Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (10 page)

‘Are they telling the truth?’

‘I think so, sir. I interviewed Barry Sadler, and he’s very cut up. He’s an ex-copper. The nurse has a clean record and a spotless reputation. Of course, we can always have another go at them if something else turns up pointing in that direction, but I think it’s doubtful.’

Banks took the photograph of Rachel Hewitt from his briefcase and stuck it on the glass alongside the blow-up of the unknown girl with Quinn. He still didn’t understand why the Deputy Chief Commissioner had seen the necessity of spending close to £500 on a glass writing board when the whiteboard worked perfectly well. Basically, you could write and rub out and stick pictures on it, which was all you needed to do. He’d probably seen one on
Law & Order UK
or some such television programme and thought it was a necessity for the modern police force.

‘This may mean nothing at all,’ Banks said, ‘but Bill Quinn worked on the Rachel Hewitt case for a short while in the summer of 2006, not long after she was reported missing, and he had this photograph in a file in his study. Quinn spent a week in Tallinn helping with the investigation there and carried out background checks into Rachel and her friends. Both DI Blackstone in Leeds and Quinn’s daughter said the case haunted him.’

‘Was it ever closed?’ asked Winsome.

‘No,’ Banks said. ‘Just inactive. Officially, Rachel Hewitt is still a missing person, but there haven’t been any fresh leads for six years – there weren’t any leads at all – so until new information comes in, there’s nothing more can be done, and the investigation has been mothballed. She’d be twenty-five now.’

‘Surely she’s dead?’ said Doug Wilson.

‘In all likelihood. But families don’t give up that easily, Doug. Think of the McCanns. Little Madeleine’s been gone for years now, but they won’t let themselves believe that she’s dead, even though, compared to the alternatives, some might say death would be a blessing. They can’t. Rachel Hewitt’s family is the same. They won’t give up. They won’t accept that their daughter is dead. Anyway, as I said, it’s probably nothing, but at some point we’ll have to talk to the parents and friends. In the meantime, I’d like one of you to put together a dossier on Rachel Hewitt. Clippings, photos, names, whatever you can find on the investigation. There should be plenty. Gerry, maybe you can get started on that?’

DC Geraldine Masterson scribbled something down on her pad. ‘Yes, sir.’

Banks turned to Winsome. ‘I think in the meantime you and I should get back to St Peter’s and see if we can wrap up there,’ he said. ‘The rest of you all have your actions and TIEs to be getting on with. Doug, I want you here when the list of Bill Quinn’s possible old enemies and his phone records arrive, and I want you to head the examination. Coordinate with DI Ken Blackstone at Millgarth. Ken mentioned a bloke called Corrigan. Warren Corrigan. He’s got his finger in a few pies, all of them nasty, but basically he’s a loan shark. Ask around. See if he has any sort of presence in these parts. We want to know who Quinn has been talking to lately, and who’s been talking to him. Keep an open mind about the old cases. Something might leap out at you, but you can’t rely on that. You can probably forget the junkies and alcoholic wife-beaters – they probably wouldn’t even remember making threats, let alone have what it takes to stalk and kill someone with a crossbow – but give them all at least a passing glance. Anything that strikes you as odd, interesting, possible, make a note of it. Gerry here will give you a hand in her spare time. If she has any.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Doug glanced over at DC Masterson, who tapped the end of her pencil on her notepad.

‘And we also need to find out if Bill Quinn had ever worked with or had any close connection with anyone staying at St Peter’s. Or if anyone there had a connection with someone he put away, someone who threatened him, had a grudge. You might as well include the staff, too. I realise this all adds up to casting a very wide net indeed, but we’ve either got to rule all these things out, or find a link to Quinn’s murder somewhere, if we’re to narrow it down to a viable line of inquiry. I shouldn’t have to remind you that Bill Quinn was one of our own and that we’ll be under extreme scrutiny on this. Clear?’

Everyone nodded, glum expressions on their faces. They knew what it meant: say goodbye to the weekend, and all leave is cancelled.

