Not Dark Yet

5

Over the weekend, Banks had given a great deal of thought as to how he might get Zelda to ‘loosen up.’ First of all, he ruled out an interview room, or even his office, as too formal. Moving on from there, he counted out the entire police station, which reeked of authority. She could never relax in such a place, and nor could he. In addition to the personal trauma Zelda had been through, Banks thought she was, like many Eastern Europeans since Stalin’s days, genetically terrified of the knock on the door in the middle of the night. And of the police in general. To them all cops were the FSB, KGB or Stasi, whatever, but Banks thought he had forged a bond with Zelda and that if he approached her in the right way, she would feel more at ease.

Finally he decided on a long walk interrupted by lunch at the Relton Arms with its spectacular views of Swainsdale below its spacious beer garden, and Zelda had agreed over the phone. There was plenty of room in the beer garden to get an isolated table, and perhaps with a little strenuous walking, the heat of the sun and a cold drink, Zelda might let her guard down. As Burgess had said, if they believed she had done something illegal they would have her in like a shot and interrogate her as long as the PACE rules allowed. But she hadn’t. She wasn’t a criminal, as far as Banks knew, but a victim, and perhaps a witness — to something, at any rate.

Zelda arrived in Banks’s driveway at the appointed time. He had taken that Monday off, leaving Annie and Gerry to deal with the Blaydon murder and its assorted spin-offs. He had watched the rape video once more over the weekend, still searching for the telling detail, something he might have missed, and all that had happened was that it had sickened him all over again. How on earth, he found himself wondering, could one human being do something like that to another? But he knew he was being naive; he, of all people, ought to have some idea. The thing was, he knew that men did it, but he had no idea why. Unless it was, as one serial rapist had told him: ‘Because I want to. And because I can.’ Could it be as simple as that?

Human beings did far worse things to one another than what he had just watched. Men routinely raped women during war, as a strategy to unman and humiliate their opponents and signal superiority. It had been going on ever since man climbed out of the primordial swamps, and it would probably go on until his presence on the planet was nothing but a vague memory lingering like an unpleasant smell with no one to smell it. But such thoughts were not for a day like today, and he tried to push them aside, knowing that they only led to that one dark and lonely place he had found himself inhabiting too often lately.

It was another glorious, sunny day, and a light, cooling breeze alleviated the heat to some extent, which was a godsend to walking in such weather. He hadn’t seen Zelda in a while, so there would be plenty to catch up on. She was wearing shorts, showing off her smooth tanned and tapered thighs, and a white shirt tied at her waist, sunglasses hooked over the top fastened button. Her dark hair hung in a ponytail down her back.

‘Will I do?’ she asked.

Banks looked at her feet and saw she was wearing short white socks and a sturdy pair of trainers. ‘You’ll do,’ he said. ‘Stylish but road ready.’

They walked through to the back of the house, where Banks strapped on his small rucksack.

‘What have you got in there?’ Zelda asked.

‘Just essentials. Chocolate, apples, bottled water, mobile, Ordnance Survey map, compass, Bluetooth headphones, a book, portable first aid kit.’

‘Which book?’

‘Flashman at the Charge.’

‘We had a Flashman book at the orphanage once. Not that one. It was about the Indian mutiny. It was very funny. What’s this one about?’

‘The Charge of the Light Brigade.’

‘ “Onward, onward, rode the six hundred.” ’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Is it dangerous, this walk?’

‘Of course not.’

‘We are not likely to get lost?’

‘No. I’ve done it dozens of times before.’

‘Are you going to ignore me and listen to music or read your book?’

Banks laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I realise it might seem odd to be carrying these things, but I usually walk alone, and I always pack the same stuff. Fresh water and chocolate, of course, but the rest is automatic. Just habit. Sometimes I listen to music, but mostly I prefer the sounds of nature when I’m walking. And sometimes I like to have a rest and sit on the grass and read for a while.’

Zelda put on her sunglasses. ‘OK. Lead on.’ They headed out of the gate and over the stile on to the footpath up the slope to Tetchley Fell. Single file, with Banks leading the way.

Tetchley Fell could be a daunting climb, deceptively easy at first, but soon getting tougher with every step as the incline steepened. To get to the top, beyond about twenty-five feet of almost sheer limestone, you needed a few mountaineering skills and some basic equipment. But they weren’t going that far.

‘What did Ray have to say when you told him we were going for a walk?’ Banks asked over his shoulder.

