Past Reason Hated

ONE

Teresa Pedmore rented a two-bedroom house on Nelson Grove, in a pleasant enough area of town south of the castle, close to the river. The houses were old but in good repair, and their inhabitants, though only renting, took pride in adding individual touches to the outside trim. A low blue gate led to Teresa’s house, where her matching door was edged in white. Lace curtains hung in the windows.

Teresa professed to be surprised to see Banks, though he was never sure what to believe when dealing with actors. Faith could have told Teresa about the visit Banks had paid her earlier, though he thought it unlikely. That would have meant confessing what she had said about Teresa.

The front door led straight into the living room. Cream and red striped wallpaper covered the walls, where a number of framed prints hung. Banks, who had learned what little he knew about art from Sandra, recognized a Constable landscape, a Stubbs horse and a Lowry. Perhaps the most striking thing about the room, though, was that it was furnished with antiques: a Welsh dresser, a Queen Anne writing desk, Regency table and chairs. The only contemporary items were the tan three-piece suite arranged in a semicircle around the hearth and a small television set. Remembering the importance of the music, Banks looked around for evidence of a stereo but could find none.

Teresa gestured towards one of the armchairs and Banks sat down. He was surprised by her taste and impressed with her farm-girl looks, the blushes of red in her creamy cheeks. Her wavy chestnut hair framed a rather chubby, heart-shaped face with a wide, full mouth, an oddly delicate nose that didn’t quite seem to belong and thick brows over large almond eyes. She certainly wasn’t good-looking in the overtly sexual way Faith Green was, but the fierce confidence and determination in her simplest movements and gestures more than compensated. She was as tall and well-shaped as Faith, and wore a white silky blouse and knee-length navy skirt.

She picked up an engraved silver box from the low table and offered him a cigarette, lighting it with an old lighter as big as a paperweight. It was years since Banks had been offered a cigarette from a box, and he would certainly never have expected it in a small rented terrace house in Eastvale.

The cigarette was too strong, but he persevered. His lungs soon remembered the old days of Capstan Full Strength and rallied to the task. Almost before he had a chance to say yes or no, Teresa was pouring amber liquid from a cut-glass decanter into a crystal snifter. As she handed Banks the glass, the edges of her wide mouth twitched up in a smile.

‘I suppose you’re wondering where I get my money from,’ she said. ‘Policemen are always suspicious about people living above their means, aren’t they?’ She sat down and crossed her long legs.

Banks swirled the glass in his hand and breathed in the fumes: cognac. ‘Ave you living above your means?’ he asked.

She laughed, a low, murmuring sound. ‘How clever of you. Not at all. It only looks that way. The furniture isn’t original, of course. I just like the designs, the look and feel of it. And one day, believe me, I’ll have real antiques. I think the only valuable objects in the room are the decanter and the cigarette box, and they belonged to my grandfather. Family heirlooms. The Lowry is a genuine, too, a present from a distant, wealthy relative. As for the rest, cognac and what have you… What can I say? I like to live well. I don’t drink a lot, but I drink the best. I make decent money, I don’t run a car, I have no children and my rent is reasonable.’

Banks, who wondered why she was telling him all this, nodded as if he were suitably impressed. Perhaps she was trying to paint a picture of herself as someone who had far too much class and refined sensibility to commit so tasteless an act as murder. He sipped the cognac. Courvoisier VSOP, he guessed. Maybe she was right.

‘I suppose you think I should have stayed on the farm,’ she went on. ‘Married a local farmer and started having babies.’ She made a dismissive gesture with her cigarette.

For Christ’s sake, Banks thought, do I look so old that people immediately assume I’m a fuddy-duddy? Still, Teresa couldn’t have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three; there were sixteen or seventeen years between them, which made it technically possible for him to be her father. He just didn’t feel that old, and he could certainly understand young people wanting to escape what they felt to be claustrophobic social backgrounds.

‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.

‘Act, of course.’

She reminded Banks of Sally Lumb, another, albeit younger, Dales hopeful he had met during the Steadman case eighteen months ago. The memory made him feel sad. Such dreams often turn to pain. But what are we if we don’t dream? Banks asked himself. And at least try to make them come true.

‘James is trying to fix things so I get a part in Weymouth Sands. He’s doing the script for the BBC, you know. He knows all the casting people. It’s terribly exciting.’ The Dales accent was still there, despite the evidence of elocution lessons, and it made the upper-class phrase ‘terribly exciting’ sound very funny indeed. ‘More cognac?’

Banks noticed his snifter was empty. He shook his head. ‘No, no thanks. It’s very good, but I’d better not.’

Teresa shrugged. She didn’t press him. Fine cognac is, after all, very expensive.

‘You’re still on good terms with James Conran, then?’ Banks asked.

Her eyebrows rose. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘I heard rumours you’d had a falling out.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Are they true?’

‘It’s that common little tramp, Faith, isn’t it?’

