A Dedicated Man (23 page)

The steady rhythm of the rain and the sudden release from tension that the start of a storm brings helped Banks to drift uneasily off to sleep again. Only seconds later, it seemed, the alarm
clock rang and it was time to get ready for work.

When Banks arrived at the station, he was surprised to find an unusual flurry of activity. Superintendent Gristhorpe was waiting for him.

‘What’s going on?’ Banks asked, hanging his wet mackintosh in the cupboard.

‘A young girl’s been reported missing,’ Gristhorpe told him, bushy eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

‘From Eastvale?’

‘Get yourself some coffee, lad. Then we’ll talk about it.’

Banks took his mug to the small lunch room and poured himself a cup of fresh black coffee. Back in the office, he sat behind his desk and sipped the hot drink, waiting for Gristhorpe to begin.
He knew there was never any point in hurrying the superintendent.

‘Helmthorpe,’ Gristhorpe said finally. ‘Local bobby down there, Constable Weaver, got woken up by worried parents just after the storm broke. Seems their young lass
hadn’t come home, and they were worried. The mother said she sometimes stayed out late – she was at that age, sixteen or so – so they hadn’t worried too much earlier. But
when the storm woke them and she still wasn’t back . . . Apparently she’s not done anything like that before.’

‘What’s the girl’s name?’

‘Sally Lumb.’ The words sounded flat and final in Gristhorpe’s Yorkshire accent.

Banks rubbed his face and drank some more coffee. ‘I was talking to her just the other day,’ he said at last. ‘In here. She came to see me.’

Gristhorpe nodded. ‘I know. I saw the report. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Attractive young girl,’ Banks said, almost to himself. ‘Looked older than she was. Sixteen. Interested in acting. She wanted to get away to the big city.’ And all of a
sudden he thought of Penny Cartwright, who had been to so many big cities only to return to Helmthorpe.

‘We’re covering that angle, Alan. You know as well as I do how most of these cases turn out. In all likelihood she’s run off to Manchester or London. Her mother told Weaver
there’d been a few rows at home lately. Seems the lass didn’t get on too well with her father. She probably just took off somewhere.’

Banks nodded. ‘Most likely.’

‘But you don’t believe it?’

‘I didn’t say that, sir.’

‘No, but you sounded like it.’

‘Shock, I suppose. There could have been an accident. She goes off with her boyfriend. You know, they find isolated places where they can kiss and cuddle. That area’s full of old
lead mines and gullies.’

‘Aye, it’s possible. For the moment we’ll just have to assume it’s either that or she’s run off. We’ve wired her description to all the big cities. I just
hope to God we’ve not got a sex killer on our hands.’ He paused and looked through the window, where the steady downpour had almost emptied Market Street and the square. Only a few
shoppers soldiered on under umbrellas. ‘Trouble is,’ he went on, ‘we can’t organize search parties in this kind of weather. Too bloody dangerous by far up on the moors and
valley sides.’

‘What do
you
think’s happened?’ Banks asked.

‘Me?’ Gristhorpe shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Alan. Like I told you, I’ve been reading through that interview report again and I can’t really see as she
gave us any valuable information. She just helped us pinpoint the time the body was dumped, that’s all. She didn’t actually see anything.’

‘You mean she wasn’t a danger to anyone – to our killer?’

‘Aye. Naturally you make connections when something like this happens. You’d be a poor copper if you didn’t. But you can’t let it get in the way. As it stands now,
we’ve still got a murder to solve and we’ve got a missing girl to cope with, too.’

‘But you do think there might be a connection?’

‘I hope not. I bloody hope not. It’s bad enough knowing there’s someone who killed once out there, but a hell of a lot worse thinking they’d go as far as to kill a kid
too.’

‘We can’t be sure she’s dead yet, sir.’

Gristhorpe looked at Banks steadily for a few moments then turned back to the window. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Was there anything else? Anything else to link her to the Steadman
case?’

‘Not that I know of. The only time I saw her was when she came to tell me about hearing the car. I got the impression that she went away distinctly dischuffed with me for giving up the
bright lights. We had Willy Fisher in at the time, too. He put up a bit of a struggle with two uniformed lads, and I think that unnerved her a bit.’

‘What are you getting at, Alan?’

