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III
About an hour later, Banks drove down to Leeds alone. There was no point involving Susan Gay or Jim Hatchley in his scheme. It was risky and could backfire, then he’d have their jobs on his conscience, too. Ken Blackstone would be fine; he was simply carrying out an investigation on his own patch, based on information received. The fact that Banks was along for the ride really didn’t matter.
Banks lit a cigarette and turned up the volume on Bryn Terfel’s renditions of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Songs of Travel. He looked at the digital clock. Eleven o’clock. Plenty of time to do what he had to and pick up Tracy at the residence by six o’clock.
As he pulled up behind Millgarth, he looked at his watch. Just after twelve. If Ken Blackstone had done his work, everything ought to be set up and ready to roll by now. He checked at the front desk and went straight up to Blackstone’s office. In the corridor outside the CID offices, as arranged, sat Mark Wood, who had been brought in from Armley Jail shortly after Banks’s nine-thirty talk with Ken Blackstone, just to answer a few more questions and help make the paperwork flow more smoothly.
Apparently, Wood had been more than willing to show his cooperation. And even though he’d been sitting there for probably a couple of hours already, he hadn’t asked for Giles Varney yet. If he did, they’d have to lie and tell him they couldn’t get in touch. With Varney present, the plan would be useless.
Mark Wood didn’t look like much, Banks thought. Muscular, yes, but basically just another sullen, nervous kid chewing his fingernails in a police station.
Banks introduced himself. They hadn’t met before, and it was important that Wood know someone from Eastvale was involved in all this. As expected, Wood looked puzzled and confused. When he asked Banks why he had come down all this way, Banks said it was nothing to worry about, he would find out in a while. He sounded like a doctor about to tell a patient he has a terminal illness.
Leaving Wood under guard in the corridor, they went into Ken Blackstone’s office, where Wood could watch them through the glass partition if he wanted, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying. That would make him even more nervous. Especially if they glanced his way once in a while as they spoke.
They had been standing behind the glass chatting about Leeds United’s abysmal season and occasionally looking at Mark for about fifteen minutes, when three large uniformed officers led Wesley Campbell and Francis Robertson along the corridor, as arranged. The two had been passive and compliant when picked up over an hour earlier, Ken said. That was either a mark of confidence that they’d be out again in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, Banks thought, or they were too stoned to care. Both had been found in possession of small amounts of marijuana, and neither had had time to flush it down the toilet, so they had been languishing in the charge room for a while. By now, they weren’t quite as complacent.
As they passed Mark Wood, they glanced down at him, and Mark looked even more confused. His eyes widened with fear. Campbell actually struggled against his guards for a moment and tried to get closer to Wood, as if he wanted to warn or threaten him. But the guards held on. Campbell and Robertson were taken to separate interview rooms around the corner. Both seemed to know the PACE regulations by heart, and they asked to make their phone calls immediately.
At about two o’clock, after Banks and Blackstone had enjoyed a leisurely lunch across the road, it was time to start. They went back upstairs and took Mark into an interview room. It was agreed that Banks, being more familiar with the case, would do most of the questioning. Blackstone would give the occasional prod if things got slow. They weren’t taping this one. There would be time for formalities later, with Banks well out of the way, if the plan worked. If it didn’t, then all hell might break loose as far as disciplinary actions were concerned. Banks had already warned Ken and given him the option of staying well away, but Ken had insisted on being involved.
“Well, Mark,” said Banks, “I know we haven’t met until today, but I’ve had a great interest in you ever since I saw Jason Fox’s body a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’ve told the police all about that,” Wood said. “I’ve pleaded guilty to manslaughter. What’s all this about?”
Banks raised an eyebrow. “It’s not quite settled yet,” he said. “Not to my satisfaction, anyway.”
Wood folded his arms. “I don’t know what you mean. First you leave me hanging about in the corridor for hours, now you start interrogating me. I’m not saying anything. I want my solicitor.”
“Mr. Varney? Well, we’ll see what we can do. For the moment, though, I suggest you hold your horses, Mark, and listen to me. Certain new evidence has come to light that puts an entirely different complexion on the Jason Fox killing.”
“Oh? What’s that, then?”
Banks jerked his head toward the door. “We’ve just had a long chat with Mr. Campbell and Mr. Robertson, and they’ve told us some very interesting things.”
“Like what?”
“Like the truth about what you did to Jason Fox.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Mark, surely you can do much better than that?”
“I’m not saying a word.”
“Listen to me, then. According to your brother-in-law, Mr. Campbell, an old mate of yours from the Cloth Ears days, the two of you were commissioned by Neville Motcombe to get rid of Jason Fox. Jason had become a major risk in a heroin deal you were pla
Wood’s eyes widened. “You know about Devon? Jesus Christ, does he know about this? Does he know I’m here? Have Wes and Frankie been talking to him? Shit, if Devon thinks I’m talking to the coppers, he’ll fucking kill me.”
Banks ignored him. “When Scattered Dreams played at the Jubilee, it gave you the perfect opportunity. Jason was going to be in Eastvale anyway – he had a football match in the afternoon – so you told him you were coming up and that the two of you could go see the band. Maybe it would be a chance to settle your differences and talk a bit of business, try to save the partnership somehow. I’d imagine you were compliant, more than willing to make compromises. You knew Scattered Dreams weren’t Jason’s cup of tea, but suggested he might like to broaden his horizons a bit. Who knows, maybe you promised to go to the next Celtic Warrior concert if he gave your lot a try. Jason had been to the Jubilee before, and he had mentioned that a couple of Pakistani youths went there on a fairly regular basis. I’m only guessing at this part, but I think he’d already chucked a brick through one of their windows, and he’d said he was looking for trouble with them. Perfect for you, if something like that happened in public, wasn’t it? A bonus. As long as it was just a minor incident, enough to draw just a bit of attention.
“Anyway, according to Mr. Campbell, you accompanied Jason toward the gi