‘Sir?’ said Winsome.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’ve just been thinking. The choice of weapon, the murder in the woods . . . Could we be looking for someone with hunting experience? Hunting and tracking? We know that Quinn himself was into outdoors stuff – angling and gardening, specifically – so he might have known people who were hunters, who belonged to the same clubs or societies he did.’

‘That’s a good point, Winsome,’ said Banks. ‘Doug and Gerry, you should keep an eye open for anything like that, too. Any hunters, flag them. Check on Quinn’s friends outside the force, too, if he had any, and any organisations he belonged to. Also,’ Banks went on, ‘one of you will need to check sources for crossbows and bolts, including online. And I want someone to search for any similar crimes, anything involving a crossbow, in fact, over, say, the past five years. OK?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said DC Wilson.

Before the meeting broke up, the door opened and Area Commander Gervaise walked in with another woman behind her. Late thirties or early forties, Banks guessed, a tall attractive blonde, elegant suit, the skirt ending just above her knees, black tights – no Primark for her – a trim, lithe figure with gentle curves, a smattering of freckles across her small nose, intelligent green eyes, regal bearing. Her blonde tresses were piled and coiled on top, giving the impression of casual simplicity, though Banks guessed the haircut was expensive and the arrangement took a lot of time. She seemed a little nervous, he thought.

‘If you’d all just hang on for a minute,’ Gervaise said, avoiding Banks’s gaze, ‘I’d like to introduce Inspector Joanna Passero. Joanna is from Professional Standards, and she’ll be working with you all very closely on this case.’

‘The rat squad,’ Banks muttered.

Gervaise raised an eyebrow. ‘What was that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Banks. ‘Welcome to the squad. Pleased to meet you, Inspector Passero.’

‘Likewise,’ said Inspector Passero. ‘Call me Joanna.’ Even in those few words, Banks thought he noticed a hint of a Scottish accent, which went quite against her Italian surname, as did her blonde good looks. Still, he thought, remembering Bill Forsyth’s
Comfort and Joy
, with its Glasgow ice-cream wars, a lot of Italians had settled in Scotland over the years.

‘In my office, Alan,’ said Gervaise. ‘The rest of you can get back to work.’

Banks gestured for Winsome to wait for him and followed Gervaise and Joanna Passero down the corridor.

The three of them made themselves comfortable around Gervaise’s circular glass table and drank coffee made from Gervaise’s machine. Banks felt lucky; it was his second cup in two days. On the other hand, when he realised why Inspector Joanna Passero was present, he didn’t feel so lucky after all. She crossed her long, black-stockinged legs and leaned back with the mug in her hand as if she were at her book club, or a Women’s Institute coffee morning. A half smile played around her full pink lips. Perhaps she was enjoying Banks’s obvious discomfort, he thought, or perhaps she had noticed his stolen glances at the swell of her breasts under the finely tailored jacket, or the shapely ankle of her crossed leg.

There was a Nordic aspect to her beauty, despite her Italian surname and Scottish accent. All that lovely blonde coolness, Banks thought. Alfred Hitchcock would have loved her. And tied twenty birds to her clothes with long nylon threads.

‘You could have given me some warning,’ Banks said to Gervaise. ‘You made me look a right twat back there at the briefing.’

‘That wasn’t my intention,’ said Gervaise. ‘The decision’s just been made. I’ve been at a breakfast meeting with ACC McLaughlin and the Chief Constable over at County HQ, and we are all agreed that, given the circumstances of DI Bill Quinn’s murder, and what was discovered in his room, we need a representative from Professional Standards on board. ACC McLaughlin suggested Joanna, who is relatively new to the county, but comes along with an excellent pedigree from Thames Valley. I brought her back here with me. I’m sure she’ll be a valuable addition to the team.’

‘Valuable in what way, ma’am?’ Banks asked.

‘I’ve told you, less of the ma’am. We can be informal in here.’

‘Valuable in what way?’

Gervaise deferred to Inspector Passero. ‘Joanna?’