‘I don’t know, really. But maybe if she did figure anything out, she might not have come to me with it.’

‘You can’t blame yourself for that,’ Gristhorpe said, rising wearily to leave. ‘Let’s hope she’s run off somewhere. The link’s got to be pursued,
though. Were you thinking of going to Helmthorpe today?’

‘No. It’s so bloody miserable outside I thought I’d go over the paperwork again. Why?’

‘The paperwork can wait. I’d feel easier if you did go.’

‘Of course. What do you want me to do?’

‘Have a word with the boyfriend, for a start. Find out if he saw her last night, or if not, why not. And Weaver tells me she hung around the coffee bar with three other girls. You might
have a chat with them. Weaver will give you the names and details. Be as casual as you can. If she knew anything, or had any theories, she’s far more likely to have told her friends than her
parents. No need to trouble them.’ Banks was relieved. Twice before he had had to spend time with the parents of missing children and he could think of no worse task.

‘I’ll take care of the rest,’ Gristhorpe added. ‘We’ll be getting search parties organized as soon as this rain slackens off a bit.’

‘Should I leave now?’ Banks asked.

‘No hurry. In fact, it might be better if you held off till mid-morning. I don’t know a lot about teenage lasses, but I shouldn’t imagine they’ll be up and about right
now. It might be best if you can find them in the coffee bar. It’ll be a more comfortable environment for the kind of chat you want, and you’ll get them all together.’

Banks nodded. ‘You’ll keep me up to date, sir?’

‘Yes, of course. Just check in with Weaver. I’ll send Sergeant Hatchley on later, too. He’s busy getting the girl’s description around the country right now.’

‘Just a small point,’ Banks said, ‘but it might be a good idea if you had someone get in touch with theatre companies, drama schools, that kind of place. If she has run off,
the odds are she’s headed for the stage.’

‘Aye,’ Gristhorpe said, ‘I’ll do that.’ Then, looking tired and worried, he left the office.

Outside, it was still pouring bucketfuls on to Market Street and looked as if it would never stop. Banks stared down at the shifting pattern of umbrellas as pedestrians dodged one another
crossing the square on the way to work. He scratched his chin and found a rough patch the electric razor had missed. Gristhorpe was right; they had to think in terms of a connection with the
Steadman business. It had to be pursued quickly, as well, and the irony was that they had to hope they were wrong.

Banks looked over Sally Lumb’s interview transcript and tried to visualize her as she had sat before him. Was there something she hadn’t told him? As he read the printed words he had
written up from his notes, he tried to picture her face, remembering pauses, changes in expression. No. If there was anything else, it must have occurred to her after the interview, and she might
then have gone to the wrong person with her information or ideas. Banks tried to stop himself imagining her battered body stuffed down a disused mineshaft, but the images were hard to dismiss.
Sally may have been eager to move away to the big city but she had struck him as a sensible girl, even calculating – the kind who would make a clean and open move when the right time came.
According to her mother, nothing dramatic had happened at home to make her run away. Rows were common enough surely, and, if anything, the parents seemed too liberal. Banks remembered the curfews
(broken, many of them) of his own adolescence as he tried to coax his pipe alight. The blasted thing remained as reluctant as ever. In a sudden flash of anger and frustration, he threw it across
the room and the stem snapped in two.

As Banks approached Helmthorpe later that Saturday morning, the coloured tents across the river strained at their ropes in the wind and rain like the sails of hidden boats, and
the dark water danced wildly with ripples. In such weather, the houses themselves looked like dull outcrops of the stone they were built from, and the valley sides were shrouded in haze. A few
locals and unfortunate holidaymakers tramped the streets.

Banks pulled into the small parking space next to the police station, and the first person he saw inside was PC Weaver. The constable looked pale, and there were dark smudges under his eyes.

‘We can’t even organize a search,’ he said, pointing out of the window. ‘Our men would get bogged down on the moors, and the visibility’s hopeless.’

‘I know,’ Banks said. ‘Any luck?’

Weaver shook his head. ‘Her parents last saw her just before they went out for the evening at about seven thirty. Before that, her friends saw her in the coffee bar earlier in the
afternoon. We’ve not had time to ask much yet, sir. I’ve still got some lads out there. There’ll likely be more information coming in before long.’

Banks nodded. ‘And she didn’t say to anyone where she was going?’