‘ “Have a good time,” ’ said Zelda. ‘He’s been involved in a new painting project these past few days, and he doesn’t come up often for air.’

‘And you?’

‘Between projects. Resting, as they say.’

They walked over a patchwork of fields, saving their breath for the ever increasing gradient. Sometimes they disturbed a group of sheep, which scattered at their approach and stood at a distance, backs turned, as if somehow that would make any danger go away. After a few more stiles, they paused briefly and sat on a drystone wall to drink some water, eat an apple and look back at the view.

Already it was stunning, the huddled limestone houses of Helmthorpe below, its squat church tower, high street shops with racks of postcards out front and tourists browsing. Beyond the town, the river Swain meandered through the flatlands of the valley bottom, lush and green, speckled with blue, yellow, and purple wildflowers. Further out, the opposite valley side began its ascent, green at first, then culminating in the long grey-gold limestone edge of Crow Scar, like a skeleton’s teeth bared against the clear blue sky, where only a few wisps of white cloud twisted through the air like chiffon scarves.

‘It’s magnificent,’ Zelda said. Her cheeks were flushed with walking, and beads of sweat glistened above her upper lip and on her brow. Banks felt that he was sweating like a pig, and it took him a while to catch his breath. His ears were popping, too, though he didn’t think they had climbed high enough for that.

‘How’s work?’ he asked.

‘They closed down the department. The others were all serving police officers — NCA, anyway — so they got transferred somewhere else, but I was just a civilian consultant, so my job simply ceased to exist. Made redundant. Unemployed.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Banks said. ‘I’m sorry. I’d have thought they would want to keep a worthwhile department like that going.’

Zelda shrugged. ‘Worthwhile has nothing to do with it. You should know better than anyone that it all comes down to budgets.’

‘The NCA’s never been short of cash, as far as I know,’ said Banks. ‘I doubt that’s the only reason.’

‘It’s not,’ said Zelda. ‘Naturally the death of Mr. Hawkins caused quite an upset, even though they say they don’t suspect foul play. The temporary shutdown was the perfect excuse to cut the department completely.’

Banks passed her the water bottle. She tilted it and drank. Banks watched her throat muscles move as she swallowed. ‘I don’t think Danvers and Debs are convinced that there was no foul play,’ he said, ‘but they’ve got no evidence of any wrongdoing.’ Zelda passed back the bottle. Banks took several swigs and a few deep breaths of fresh air, then said, ‘Shall we carry on?’

Zelda slid off the wall. They were on the Roman road that ran diagonally down the hillside all the way to Fortford, which had been the main settlement in Roman times. It was a stony path, used as a drover’s road now, and had low drystone walls running along both sides broken by the occasional farm gate. It was broad enough for them to walk side by side, which they did. Once they had to slow down when they got behind a farmer moving his sheep across the road from one field to another. He said hello to Banks and asked how he was.

‘Do you know everyone?’ Zelda asked when they had passed.

Banks laughed. ‘Not quite. But it’s surprising the people you get to know when you do my job.’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘Take old Tibor there. He had some of his sheep rustled a while back. It was an organised gang, all over the county, so we were involved.’

‘Did you get them back?’

‘Not much chance of that. They were probably in Bulgaria by then. Or a butcher’s shop window. Now we even have rustling gangs who butcher the sheep in the field in the dark and take only the meat.’

‘How horrible,’ Zelda said. ‘Tibor? That’s an odd name for a Yorkshireman, isn’t it?’

‘Tibor’s family came over from Poland just before the war to escape the Nazis. We have a long history of immigration in this part of the world, quite a patchwork inheritance, a sort of international brotherhood of farmers. Working the land is a tough job.’

As they walked on, Banks noticed Zelda glance over her shoulder once or twice, as if to make sure they weren’t being followed. Flies buzzed around their heads, along with the occasional wasp, but other than that, it was mostly silent save for their footsteps and a few birds singing. They saw rabbits running in the fields and, once, a hedgehog curled up among the wildflowers by the roadside. A curlew flew over their heads making its high plaintive trill, and Banks pointed it out to Zelda. Only one couple passed them, going the other way, giving the usual Yorkshire greeting: a nod and a grunt.

‘Nice day,’ said Banks.

The man pointed to the sky. ‘Aye. Won’t last, though, like as not.’