‘Was James Conran paying too much attention to Caroline Hartley?’

The name stopped Teresa in her tracks. She reached for another cigarette from the box but didn’t offer Banks one this time. ‘It’s easy to exaggerate things,’ she continued quietly. ‘Everyone argues now and then. I’ll bet even you argue with your wife, don’t you? But it doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Did you argue with James Conran over Caroline?’

Her eyes flashed briefly, then she drew on her cigarette, tilted her head back and blew out a long stream of smoke through narrow nostrils. ‘What has Faith been saying about me?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got a right to know.’

‘Look,’ Banks said, ‘I haven’t told you who passed on the information. Nor am I going to. It’s not important. What counts is that you answer my questions. And if you won’t do it here, you can come down to the police station and answer them.’

‘You can’t make me do that.’ Teresa leaned forward and flicked off a column of ash. ‘Surely?’

‘What did you do after the rehearsal on December the twenty-second?’

‘What? I… I came home.’

‘Straight home?’

‘No. I did some Christmas shopping first. Look-’

‘What time did you get home?’

‘What is this? Are you trying to imply I might have had something to do with Caroline Hartley’s death?’

‘I’m not implying anything, I’m asking questions. Banks pulled out one of his own Silk Cuts and lit up. ‘What time did you get home?’

‘I don’t know. How can I remember? It was ages ago.’

‘Did you go out again?’

‘No. I stayed at home and worked on my role.’

‘You didn’t have a date with Mr Conran?’

‘No. We… I…’

‘Were you still seeing him at that time?’

‘Of course I was.’

‘As a lover?’

‘That’s none of your damn business.’ She mashed her cigarette out and clasped her hands in her lap.

‘When did you and Mr Conran stop being lovers?’

‘I’m not answering that.’

‘But you did stop.’

There was a pause, then she hissed, ‘Yes.’

‘Before Caroline Hartley’s murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did Caroline have anything to do with this parting?’

‘No. It was completely amicable on both sides. Things just didn’t work out that way. We’d never been very deeply involved, anyway, if you know what I mean.’

‘A casual affair?’

‘You could call it that, though neither of us is married.’

‘And Caroline Hartley came between you?’

Teresa scratched her palm and looked down.

‘Am I right?’ Banks persisted.

‘Look,’ Teresa answered, ‘what if I say you are? It doesn’t mean anything, does it? It doesn’t mean I’d kill her. I’m not a fanatically jealous woman, but every woman has her pride. Anyway, it wasn’t Caroline I blamed.’

‘Was Conran having an affair with Caroline?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. We didn’t know she was gay, but even so there was something about her, something different. Elusive. She could keep the men at bay while seeming to draw them to her. It’s difficult to explain. No, I don’t think he even saw her outside rehearsals and the pub.’

That seemed to square with what Veronica Shildon had said.

‘But he was attracted to her?’

‘A bit smitten, you might say,’ said Teresa. ‘That was what annoyed me, him chatting her up in public like that when everyone could see, the way he looked at her. That kind of thing. But then James is like that. He goes after anything in a skirt.’

‘Am I to take it you don’t care for him any longer?’

‘Not as a man, no. As a professional, I respect him a great deal.’

‘That’s a very neat distinction.’

‘Surely you sometimes have to work with people you respect but don’t like?’

‘Did you argue over his attentions to Caroline?’

‘I told him to stop drooling over her in public. I found it embarrassing. But that was only a part of it. What I said before was true. It wasn’t much of a relationship to begin with. It had run its course.’

‘Do you think you’ll get this part in Weymouth Sands?

‘James still appreciates me as an actress,’ she said, ‘which is more than he does that gossipy bitch who told you all about my personal life.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Faith bloody Green, obviously. There’s no need to be coy. You know damn well it was her who told you. And I can guess why.’

‘Why?’

‘Why do you think? Because she couldn’t get him herself.’

‘Did she try?’

Teresa gave Banks a disdainful look. ‘You’ve met Faith, Chief Inspector. What do you think the answer is?’

‘But Conran wasn’t interested?’

‘It appears not.’

‘Any reason?’

‘Not that I know of. Not his type, perhaps. Too much woman, too aggressive… I don’t know. I’m just guessing.’

‘What did he think of her? Did they have any arguments?’

‘If she’s been trying to imply I had a good reason for killing Caroline Hartley, it’s probably because she had an even better one.’

Banks sat up. ‘Why? Over her interest in Conran?’

Teresa sniffed. ‘No. It wasn’t that. I think she soon realized that her tastes run to rougher trade than James. It was just that she had to try, like she does with every man. No, it was something else that happened.’

‘Tell me.’

Teresa leaned forward and lowered her voice dramatically. ‘It was after rehearsal that night, the night Caroline was killed.’

‘What happened?’

