that you thought these girls were wives and girlfriends, not professionals brought in for the purposes of sex.’

‘That was certainly true in the earlier days.’

‘When did it start to change?’

‘Around the end of last year.’

‘Any ideas why then?’

‘Connor got involved in a major new development. A shopping centre and housing estate.’

‘The Elmet Centre?’

‘Yes. And that’s when he brought in Tadić and Gashi, along with a whole host of new business colleagues and hangers-on. That’s when his behaviour started to worry me, and the parties started to change in character.’

‘So you’re not too surprised that something like this might happen? The rape,’ Annie said persistently.

‘Perhaps not. Seeing as you put it like that. But I’m still shocked.’

‘Well, surely it would fall on someone to keep the girl quiet, slip her an extra bob or two, tell her it was an unfortunate incident best put behind her? Who better than you?’

‘Well, I didn’t. I knew nothing about it.’

‘Perhaps she came crying to you, and you comforted her? She told you Blaydon had raped her. One of your girls. You saw red. Maybe you killed him?’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it? Where were you on the afternoon of 22 May?’

Charlotte seemed knocked sideways by the question. ‘Is this a trick question? I’ve already told you. I’m not sure. We were working on a book award dinner in Bradford, but I was back and forth. Where were you?’

‘We’re asking you.’

‘Bet you don’t remember where you were.’

‘We may ask you to come up with a bit more detail at some point. Something solid we can check.’

Charlotte said nothing.

‘Where does Marnie Sedgwick live?’ Gerry asked. ‘We’d like to talk to her, get her side of the story. Maybe find out why she didn’t report the rape.’

‘Lots of women don’t report rapes because of the way they get treated by the authorities.’

‘What way?’

‘As if they’re the guilty ones.’

‘OK. Point taken,’ said Annie. ‘But we’d still like to hear it from her.’

‘I don’t know her address.’

‘Come on, Charlotte. Don’t be coy with us now we’re getting along so well. She was on your books. An employee. You must have an address and phone number for her.’

‘No. I mean it. I did know. I mean, yes, I had an address for her before, along with her other details, but I heard she’d moved on after that party. Left the area. I don’t know where, honestly. And I don’t know why, though I suppose I can guess now.’

‘Where are your old employment records?’

‘With Connor’s stuff, I should imagine. I assume you’ve got it somewhere.’

‘You could save us a lot of time. I’m sure you probably kept a note of it in case you wanted her to work for you again.’

‘I could probably dig it up,’ Charlotte said.

Annie clapped her hands together. ‘Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Soon as you get home, please. Along with that list of employees. Didn’t you ever wonder why Marnie moved on after the party?’

‘Not especially. Girls come and go.’

‘Like buses, there’ll be another one along in a minute?’

‘If you must put it so crudely. I’m a businesswoman. Marnie was one of my employees. That’s all there was to it. Now can I go?’

Annie leaned back in her chair. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘it took us a while to get this much out of you, and I’m still not convinced you’re telling us the whole story, or the whole truth. But we’ll leave it at that for the time being. You probably do remember a lot more than you’ve admitted to, including names. In which case, if I were you, I’d be very careful from now on.’

‘Oh, why’s that?’

‘Marnie Sedgwick was raped at a party held by Connor Clive Blaydon. A party you organised, no doubt attended by a number of famous faces and up-and-coming Jack-the-Lads that Blaydon had some reason to want to impress. Now, if Blaydon himself didn’t rape Marnie, the actual rapist probably has a great deal to lose if he’s caught. We don’t know who he is. Not long after this party, Blaydon and his so-called butler Neville Roberts were murdered in a particularly nasty manner. I’d worry about that, for a start. We were thinking that maybe it was Gashi’s gang, or even Tadić’s — after all, they’re both international gangsters with about as much respect for human life as Godzilla — but what if it wasn’t them? What if it was something to do with what happened to Marnie Sedgwick? Revenge? Self-protection? What if her rapist killed Blaydon? If you do know something you’re not telling us, that could put you in a rather dangerous position, couldn’t it?’

Charlotte had paled. ‘Are you telling me that my life is in danger?’

‘We’re just warning you to be careful, that’s all,’ said Gerry. ‘Seeing as you employed Marnie and supplied her for the party, another possibility is that some people might have got the impression — the wrong impression, of course — that she was part of the entertainment, and that what happened to her was partly your fault, that you should share some of the blame with the rapist and with Blaydon himself. Maybe Marnie told her father, or her boyfriend, what happened? Maybe one of them killed Blaydon? People jump to conclusions sometimes and act before they think. That’s what makes our job so difficult.’

‘So what are you suggesting? That you give me police protection?’

‘Love to,’ said Annie, ‘but we’re stretched to the limit right now. Still waiting for those twenty thousand new coppers we’ve been promised.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘OK, here’s the deal,’ Annie said. ‘You go away and have a good think. A good long think. And you see if you can remember what you haven’t told us, then come back and put that right. Especially if you’ve heard rumours of anyone Marnie may have hung around with at the party, or anyone who’d been bothering her. Say, perhaps, one of the other girls working that night noticed something. If it was Blaydon who raped Marnie, you can tell us. You don’t have to worry about him. He’s dead. But if it was someone else, someone still alive... well, time becomes an issue.’