After about half an hour, Banks led the way over a stile and across a field to a winding lane. On the way, they got too close to a tewit’s nest and set off a flutter of frightened and angry squeaking. They could see a cluster of low stone buildings ahead, and Banks pointed. ‘Lunch,’ he said.

Zelda wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smiled, and said, ‘In the nick of time.’

‘Where did you learn your English?’ Banks asked as they headed towards the Relton Arms. ‘I’m not being patronising. I just mean you seem to have all the idioms and everything. Things people pick up over a lifetime.’

‘I’ve always had a knack for languages,’ Zelda said. ‘I listen. Most of the nuns at the orphanage spoke English, and we had lessons from a very early age. I read a lot. When I was in London and later, at Raymond’s commune in St. Ives, I watched a lot of British television. Not so much now. But I write in English. I even think in English.’

‘I had more than enough trouble learning French at school,’ Banks said.

‘Oh, French is easy.’ Zelda put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to boast.’

‘No, it’s all right. I just wish I had your language skills, that’s all. I’m envious.’

They entered the tiny hamlet of Relton, halfway up the hillside, passed the small general store with its Walls ice cream board propped outside and approached the whitewashed facade of the Relton Arms.

‘Ah,’ said Zelda. ‘Now it begins.’

‘What?’

‘You know. The interrogation. The grilling. The thumbscrews. The rack.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, come on, Alan. You didn’t bring me all this way just for the pleasure of my company. You want something. I can tell. You’ve been edgy and evasive all the way here.’

Banks could have complimented her on the pleasure of her company, but decided it wasn’t appropriate. ‘I do have a few questions for you,’ he admitted. ‘But that’s all. No thumbscrews. No rack.’

‘Promise?’

‘Cross my heart.’

‘And you’re not going to arrest me?’

Banks laughed. ‘Should I? Have you committed a crime?’

‘Don’t joke,’ Zelda said. ‘I’m serious.’

‘No, I’m not going to arrest you. Now shall we go inside and order some drinks and food? I could murder a pint, myself.’

Annie made her way past the flashing screens, and the pings, screeches, bangs, and screams of a video arcade in full flight at school lunchtime. Negotiating the narrow path between the machines felt like walking the gauntlet, and with so much sunlight outside, she wondered why it was always so dark in these places. Lack of windows seemed to be the answer.

‘Excuse me,’ she mumbled, pushing her way through a cluster of lads from Eastvale Comprehensive busy splattering aliens into millions of pieces as they stuffed themselves with Greggs sausage rolls. They shifted only grudgingly, and Annie heard one of them whisper, ‘Pushy cunt, she must be on the rag,’ as she passed by. The others giggled. She chose to let it go. That wasn’t what she was here for. She did, however, turn around and have a quick glance at the speaker, committing his face to memory. Satisfied she would know him if she saw him again, maybe smoking a joint down Casper’s Wynde, she moved on.

It was turning out not to be her lucky day. Tommy Kerrigan was the only one in the cramped office at the back. The Stan Laurel of the two. She had hoped it might be his brother Timmy, who, though much larger and thereby taking up more valuable office space, was marginally more pleasant. At least he was civil and didn’t give her the creeps the way the long, lugubrious pasty-faced Tommy did, with his milky eye and all. He looked like a cross between a funeral director and a vampire, and though nothing serious had ever been proven against him, he was known to have psychopathic tendencies. He also suffered from halitosis, which was definitely a minus in such a confined space.

There was room for one small chair on the opposite side of his desk, and Annie shifted some papers and sat down.

‘Well, well, look what the cat’s dragged in,’ Tommy said. ‘Detective Sergeant Annie Cabbot. We’ll have to stop meeting like this or people will talk.’

‘Detective Inspector,’ Annie corrected him. Even his voice was annoying, Annie remembered. An affected southern drawl with a nasal edge of Geordie.

‘Well, pardonnez-moi.’

‘You should do something about your clientele,’ Annie said. ‘They’re an ignorant bunch of yobs out there, feeding their faces and insulting your visitors.’

‘They’re not supposed to bring food in the arcade,’ said Tommy. ‘There’s a sign. But what can you do? I’m short-staffed.’

‘How’s business?’

‘Fair to middling. Not that it would interest you much.’

‘Club running OK?’ The Kerrigans also owned The Vaults, Eastvale’s only nightclub, on the opposite side of the market square.