‘Most people left early because it was close to Christmas, but James wanted to spend half an hour or so with Faith and myself, just getting the blocking right. Our parts are large and very important, you see. Anyway, James wanted Faith to stay behind, so I left first. But I forgot my scarf, and it was cold outside, so I came back. I don’t think they heard me. I was in the props room, you know, where we leave our coats and bags, and I heard voices out in the auditorium. I’m not a naturally nosy person, but I wondered what was going on. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I walked a little closer and listened. And guess what?’

‘What?’

Teresa smiled. ‘They were arguing. I bet she didn’t tell you about that, did she?’

‘What were they arguing about?’

‘Caroline Hartley. As far as I could gather, James was telling Faith that if she didn’t do a better job of learning her lines, he’d give her part to Caroline.’

‘What was Faith’s reaction?’

‘She walked out in a huff. I had to be quick to hide behind a door without being seen.’

‘Can you remember their exact words?’

‘I can remember what Faith said to James before she left. She said, “You’d do anything to get into that little slut’s pants, wouldn’t you?” I wish I’d been there to see his face. Of course, he can’t have meant it about giving her part away. James would know quite well there wasn’t enough time for Caroline to take over Faith’s role. He was just trying to get her to try a bit harder.’

‘What happened after that?’

‘I don’t know. As soon as Faith had left, I got out of there pretty quickly. I didn’t want to be caught snooping.’

‘Where was Conran?’

‘Still in the auditorium, as far as I know.’

‘Could he have left by the front door?’

Teresa shook her head. ‘No, we always use the back during rehearsals. The front’s kept locked after the gallery closes, unless there’s some sort of an event on.’

‘Who has the key to the back door?’

‘Only Marcia and James from the dramatic society, as far as I know. Usually one or the other would be last to leave. James, more often than not, as Marcia was always first to arrive, and she tended to disappear to the pub early if she knew she wasn’t needed.’

‘What time did this argument occur?’

‘Six. Maybe a little after.’

‘What were you wearing?’

Teresa frowned and sat back in her chair. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What clothes were you wearing?’

‘Me? Jeans, a leather coat, my wool scarf. Same as usual for rehearsals.’

‘What about footwear?’

‘I had my boots on. It is winter, after all. I don’t see what-’

‘And Faith?’

‘I can’t remember. I doubt I paid much attention.’

‘What did she usually wear? Jeans? Skirt and blouse? Dress?’

‘She usually wore a skirt and blouse. She is a teacher, believe it or not. She came straight from school. But I don’t know for sure what she was wearing that day.’

‘What about her overcoat?’

‘What she always wore, I suppose.’

‘Which is?’

‘A long coat, like a light raincoat with epaulettes, but lined.’

‘Belted?’

‘Yes.’

‘And her footwear?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Was she wearing boots or shoes?’

‘Boots, I should think. Because of the weather.’

‘But you can’t be sure?’

‘No. I can’t say I pay Faith’s feet much attention.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?’ Banks asked.

Teresa sighed and shifted in her chair. ‘I don’t know. It didn’t seem all that important. And I didn’t want any trouble, anything spoiling the play. It was bad enough with Caroline getting murdered. When I heard about her being gay, I was sure her death must have had something to do with her private life, that it didn’t involve any of us. I know I sound hard, but this play is important to me, believe it or not. If I do well, the TV people will hear about me…’

Banks stood up. ‘I see.’

‘And as for Faith,’ Teresa went on. ‘I know I sounded bitchy right now, but it was only because I was annoyed at what she’d said to you. She’d no right to go talking about my personal life. But she’s not a killer. Not Faith. And certainly not over a petty incident like that.’

Banks buttoned his overcoat and headed for the door. ‘Thanks very much,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a great help. And he left her reaching for another cigarette from the engraved silver box.

Damn them all! he cursed as he walked out into the cold night. Of course Faith could have killed Caroline Perhaps not over a petty matter, such as the argument Teresa had described, but there could have been another reason. A woman like Caroline Hartley, whether intentionally or not, causes violent emotion in all who come into contact with her. Even Veronica Shildon had admitted to Banks that she’d never understood lust until she met Caroline.

Faith could have simmered for a while after the row – it would certainly have been a blow to her pride – and then, if she had something else against Caroline, too, she could have gone to visit her and remonstrate. Faith certainly worked hard at her Mae West role, but what if it was just an act? What if her true inclination lay elsewhere, or she leaned both ways?

It didn’t seem likely that James Conran would kill the goose he hoped would lay a golden egg. He had high hopes for Caroline as an actress and he was sexually attracted to her as a woman. He didn’t know she was gay. Given his masculine pride and confidence, he probably assumed that she would come around eventually; it was just a matter of time and persistence. Still, there might have been something else in the relationship that Banks didn’t know about.

Caroline had seemed to bring out the worst in both Faith and Teresa. How could he be sure either of them was telling him the truth? Instead of feeling that he had cleverly played one off against the other, he was beginning to feel that he might be the one who had been played. Cursing actors, he pulled up in front of his house feeling nothing but frustration.