‘But how can I? I don’t know anything.’

‘You know some of the characters involved. Names. Maybe some of the same people were at previous parties? Maybe you noticed someone expressing an unusual interest in Marnie when you dropped by? Perhaps this person asked Blaydon for a special favour, and Blaydon had good reason to grant him his wishes. Who was he trying to win over, or impress? Perhaps you stood in the way? Maybe that’s why he sent you to Costa Rica, to get you out of the picture, clear the decks so to speak. Have you ever thought of that?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Charlotte. ‘But thanks for putting the idea in my mind. I can try to think back, if you like, but what about in the meantime? What am I supposed to do?’

‘In the meantime,’ said Gerry, ‘you can send us the information we asked for, then take our advice and be very careful.’

On the second visit, Tadić stood over Zelda. ‘You know why you’re here?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Zelda. ‘I don’t even know where here is.’

Tadić laughed, a hoarse, phlegmy sound. ‘That doesn’t matter. Do you know who I am?’

Again, Zelda shook her head.

‘My name is Petar Tadić. Does that help?’

Again, Zelda said, ‘No. I’m hungry and thirsty. Can I have—’

With surprising speed, Tadić gave her a backhander that sent her head sideways into the cast-iron radiator. She could taste blood and her head was ringing, starting to throb with pain. She thought she could feel blood oozing into her hair and over her ear.

‘Does that help your memory?’

She was about to say no again, but realised what would happen if she did, so she kept quiet. Tadić was a man who liked the sound of his own voice, she remembered.

‘Let me tell you, then,’ he said, squatting in front of her. ‘You’re the bitch who murdered my brother.’ He put his face so close to hers that she could smell curry on his breath. It almost made her sick. ‘Eh, my beauty? Am I right?’ He caressed the side of her face where he had just hit her. ‘Am I right?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Zelda said. ‘I haven’t—’

But before she could say any more, he hit her again, in the same place. Her head reeled, and she tasted burning bile in her throat. Luckily, this time her head didn’t crash into the radiator.

‘It’s no use denying it,’ Tadić said. ‘I saw you on the hotel CCTV. The sexy red dress. Yes? Oh, I saw you. My men are very good. They talk to Foley’s girlfriend, Faye Butler. She tells them plenty before she dies. They find restaurant where you saw her with Foley and Hawkins. They find taxi driver who drove you back to your hotel after you kill Goran. They find out your name and where you live from hotel. But not quite, because you give no street and number, do you? Just house name Windlee Farm and that village. Lyndgarth. But we find it. And now we have you. What do you think of that? Good detective work, yes?’

Zelda vomited down the front of her T-shirt.

Tadić jumped back up so fast he almost fell over, but he couldn’t escape getting a few flecks on his polished leather Italian shoes.

His partner lurched towards Zelda, but Tadić held him back. ‘No,’ he said. Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned off his shoes and tossed it in a corner.

‘Kill her now, boss,’ the man said. ‘Let me kill her.’

‘No. That is too easy.’ Tadić towered over Zelda. ‘Why did you kill him?’ he asked. ‘Why did you kill Goran?’

Zelda tried to control her breathing, raised her head, and looked him in the eye. ‘You and your brother abducted me outside an orphanage in Chișinău many years ago.’

‘I don’t remember you. Or Chișinău. Is that why you killed my brother?’

‘Yes,’ Zelda spat.

Tadić kicked her again, this time in the stomach. She doubled up in pain. They stood looking down on her as she struggled to hold back more vomit. When she could trust herself to speak again, she asked, ‘What are you going to do to me?’ Her voice felt thick. She probed a broken tooth with her tongue, tasted blood and vomit.

Tadić grinned. ‘Do? I could sell you to the Albanians. They know what to do with a kurva like you. But no. Like killing you, it is also too easy. No. I have a friend who tell me about special house in Dhaka. Do you know where that is? Bangladesh. Long way. Sick old men who go there like young girls or boys best, but a white woman like you will be novelty. For a while. Do not worry. You will not survive for long. If the diseases don’t rot your pretty little pićka, the drinking water will poison you. But it will be a slow death. Long and slow and painful. You will have much time to remember what you did to Goran.’

Zelda felt panic rush through her. She jerked and tugged at her chains again and tried to drag her hands apart so much the plasticuffs bit into her skin.

Tadić and his friend just stood there laughing. ‘You can scream as loud as you like,’ Tadić said. ‘There is no one to hear you.’

When the strength went out of Zelda’s struggle, she was aware of the light disappearing and the door closing. She lay in the darkness alone again, her face and her teeth aching, head throbbing, and the thought came to her that she would not be able to bear the future they were planning for her, however short it was likely to be. Not only that, but she couldn’t let it happen. And the only way she knew of stopping it was to kill herself before they got her to Dhaka.