‘Like a dream. Pleased as I am to see you again, Inspector, I’m a busy man, so if you could—’

But Annie beat him to it and slid the enhanced image of the young girl across the desk. ‘Recognise her?’ she asked.

Kerrigan examined the photograph and passed it back to her. ‘Should I? It’s not very good, is it? I mean, I probably wouldn’t even recognise my own daughter from that.’

‘What daughter’s that?’

‘Figure of speech.’

‘So the answer’s no?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Only she was present at one of Connor Blaydon’s parties that we know of, the one on 13 April, and we know you and your brother were also there.’

‘We did business with Connor, as I’ve told you. It’s only natural we’d socialise once in a while.’

‘The party looked like fun. I saw you and your brother in some poolside snapshots. There were home movies, too, shot secretly in some of the bedrooms.’

A flicker of alarm crossed Kerrigan’s features. ‘What movies?’

‘Oh, you didn’t know? Seems your business colleague’s butler, Neville Roberts, liked to film Blaydon’s guests having a good time. Too good a time, in some cases, if you know what I mean. And you should tell your brother about those thong swimming trunks. Nasty. Constitute a public menace, they do.’

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at,’ Kerrigan said, ‘but even if we were photographed, unbeknownst to us and against our will, we did nothing wrong.’

‘Unbeknownst, eh? That’s a long word. Don’t worry, you don’t feature in any of the videos, unless you’ve already paid Roberts off for one. But you were there. Did Neville Roberts ever attempt to blackmail you? Did he have any video recordings to sell to you?’

‘Blackmail? About what?’

‘Those trunks of your brother’s, for a start. And the drugs.’

‘What drugs?’

‘Or maybe you were in bed with an archbishop?’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Never mind. Back to the photo.’

Kerrigan glanced at the image again and passed it back. ‘I still don’t recognise her.’

‘Never seen her in here, or the club?’

‘No.’

‘Are you also sure you never saw her or anyone like her at Blaydon’s parties?’

‘There were always plenty of girls around. But not like her.’

‘So you can tell something about her from the photo?’

‘Enough to know that if I’d seen anyone vaguely resembling her, I’d remember, and I haven’t. Most of the girls were... well, models or escort types... if you know what I mean.’ He sketched an hourglass figure in the air. ‘Shapely. Curvy. Definitely enhanced, in some cases, if not naturally well-endowed. This girl looks quite natural. You can tell that much even from this photo. So if that’s all...’

‘Not quite, Tommy. How young were the girls at these parties?’

‘You’ve seen the videos, so you should know.’

‘Humour me.’

‘They were all over the age of consent, if that’s what you’re getting at. Mostly in their twenties, I’d guess.’

‘Check their birth certificates, did you?’

Kerrigan gave her a look. ‘Oh, come off it. It was obvious. They weren’t kids. Most of the girls were strippers and tarts, like, with big tits and legs up to here.’ He lifted his arm. ‘All right if you like that sort of thing, I suppose.’

Annie knew that Tommy didn’t; he preferred young men, rough trade, if available. ‘Heard of a woman called Charlotte Westlake?’

‘Course I have,’ he said. ‘Charlie. She’s Connor’s personal assistant. Or she was. Took care of pretty much everything on the business side. Ran errands, organised events, booked entertainers. “Indispensable,” he used to say about her. But she hasn’t been around for a while.’

‘Was there anything of a romantic nature between them?’

‘Not that I ever noticed. But you never knew with Connor. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He played his cards close to his chest. Especially when it came to his private life. I couldn’t even tell you which side he played for, if you follow my drift.’

‘Is she married, this Charlotte Westlake?’

‘Dunno. Never saw a husband around, at any rate.’

‘Was she involved in any of the action?’

‘Charlie? You must be joking. A bit of posh was our Charlotte, don’t you know. Cheltenham Ladies College and so on. Didn’t even like you calling her Charlie to her face.’

‘What about Neville Roberts?’

‘What about him?’

‘What did you think of him?’

‘To tell the truth, I always found him a bit creepy. You know, sly, shifty.’

Pot and kettle, thought Annie. ‘Go on.’

‘What’s to say? Connor swore by him.’ Tommy scratched his nose. ‘I reckon he was a bit of a snob, Connor was. Liked the idea of having a butler, you know. Someone to keep the Aga burning. Though Roberts wasn’t really a butler, more of a factotum.’

‘Factotum,’ Annie repeated. ‘Good one, that, Tommy. Your command of the English language is definitely improving.’