TWO

The bell was ringing in the distance. All around lay dark jungle: snakes slithered along branches, phosphorescent insects hummed in the air and squat, furry creatures lurked in the lush foliage. But the bell was ringing in the dark and she had to find her way through the jungle to discover why. There were probably booby traps, too – holes lightly covered with grass matting that would give way under her weight to a thirty-foot drop onto sharpened bamboo shoots. And…

She was at least half awake now. The jungle had gone, a figment of the night. The ringing was coming from her telephone, in the living room. Hardly a dangerous journey, after all, though one she was loath to make, being so comfortably snuggled up under the warm blankets.

She looked at the bedside clock. Two twenty-three in the morning. Bloody hell. And she hadn’t got to bed until midnight. Slowly, without turning on the light, she made her way through to the living-room by touch. She fumbled the receiver and put it to her ear.

‘Susan?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Sergeant Rowe here. Sorry to disturb you, lass, but it’s important. At least it might be.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘We’ve caught the vandals.’

‘How? No, wait. I’m coming in. Give me fifteen minutes.’

‘Right you are, lass. They’ll still be here.’

Susan replaced the receiver and shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Luckily, she hadn’t drunk too much at dinner She put on the living-room light, squinting in the brightness, then went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. There was no time for make-up and grooming, just a quick wash, a brush through the hair and out into the cold quiet night. With luck, there would be fresh coffee at the station.

Holding her coat around her she shivered as she got into the car. It started on the third try. Driving slowly because of the ice, she took nearly ten minutes to get to the car park behind the station. She nipped in through the back door and walked to the front desk.

‘They’re upstairs,’ Sergeant Rowe said.

‘Any background information?’

‘Aye. Tolliver and Wilson caught them trying to jemmy their way into the Darby and Joan Club on Heughton Drive. Our lads had enough sense to let them jemmy open the lock and step over the threshold before pouncing. A slight altercation ensue-’ Sergeant Rowe stopped and smiled at his use of jargon – ‘in which said officers managed to apprehend the suspects. In other words, they put up a bit of a fight but came off worst.’

‘Do we know who they are?’

‘Rob Chalmers and Billy Morley. Both spent time in remand homes.’

‘How old are they?’

‘We’re in luck. One’s eighteen, the other seventeen.’

Susan smiled. ‘Not a case for the juvenile court, then. Have they been cautioned?’

‘Charged and cautioned. We’ve jot the jemmy and the gloves they were wearing bagged and ready for testing.’

‘And?’

‘They’re not saying owt. Been watching American cop shows like the rest. Refuse to talk till they’ve seen their lawyer. Lawyers! I ask you.’

‘And I assume said lawyers are on their way?’

Rowe scratched his bulbous nose. ‘Bit of trouble tracking them down. I think we might manage it by morning.’

‘Good. Where are they?’

‘Interview rooms upstairs. Tolliver’s with one, Wilson’s with the other.’

‘Right.’

Susan poured herself a mug of coffee and went upstairs, still feeling the same thrill as she had on her first day in CID. She took a few sips of the strong black liquid, hung her coat up in the office, then took a quick glance in her compact mirror and applied a little make-up. At least now she didn’t look as if she had got straight out of bed. Satisfied, she smoothed her skirt, ran her hand through her curls, took a deep breath and walked into the first interview room.

PC Tolliver stood by the door, a bruise by the side of his left eye and a crust of blood under his right nostril. Sitting, or rather slouching, behind the table, legs stretched out, arms behind his head, was a youth with dark, oily, slicked-back hair, as if he had used half a jar of Brylcreem. He was wearing a green parka, open over a torn T-shirt, and faded, grubby jeans. Susan could smell beer on his breath even at the door. When he saw her walk in, he didn’t move. She ignored him and looked over at Tolliver.

‘All right, Mike?’

‘I’ll mend.’

‘Who’ve we got?’

‘Robert S. Chalmers, age eighteen. Unemployed. Previous form for assault, damage to property, theft – all as a juvenile. A real charmer.’ Susan winced in acknowledgement of his joke. Bad puns were a thing with PC Tolliver.

Susan sat down. Tolliver went to the chair by the small window in the corner and took out his notebook.

‘Hello, Robert,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘Fuck off.’

The animosity that came from him was almost overwhelming. Susan tensed up inside, determined not to react. On the outside she remained calm and cool. He had acted in this hostile way partly because she was a woman, she was sure. A thug like Chalmers would take it as an insult that they sent a small woman rather than a burly man to interrogate him. He would also expect to be able to deal with her easily. To him, women were probably creatures to be used and discarded. There wouldn’t be any shortage of them in his life. He was good-looking in a surly, James Dean, early Elvis Presley way, his upper lip permanently curved in a sneer.