Joanna Passero held Banks’s gaze as she leaned forward and set her coffee mug down on the table. There was a pink lipstick stain on the rim. Banks realised that he was being outflanked by two strong women, one above him in rank, and the other with a cool demeanour and any number of little feminine wiles up her sleeve. He also realised that there was probably nothing he could do about any of it. Once Gervaise’s mind was made up, that was it, and she had the backing of ACC McLaughlin and the Chief Constable. This meeting was a mere formality, a courtesy, perhaps. Banks wasn’t going to get Joanna Passero sent back to Newby Wiske or Thames Valley, no matter how much he might try. About the only thing he could hope to get out of this meeting was to escape with his dignity intact and maybe gain a few minor concessions. But he wasn’t going to give up without a struggle. He listened as Joanna Passero spoke in her lilting Edinburgh accent.

‘I’m sure you’ll agree with me,’ she began, ‘that in the light of the compromising photographs you found in DI Quinn’s possession, implicating him in the possible corruption of a minor, not to say grave dereliction of duty, this investigation goes somewhat beyond the norm.’

‘There’s no evidence that the girl was a minor.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ She gave an impatient twitch of her head. ‘Look at her. Just look at her.’

‘It’s possible that DI Quinn was being blackmailed because of those pictures,’ Banks said. ‘It’s also possible that he was set up.’

‘In what way?’

‘If you look at the way he’s lying in that bedroom photo, you can see he seems quite out of it. Maybe he was drugged?’

‘Or drunk.’

‘Possibly. But—’

‘He didn’t appear drugged in the bar, or in the restaurant. In fact, he seemed to be very much enjoying himself.’

‘And where’s the law against having a drink or a meal with an attractive young woman? If he was drugged, have you considered that the restaurant or the bar may well have been where the drug was administered? In his drink or his food? She may even have been as much a victim as he was. We just don’t know. This is all a bit premature, in my opinion.’

‘There’s no point you two arguing back and forth about this,’ Gervaise said, glancing first at Banks. ‘Alan, you have to admit that the whole business is extremely fishy. The photos, the murder method, everything. You said yourself that you think DI Quinn might have been blackmailed because of the girl.’

‘But we’re just starting out on our investigation,’ Banks argued. ‘We don’t really know anything yet. These are just theories.’

‘That’s why I want Joanna in right at the beginning.’

‘To do what?’

‘My job,’ said Joanna. ‘What do you think? I’m happy to tag along and observe and ask what questions I think necessary. Believe me, DCI Banks, I have no intention of getting in the way of this investigation, or of slowing it down in any way. I want the same as you. A result. I also want to know if there is any hint of wrongdoing on the part of the police. Is that so unreasonable?’

‘Not when you put it like that. But this is already a complex investigation, and I don’t want to be in the position of having to describe or explain my every move and decision to someone else. I also don’t want someone looking over my shoulder and judging my methods all the time.’

Banks didn’t think he had anything to fear from Professional Standards. Whatever his methods, whatever corners he cut and instincts he followed, he stayed within the boundaries of the law. Usually. He noticed once again the intelligent pale green eyes, the expensive blonde hair, the freckles, straight nose, full lips lightly brushed with pink lipstick. She held his gaze without flinching. She would probably be formidable in an interview room, or at a poker table.

‘I understand that,’ said Joanna, picking up her coffee again, flicking him a Princess Di upwards glance, ‘and I can only repeat that I have no intention of slowing things down, or of looking over your shoulder. I know all about your methods, DCI Banks. They’re legendary at County HQ. But you’re not my brief. DI William Quinn is.’

‘But you
will
slow things down, whether you intend to or not. Your presence will affect my whole team.’

‘I can only repeat: neither you nor your team is my brief.’ She paused and shot him a cool glance. ‘Why? What have you all got to hide?’

‘Oh, come off it. You know perfectly well what I mean. When the taxman calls, you don’t expect it’s about a rebate, do you? We’re working at cross purposes here. I’m after the person who murdered Bill Quinn. Period. You want the dirt on Quinn. You’ll be trying to prove him corrupt or perverted, or both. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be, or that his reputation doesn’t deserve to be trashed if you find evidence he was bent. I have no more tolerance for bent coppers than you have. But as yet, there’s no evidence that Bill Quinn was crooked, and plenty that he was murdered. We’re not searching for the same thing at all.’