‘Fuck off.’

Annie stood up. The halitosis was getting to her. ‘Turns out Mr. Roberts was quite the expert in audio and video surveillance. As I said, he had a nice little sideline in filming Blaydon’s married or respectable guests doing the naughty. Know anything about that?’

‘No. But I’ll tell you something for nothing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘One or two of these “respectable” guests, if they found out they’d been secretly filmed, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t give tuppence for Roberts’s chances.’

‘Or Blaydon’s, if they thought he was behind it?’

‘Goes without saying.’

‘Thanks, Tommy,’ Annie said. ‘You’ve been a great help. And if you remember anything at all about the girl in the photo...’

Kerrigan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why’s she so important?’

‘We’d just like to talk to her. That’s all.’

‘You think she was a witness? That she saw what happened to Connor?’

‘Like I said, we’d just like to talk to her.’

‘It’s those fucking Albanians I’d be after if I was you,’ Kerrigan said as Annie turned to the door. ‘You ask me, that’s who did for Connor. Those fucking Albanians.’

‘Mr. Banks,’ called the landlady Sally Preece when Banks and Zelda entered the Relton Arms. ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘You, too, Sally,’ said Banks. ‘Any tables outside?’

‘Take your pick. What would you like to drink? I’ll bring them out to you along with the lunch menus. We’ve got a lovely game pie on special today.’

‘Drink?’ Banks glanced at Zelda.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ll have what you’re having.’

‘Right you are,’ said Banks. ‘That’ll be two pints of Black Sheep bitter, then, Sally.’

‘Can I have some water, too, please?’ Zelda asked.

‘Coming up.’

‘You seem to know her as well,’ Zelda said. ‘What was that, a burglary?’

‘No. It’s just somewhere I come for a quiet drink sometimes on my walks.’

Banks steered Zelda towards the door that led into the back garden, a broad and undulating stretch of grass. Fortunately, there was no bouncy castle; Sally Preece didn’t go in for family fun. They picked a table overlooking the valley, close to the low stone wall and a field full of sheep. The lawn was uneven, but they managed to get their chairs stable enough, and Banks didn’t think their glasses would slide off the wooden table.

They didn’t. Sally Preece arrived soon after they had sat down with the beers, water, and menus on a tray and said to come back to the bar and put in the food order when they were ready.

Banks had thought a great deal about what to say, how to approach questioning Zelda. He hadn’t come to any firm conclusions — a great deal of it had to be played by ear — but he had at least a general approach in mind, and he had already brought up the Hawkins investigation when they had sat on the wall.

‘Why do I feel so nervous?’ Zelda said, fingering her menu.

‘You don’t need to,’ said Banks.

‘Do you think I’m lying about something?’

Banks paused. ‘Let me put it this way: I don’t think you’ve told me everything. There’s something you’re holding back. Or some things.’

‘Like what?’

‘That’s what I want you to tell me.’

Zelda lit a Marlboro Gold, and Banks took a long pull on his pint. It tasted especially good after the exertions of the walk. There’s nothing like a good pint when you feel you deserve it.

Zelda tapped the menu. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Depends,’ said Banks. ‘I’m rather partial to the steak and frites, myself, but I think it’s going to be game pie today. You might want a salad or something.’

‘Don’t mistake me for Annie.’ Zelda put the menu on the table. ‘I don’t like game, but steak and frites is fine with me.’

Banks went and ordered. When he got back, Zelda was stubbing her half-smoked cigarette out in the green ashtray. Her beer was still untouched, but the glass of water was empty.

‘You might as well know,’ Banks began, ‘that I already know you walked past Trevor Hawkins’s burned-out house and questioned the barman at The George and Dragon about him.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Banks said. ‘The point is that you didn’t tell me.’

Zelda turned sulky. ‘I don’t have to report to the police every move I make or conversation I have, do I? It’s not a police state yet.’

Banks smiled. ‘Not yet. But I thought we were supposed to be working together. Like partners. Remember?’

‘I’m not your “partner,” ’ said Zelda. ‘That’s Annie.’

‘You know what I mean. You said you wanted to help us find Phil Keane.’

‘You told me to be careful.’

‘But you weren’t, were you?’

‘Well, I’m still here, aren’t I?’

‘Is survival your only criterion of success?’ Banks immediately noticed the pain in her expression. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe that was insensitive of me after all you’ve survived, but what I mean is, partners are supposed to share. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because it was all so vague,’ Zelda said. ‘I didn’t really find out anything that would help you. What I found only complicated the situation I was in to start with.’