‘I hear you’ve been attempting to gain unlawful entry to the Darby and Joan Club,’ she said. ‘What’s the problem, can’t you wait till you’re sixty-five?’

‘Very funny.’

‘It’s not funny, Robert. It’s aggravated burglary. Do you know how much time you can get for that?’

Chalmers glared at her. ‘I’m not saying anything till my lawyer gets here.’

‘It might help you if you did. Co-operation. We’d mention that in court.’

‘I told you, I ain’t saying nothing. I know you bastards. You’d fit me up with a verbal.’ He moved in his chair and Susan saw him wince slightly with pain.

‘What’s wrong, Robert?’

‘Bastard over there beat me up.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, love, he only bruised a rib or two – he didn’t damage my tackle.’

Susan bit her tongue. ‘Be sensible, Robert, like your friend William.’

Susan saw a flicker of apprehension in the boy’s eyes, but they quickly regained their hard-bitten look and he laughed. ‘I’m not stupid, you know, love,’ he said. ‘Pull the other one.’

Susan stared at him, long and hard, and made her assessment. Was it worth pushing at him? She decided not. He’d been through this kind of thing too many times before to fall for the usual tricks or to scare easily. Maybe his accomplice would be softer.

She stood up. ‘Right, I’ll just go and have another word with your mate, then. He’ll be able to fill in all the details. That should give us enough.’

Though hardly anything perceptible changed in Chalmers’s expression, Susan somehow knew that what she had said worried him. Not that the other had talked; he wouldn’t fall for that. But that Billy Morley was less tough, more nervous, more likely to crack. Chalmers just shrugged and resumed his slouch, gritting his teeth for a second as he shifted. He put his hands in his pockets and pretended to whistle at the ceiling.

Susan went to the next room, stopping to lean against the wall on the way to take a few deep breaths. No matter how often she came across them, people like Chalmers frightened her. They frightened her more than the people who committed crimes out of passion or greed. She could hear her father’s voice going on about the younger generation. In his day, the story went, people were frightened of coppers, they respected the law. Now, though, they didn’t give a damn; they’d as soon thump a policeman and run. She had to admit there was a lot of truth in what he said. There had always been gangs, youngsters had always been full of mischief and sometimes gone too far, but they certainly used to run when the police arrived. Now they didn’t seem to care. Why had it happened? Was television to blame? Partly, perhaps. But it was more than that. Maybe they had become cynical about those in authority after reading about too many corrupt politicians, perverted judges and bent coppers. Everyone was on the fiddle; nothing really mattered any more. But it wasn’t Susan’s job to analyse society, just to get the truth out of the bastards. Taking a final deep breath, she walked into the next office to confront Billy Morley.

This lad, guarded by PC Wilson, who sported a small cut over his left eye, seemed a little more nervous than his friend. Skinny to the point of emaciation, he had a spotty, weasly face and dark, beady eyes that darted all over the place. He was sitting straight up in his chair rubbing his upper arm and licking his thin lips.

‘You the lawyer?’ he said hopefully. ‘This bastard here nearly broke my arm. Hit me with his stick.’

‘You were resisting arrest,’ PC Wilson said.

‘I wasn’t doing nothing of the kind. I was minding my own business.’

‘Aye,’ said Wilson. ‘You and your jemmy.’

‘It’s not mine. It’s-’

‘Well?’ asked Wilson.

He folded his arms. ‘I’m not saying anything.’

By this time Susan had sat down and arranged herself as comfortably as she could in the stiff, bolted-down chair. First she gave PC Wilson the signal to fade into the background and take notes, then she took a good look at Morley. He didn’t frighten her nearly as much as Chalmers. Basically, she thought, he was weak – especially alone. He was also the younger of the two. Chalmers, she suspected, was a true hard case, but Morley was just a follower and probably a coward at heart. Chalmers had known that, and the knowledge had flitted across his face for a moment. Being a woman would put Susan at an advantage with someone like Morley, who probably jumped each time his mother yelled.

‘I’m not your solicitor, William,’ Susan said. ‘I’m a detective constable. I’ve come to ask you a few questions. It’s a serious charge you’re facing. Do you understand that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Aggravated burglary. Under section ten of the Theft Act, you could do life. Add to that resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer, and I’m pretty sure any judge would come down hard on you.’

‘Bollocks! That’s crap! You can’t get life.’ He shook his head. ‘Not just for… I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true, William. You’re not a juvenile now, you’re an adult. No more fun and games.’

‘But-’

‘But nothing. I’m telling you, William, it doesn’t look good. Do you know what aggravated burglary means?’

Morley shook his head.

Susan clasped her hands on the table in front of her. ‘It means committing a burglary while carrying an offensive weapon.’

‘What offensive weapon?’

‘The jemmy.’

Susan was interpreting the law with a certain amount of licence. ‘Aggravated burglary’ usually involved firearms or explosives.