‘No, sir. Her mother thought she might have met her boyfriend somewhere.’

‘Did she?’

‘He says not, sir,’ Weaver pointed toward a bedraggled young man in a clinging wet T-shirt and soggy jeans, hair plastered down by the rain. ‘That’s him there, sir.
He’s pretty upset, and I see no reason not to believe him.’

‘Have you questioned him?’

‘Just talked to him, really, sir. Not questioned him proper. I mean, I thought I’d leave that . . .’

‘That’s fine, Constable,’ Banks said, smiling his approval. ‘You did right.’

He walked over to Kevin, who was staring fixedly at a ‘Crime Doesn’t Pay’ poster and chewing his fingernails. Banks introduced himself and sat down on the bench.

‘How long have you known Sally?’ he asked.

Kevin rubbed his eyes. ‘Years, I suppose. We only started going out together this summer.’

‘How do you feel about Swainsdale?’

‘What?’

‘How do you feel about living in the dales, your home? Sally doesn’t like it much, does she? Wasn’t she always talking about going away?’

‘Oh aye, she talked,’ Kevin said scornfully. ‘She’s full of big talk is Sally. Got a lot of grand ideas.’

‘Don’t you think she might have run off to London or somewhere, then?’

Kevin shook his head. ‘No. I can’t see her leaving like that. That’s why I’m worried. She’d’ve telled me.’

‘Perhaps she’s running from you, too.’

‘Don’t be daft. We’ve just started going together. We’re in love.’ He bent forward and put his head in his hands. ‘I love her. We’re going to get
married, start a little farm . . . I know Sally, and she just wouldn’t run off without telling me. She wouldn’t.’

Banks held himself back from agreeing. Whatever Kevin believed, there was still hope. He couldn’t picture Sally Lumb settling down to domestic rural life in the dales, though. Kevin had a
lot to learn about women and about dreams, but he seemed a decent and honest enough boy on the surface. Banks was inclined to agree with Weaver and see no harm in him, but he had to press on with
the questioning.

‘Did you talk to Sally yesterday?’ he asked.

Kevin shook his head.

‘You didn’t see her at all yesterday evening?’

‘No. I was playing cricket with some mates over in Aykbridge.’

‘Did Sally know about that? Didn’t she expect to see you?’

‘Aye, she knew. You can’t see each other every night, can you?’ he burst out. ‘You’d soon get sick of each other, then, wouldn’t you? You’ve got to do
other things sometimes, don’t you?’

He was blaming himself, and Banks helped him fight back the guilt. He wanted to ask him about the night he and Sally had heard the car; he wanted to know if she had said anything more about it,
or if either of them had noticed something they hadn’t mentioned. But if he did that, he realized, he would be putting ideas into Kevin’s mind, making him think that Sally’s
disappearance was somehow related to Steadman’s murder. He would have to do that eventually, but it could wait. If there was anything, Kevin would probably blurt it out himself in his attempt
to help find Sally.

It was almost noon. If the girls were going to meet up as usual in the coffee bar, they’d probably be there by now, Weaver told him. Banks dashed out to the car. In good weather, he would
have walked the short distance, but after only a moment’s exposure to the heavy rain, droplets were running down his neck from his sodden collar.

The three girls sat in silence, toying with straws angled in their Coke cans. Banks told them who he was and pulled up a chair to the stained and cracked Formica table. The video games and
pinball machine were silent.

‘Do you think Sally’s the kind of girl to run away without telling anyone?’ he asked first.

They all shook their heads slowly. The plain-looking girl with thick glasses, who had introduced herself as Anne Downes, answered, ‘She’s full of ideas, is Sally. But that’s
all they are. She’s nowhere to run to. She doesn’t know anyone outside Swainsdale.’

‘Was she doing well at school?’

‘Well enough,’ replied Kathy Chalmers, the one with the henna hair. ‘She’s clever. Not a swot, like. She could always get away without studying much and get good marks.
She’s bound to pass all her exams.’

‘A sensible girl, you’d say?’

‘As sensible as any of us teenagers,’ Anne Downes answered, and the irony wasn’t lost on Banks. ‘It depends on your point of view.’

Kathy gave a short giggle and blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘But her parents might not have thought she was sensible. You know
parents.’