‘Then why don’t you tell me about that now, and we’ll try to make sense of it all? Together.’

Sally Preece walked across the lawn with their meals. They already had the condiments and cutlery on the table. Banks thanked her and she left. ‘Better eat before it goes cold,’ he said.

He immediately felt lucky that Zelda didn’t tell him he sounded just like her mother. Then he realised she probably didn’t remember her mother. Zelda sawed at her steak, head down. Banks took a few mouthfuls of pie and washed them down with beer. It was good, plenty of pheasant and rabbit, and a touch of venison.

‘Let’s go back a while,’ Banks said. ‘Remember that dinner Annie and I had with you and Ray up at your cottage late last year? Remember when you told us you’d seen a photograph of Phil Keane with someone you recognised in connection with your work?’

Zelda finished chewing a piece of steak. ‘I remember.’

‘You were going to keep an eye out for anything else of interest, but you never came up with anything.’

‘That’s right. What did you want me to do, make something up? There was nothing. Just that photograph.’

‘Of Keane with Petar Tadić?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you weren’t even going to tell me about that, were you? I heard it from Superintendent Burgess.’

‘Well, if he’s so all-knowing, why don’t you ask him?’

‘Zelda, stop being petulant. It doesn’t suit you. Talk to me.’

Zelda pushed her half-full plate away and studied a spider spinning its web in the drystone wall beside her. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘All right. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be angry with me for pursuing it when you said I shouldn’t. OK?’

‘I’m not sure that’s the reason.’

‘What, then?’

‘I think there’s something else you’re not telling me, but I think it shocked you more than you said it did when you saw Keane and Tadić together in the photograph. It was two worlds coming together, or colliding, and one of them was yours. You didn’t want to let me in on that, did you?’

Zelda fingered another cigarette out of her packet and lit up. ‘What if that’s so? What Petar Tadić and his brother did to me is not an experience I care to remember so often.’

‘But why the sudden interest in Hawkins? I didn’t ask you to spy on him. How was he connected with all this?’

Zelda took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you. Something happened. I was going to tell you before, at Christmas, but I lost my nerve.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I thought I was on to something, and I thought you’d take it off me and go charging in like a bull in a china shop, scattering all the pieces.’

‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’

Zelda smiled and touched his hand briefly. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. Just that, in my experience, when the police get fully engaged, as a force, as an institution, then they have their own rules to follow and justice isn’t always done. Remember, I grew up in the Soviet bloc.’ She paused, then said, ‘I saw Hawkins and Keane together once and had reasons of my own for wanting to know what they were doing together.’

‘And did you find out?’

‘Not really. I’ll admit I went a lot further than you wanted me to. That’s another reason I didn’t tell you. I followed Mr. Hawkins after work on a couple of occasions. One time he went into a restaurant in Soho, and I waited in a pub across the street, where I could see the place. After a while he came out, and he was with two other people. One was this Keane, and the other was a woman I didn’t recognise. I took some photographs.’

Banks thought he might like to see these photographs, but he didn’t want to interrupt the rhythm of their conversation by asking for them. ‘And then when you went to The George and Dragon, you found out that Hawkins had met Keane there, too? It was him, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Christ,’ said Banks. ‘You found out that Hawkins was meeting with Keane, who you already knew was connected with Tadić and who had once tried to kill me. For crying out loud, why didn’t you tell me? Or someone. Hawkins could have been selling NCA information to Tadić’s gang. Or he could have been in trouble. You knew what Keane was. Annie and I told you. A killer. A pyromaniac. And you know Tadić, too, from painful experience.’

‘Yes. I was curious, that’s all. They parted company, and I followed Keane and the girl.’

‘Where did they go?’

‘Just window-shopping on Oxford Street. Then they got a taxi on Regent Street and I never saw Keane again.’

Banks just shook his head slowly. ‘Another drink?’ he asked.

Zelda gave him a thin smile. ‘Some more water, please.’

Banks went to the bar and got himself another pint and Zelda a large glass of tap water. His head was spinning with information. What did all this mean? What might he have done if he’d known six months ago or more? But somehow, he didn’t think Zelda’s story was over.

She was sitting as he had left her, gazing over the broad valley, smoking. The spider was still spinning its intricate web beside her. ‘I’ll miss this place,’ she said softly.