She shook her head. ‘The best we could do for you is drop the charge to going equipped for stealing. That’s thirteen years. Then there’s malicious damage to property… Whichever way it cuts, William, you’re in a lot of trouble. You can only help yourself by talking to me.’

Morley pinched his long, sharp nose and sniffed. ‘I want my lawyer.’

‘What were you after?’ Susan asked. ‘Did someone tell you there was money there?’

‘We weren’t after no money. We – I’m not saying anything till my law-’

‘Your solicitor may be some time, William. Solicitors like a good night’s sleep. They don’t enjoy getting up at two thirty in the morning just to help a pathetic little creep like you. It’ll be better if you co-operate.’

Morley gaped at her, as if her insulting words, delivered in such a matter of fact, even tone, had pricked him like darts. ‘I told you,’ he stammered. ‘I want-’

Susan rested her hands on the table, palms down, and spoke softly. ‘William, be sensible for once in your life. Look at the facts. We already know the two of you broke into the Darby and Joan Club. You used a jemmy. It’ll have your fingerprints on it. You must have handled it at some time. It’s being tested right now. And there’ll be fibres we can match with the gloves you were wearing, too. We also have two very reliable witnesses. PC Wilson here and his colleague caught you red-handed. There’s no getting around that, solicitor or no solicitor. We’ve followed correct procedure so far. You’ve been warned and charged. Right now we’re reviewing your options, so to speak.’

‘He hit me,’ Morley whined. ‘He’s broke my arm. I need a doctor.’

For a moment Susan thought that might be true. Morley was pale and his sharp, narrow brow looked clammy. Then she realized it was fear.

‘Look at his eye, William,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s going to believe he attacked you for no reason.’

Morley fell silent for a while. Susan could almost hear him thinking, trying to decide what to do.

‘It’ll go easier for you if you tell us what you were up to,’ she said gently. ‘Perhaps you were only trespassing.’ That would never wash, she knew. Trespassing, in itself, wasn’t an offence except in certain special circumstances, such as poaching and espionage, and breaking the lock of a club with a jemmy was a long way from simple trespass. Still, it wouldn’t do Morley any harm to let him look on the bright side.

He remained silent, chewing at the edge of his thumb.

‘What’s wrong, William? Are you frightened of Robert? Is that what it is?’ She was about to tell him Chalmers had already talked, tried to put the blame on him, but realized just in time that such a ploy could ruin any advantage she had. He might suspect a trick then, no doubt having seen such tactics used on television, and her carefully constructed house of cards would fall down.

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll be helping him too.’

Ten seconds later, Morley took his thumb from his mouth and said, ‘We weren’t burgling anything. That wasn’t it at all.’

‘What were you doing there, then?’ Susan asked.

‘Just having fun.’

‘What do you mean, fun?’

‘You know, it was something to do. Smashing things and stuff. It wasn’t no aggravated burglary, or whatever you call it. You can’t charge us with that.’

‘It looks like burglary to us, William. Are you trying to tell me you were going to vandalize the place?’

‘We weren’t going to take anything or hurt anyone. Nothing like that.’

‘Were you going to cause damage?’

‘Just a bit of fun.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why?’

‘Why would you want to do such a thing?’

‘I dunno.’ Morley squirmed in his chair and grasped his arm again. ‘Fucking hurts, that.’

‘Will you please not use language like that in front of me, William,’ Susan said. ‘I find it offensive. Answer my question. Why did you do it?’

‘No reason. Do you have to have a fucking reason for everything? I told you, it was just fun, that’s all.’

‘I’ve told you once,’ Susan said, mustering as much quiet authority as she could. ‘I don’t like that kind of language. Learn some manners.’

Morley tried hard to glare at her, but he looked more ashamed and defeated than defiant.

‘Was it the same kind of fun you had in those other places?’ Susan asked.

‘What other places?’

‘Come on, William. You know what I mean. This isn’t the first time, is it?’

Morley remained silent for a while, then said quietly, still rubbing his arm. ‘I suppose not.’

‘Suppose?’

‘All right. No, it’s not. But we never hurt anyone or anything.’

Susan could taste success. Her first real case. She was only assisting on the Hartley murder, but this one was all hers. If she could wrap up a four-month problem of vandalism with a neat confession, it would look very good on her record. As she listed the dates and places vandalized over the past few months – mostly youth clubs and recreation centres – Morley nodded glumly at each one, until she mentioned the community centre.

‘Come again?’ he said.

‘Eastvale Community Centre, night of December the twenty-second.’

Morley shook his head. ‘You can’t do us for that one.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying we didn’t do it, that’s what.’

‘Come on, William. What’s the point in denying it? It’ll all be taken into account. You’re doing yourself no good.’

He leaned forward. Spittle collected at the corners of his mouth. ‘Because we didn’t f- Because we didn’t do it, that’s why. I wasn’t even in Eastvale that night. I spent Christmas with my mother down in Coventry. I can prove it. Call her. Go on.’

Susan took the number. ‘What about Robert?’

‘How should I know. But I didn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it by himself, would he? Stands to reason. Rob – now, wait a minute, wait a minute! He was out of town, too. He was down in Bristol with his brother over Christmas. We didn’t do it, I’m telling you.’

Susan tapped her pen on the desk and sighed. True, it didn’t make sense for the lad to lie at this point, when he had confessed to everything else. Damn! Just when she thought she had got it all wrapped up. That meant there must be two sets of vandals. One down, one to go. She stood up. ‘Take his statement, will you, John? I’ll go and make out a report for the chief inspector. We’ll check the alibis for the community centre job tomorrow morning.’ As she passed the room where Robert Chalmers was being held, she almost went in for another try. But there was nothing more to learn. Instead, she carried on down the corridor to her office.

THREE

‘Of all the times to come pestering me! It’s opening night tonight. Don’t you know that? How did you even know I’d be here? Normally I’d be at school at this time.’

‘I know,’ Banks said. ‘I phoned. They told me you’d taken the day off.’

‘You did what?’ Faith Green was really pacing now, arms folded under her breasts. She wore purple tights and a baggy, hip-length sweater with red and blue hoops around it. Her silver hair and matching hoop earrings flashed in the morning sunlight that shone through her large picture window.

‘How dare you?’ she went on. ‘Do you realize what damage that could do my career? It doesn’t matter that I’m guilty of nothing. Just a hint of police around that place and the smell sticks.’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Banks perched at the edge of his armchair, faintly amused by Faith’s performance. It certainly differed from his last visit. His amusement, however, was overshadowed by irritation.

She stopped and glared at him. ‘Am I making you nervous? Good.’

Banks leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. ‘Remember last time I called, I asked if you’d noticed anything odd about the rehearsal on December the twenty-second?’

Faith resumed pacing again, stopped in front of the Greta Garbo poster, as if seeking inspiration, and said, with her back to Banks, ‘So?’

‘Were you telling me the truth?’

‘I’m not in the habit of lying.’

‘It’d be easier if you sat down,’ Banks said.

‘Oh, all right, damn you!’ Faith flounced towards the sofa and flung herself on to it. ‘There,’ she said with a pout. ‘Does that suit you?’

‘Fine. I must say you’re not quite as welcoming as you were last time.’

Faith looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge his meaning. ‘That was different,’ she said finally. ‘I didn’t see why we had to have such a boring time just because you were asking silly questions.’

‘And this time?’

‘I should be rehearsing, going through my lines. I’m tense enough as it is. You’re upsetting me.’

‘How?’

‘Asking questions again.’

Banks sighed. ‘All right. How about if I stop asking and start telling?’ And he relayed what Teresa had told him about the argument between Faith and James Conran. The further he got, the paler Faith’s face turned and the more angry her eyes became.

‘Who told you this?’ she demanded when he’d finished.

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘It does to me. It couldn’t have been James, surely. The last thing he’d do is make himself look bad.’ She paused, then slapped the arm of the sofa. ‘Of course! How stupid of me. It was Teresa, wasn’t it? She must have stayed behind and eavesdropped. I thought she’d been behaving oddly towards me lately. Did you tell her what I told you?’

‘Look, it really doesn’t-’

‘The snooping bitch! She’s no right, no right at all. And neither had-’

‘Is it true?’ Banks asked.

‘It’s none of her-’

‘But is it true?’

‘-business to listen to my private-’

‘So it is true?’

Faith hesitated, looked over to Garbo again and sighed deeply. ‘All right, so we had a row. I’ve got nothing to hide. It’s nothing new. Happens all the time in the theatre.’

‘It’s the timing that interests me most,’ Banks said. ‘You could conceivably have been angry enough at Caroline Hartley to stew over it for a couple of drinks, then go pay her a visit. You didn’t know she lived with anyone.’

Faith’s jaw dropped. When she finally spoke, it was in a squeaky, uncontrolled voice, far different from her stage speech.

‘Are you suggesting that I killed the damn woman over some stupid argument with the director of a small-town play?’

‘You did call her a “little slut”. I think that suggests a bit more than a tiff over a part in an amateur production, don’t you?’

‘It’s just a figure of speech, a…’

‘Why did you call her a slut, Faith? Was it because Conran fancied her but he didn’t fancy you? Is that why you told me about him and Teresa, too? Out of jealous spite?’

For the first time, Faith seemed speechless. But it didn’t last long. Finally, red-faced, she stretched out her arm dramatically and pointed at the door.

‘Out!’ she yelled. ‘Out, you wretched, insulting little man! Out!’

‘Calm down, Faith,’ Banks said. ‘I need answers. Is that why?’