‘You’re going somewhere?’

‘Oh, I think so, don’t you?’ She sipped some ice water. Her beer was still untouched. ‘Thank you.’

‘With Ray?’

As Zelda told him about her experiences with immigration and worries about the pre-settlement form, he sensed a deep sadness in her, almost a sense of defeat, as if she felt no matter what she did, what happiness she found, it was bound to be snatched away from her before long, either by sex traffickers or immigration officials. She went on to tell him about Danvers and Debs hinting that her French passport didn’t quite cut it, and that her past actions left a lot to be desired.

‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘And if it’s of any comfort, I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere. Not if you don’t want to. Ray’s a wealthy man. He can take care of you. It’s not as if you’d be a burden on the state. You’re not poor.’

‘I don’t want to be a burden on Raymond, either.’

Banks laughed. ‘I hardly think that’s possible,’ he said. ‘Ray adores you.’

Zelda flushed. ‘I’ve made money from my work, too,’ she said, then paused. ‘I mean my art work. The jewellery and sculptures, maybe not original paintings, but some copies I have made for people. But I haven’t paid tax. I haven’t filled in the proper forms. Not ever. I just came here from Paris and started living in London, doing that pavement art thing and living in a squat with a group of other immigrants. I didn’t register or fill in any forms. Then Raymond came along and... You know the rest. They’ll get me if they want me. What is it they say? I’m undocumented.’

‘Is that another reason why you didn’t tell me anything? Because you’re afraid of immigration?’

‘You can’t understand this if you are not a stranger here. How it feels. It might have put me on their radar. As it happens, this Danvers and his woman have done that.’

‘No,’ said Banks. ‘You did it yourself. They were only doing their jobs.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘There you go. You’re all the same, covering each other’s bottoms.’ She stubbed out her cigarette viciously. Sparks flew. ‘I did nothing to draw attention to myself. I just did my job, made sculptures and jewellery, and lived a quiet life with Raymond.’

Banks couldn’t help but smile. ‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Believe it or not, I’m on your side. And it’s arses, not bottoms.’

‘It doesn’t sound like you’re on my side.’ Zelda sulked for a moment then drank some water. ‘There’s more,’ she said. ‘You might as well know it all. Do you want to hear?’

‘Of course. Go on.’

‘The girl who was with Keane.’

‘Faye Butler.’

‘My God, you know about her, too!’

‘I heard just the other day. Burgess again. She was Keane’s girlfriend back then.’

‘I’d like to meet this Burgess who knows everything.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Banks said. ‘But he’s on your side, too, or we wouldn’t be here having this nice friendly little chat right now.’

Zelda put her head in her hands and sighed, then took a deep breath and ran the backs of her hands over her eyes. Her fingers were long and tapered, like a musician’s.

‘Do you know what happened to her?’ Banks asked.

‘She’s dead. Murdered. I read about it in the newspaper.’

‘Yes.’

‘The waitress in the restaurant knew where she worked. I went back there and asked about her. She was a regular customer. After that it was easy.’

‘You went and talked to Faye Butler at Foyles?’

‘Yes. I thought I might be able to get to Keane through her, but I hit a dead end. They had split up. She hadn’t seen him for months. She didn’t know where he lived. He was going by the name of Hugh Foley. I would have told you then, honest, if I had been able to find him for you.’

‘And that was it?’

‘That was it. I know I was going against what you told me, but I thought that if I could locate Keane for you it would be good for us all. I would find the Tadićs and others like them and just maybe you would be able to arrest them. Maybe even Annie would start to like me, too.’

‘Annie doesn’t dislike you,’ he said. ‘She’s jealous, that’s all, and protective of her father. Forgive the amateur psychology, but her mother died when she was very young, and she’s felt responsible for Ray ever since.’

‘Must have been quite a life,’ Zelda said with a smile. ‘Feeling responsible for Raymond.’

Banks laughed. ‘I should imagine it took a lot out of her. But things will improve. Believe me. She’ll accept you in time.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘I do.’

Banks finished his drink and they left with a passing goodbye to Sally Preece. They walked back to Gratly mostly in silence, with heavy steps, each lost in thought, and as he gazed on the rolling hills, drystone walls, grazing sheep, and flimsy white clouds snaking across a clear blue sky, Banks had the strangest fleeting feeling that they were leaving some sort of paradise behind and danger lay ahead. He shivered despite the heat of the sun.