Faith let her arm fall slowly and sat in silence for a few moments contemplating the upholstery of the sofa. ‘What if I did call her a slut?’ she said finally. ‘Heat of the moment, that’s all. And I’ll tell you something, the way I felt at the time, if I’d killed anybody it would have been our bloody philandering director. It’s unprofessional, letting your prick rule your judgment like that. It happened with Teresa, it was happening with Caroline…’

‘But it didn’t happen with you?’

‘Huh! Do you think I really cared about that? I’ve no trouble finding a man when I want one. A real man, too, not some artsy-fartsy wimp like James Conran.’

‘But maybe he hurt your pride? Some people don’t handle rejection well. Or perhaps it wasn’t Conran that really bothered you. Was it Caroline herself?’

Faith stared at him, then spoke slowly. ‘Look, you asked me about that the last time you were here. I told you I’m not a lesbian. I told you I could prove it to you. Do you want me to prove it now?’

She sat up, crossed her arms and reached for the bottom of her sweater.

Banks held his hand up. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m not asking you to prove it. And quite honestly, it’s not really the kind of thing you can prove, is it?’

Faith let her hands drop but remained sitting cross-legged on the sofa. ‘You mean you think I’m bi?’

Banks shrugged.

‘Well, you can’t prove that either, can you?’

‘We might be able to, if we talk to the right people.’

Faith laughed. ‘My ex-lovers? Well, good luck to you, darling. You’ll need it.’

‘What did you do after the argument?’ Banks asked.

‘Came home, like I said.’ She put her hand to her brow. ‘Quite honestly, I was shagged out, dear.’

Faith seemed to have regained her composure since her outburst, or at least her poise. She pushed her fringe back from her eyes and managed a brief smile as she went on. ‘Look, Chief Inspector, I know you have to catch your criminal and all that, but it’s not me. And I’ve got a lot of work to do before curtain tonight. Besides, I need to be calm, relaxed. You’re making me all flustered. I’ll blow my lines. Be a darling and bugger off. You can come back some other time, if you want.’

Banks smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about being nervous. I’ve heard a bit of anxiety adds an edge to a performance.

Faith narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, as if wondering whether she was being had. ‘Well…’ she went on, ‘if that’s all…?’

‘Far from it. You argued with James Conran in the auditorium, am I right?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I left, of course. I don’t put up with that kind of treatment – not from anyone.’

‘And you went straight home?’

‘I did.’

‘Was anyone else in the centre at the time?’

‘Well, obviously Teresa bloody Pedmore was, but I didn’t see her.’

‘Anyone else?’

Faith shook her head.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I told you, I didn’t see anyone. But then I didn’t see them all leave, either. There are plenty of cubby-holes behind the stage, as you know quite well. The whole bloody cast could have been hiding there and listening, for all I know.’

‘But as far as you know, the only person there was James Conran, and you left him in the auditorium.’

Faith nodded, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘And Teresa, I suppose, if she saw me leave.’

‘Yes,’ Banks said. ‘And Teresa. What were you wearing that evening?’

‘To rehearsal?’

‘Yes.’

Faith shrugged. ‘Same as I usually wear, I suppose, when I come from school.’

‘Which is?’

‘They’re very conservative, you know. Blouse, skirt and cardigan is required uniform.’

‘How long was the skirt?’

She arched her eyebrows. ‘Why, Chief Inspector, I didn’t know you cared.’ She stood up with exaggerated slowness and put the edge of her hand just below her knee. ‘About that long,’ she said, then she shifted her weight to her left leg, dropping her right hip in a halfcomic, half-seductive pose. ‘As I said, they’re very conservative.’

‘What about your overcoat?’

‘What is this?’

‘Can you tell me?’

‘I can do better if it’ll get you out of here quicker.’ She walked to the hall cupboard and pulled out a long, heavily lined garbardine. ‘It’s not quite warm enough for this weather we’ve been having lately,’ she said, ‘but it’ll do until someone buys me a mink.’

‘What about footwear?’

She raised one eyebrow. ‘You are getting intimate, aren’t you? Whatever will it be next, I wonder?’

‘Footwear?’

‘Boots, of course. What do you think I’d be wearing in that weather? Bloody high heels?’ She laughed. ‘Tell me, have you a shoe fetish or something?’

Banks smiled and got to his feet. ‘No. Sorry to disappoint you. Thank you very much for your time. I’ll see myself out.’

But Faith followed him to the door and leaned against the frame, arms loosely folded. ‘You know, Chief Inspector,’ she said, ‘I am very disappointed in you. I might be persuaded to change my mind, but it would take a lot of doing. I’ve never been so insulted and abused by a man as I’ve been by you. But the funny thing is, I still like you.’ She took him by the elbow and steered him out the open door. ‘And now you really must go.’

Banks headed down the corridor and turned when he heard Faith calling after him.

‘Chief Inspector! Will you be there tonight? Will you be watching the play?’

‘I’ll be there,’ Banks said. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for anything.’ And he went on his way.