Aftermath

“How?”

“There are only two questions as regards Lucy Payne. First, was she involved? And second, did she know and keep quiet about it? What you’ve just told me is the first thing that tips the scales in her favor. By talking to me, you’ve done your friend a service. Good evening, Ms. Forrest. I’ll make sure there’s an officer keeping an eye on the place.”

“Why? Do you think I’m in danger? You said Terry-”

“Not that sort of danger. The press. They can be very persistent, and I wouldn’t want you telling them what you’ve just told me.”

5

Lea

Lea

The one thing Christopher and Victoria might have objected to, had they known about it, was the presence in the group of Ian Scott. Christopher and Victoria didn’t like Lea

But Lea

Lea

Her three friends said they went to another pub, The Riverboat, a crowded place that stayed open late, and ended up at the Bar None on the market square. The closed-circuit TV cameras showed them turning up there at about half-past twelve. Ian Scott’s flat was given the full SOCO treatment to see if any evidence of Lea

There were hints of tension in the Wray home, Banks soon discovered, and according to a school friend, Jill Brown, Lea

There was, then, the faintest hope that Lea

After the third day, Banks contacted his assistant chief constable, Ron McLaughlin, and discussions with Area Commander Philip Hartnell of West Yorkshire Police followed. Within days, the Chameleon task force was created and Banks was put in charge of North Yorkshire’s part. It meant more resources, more man-hours and more concentrated effort. It also meant, sadly, that they believed a serial killer was at work, and this was something the newspapers lost no time in speculating about.

Lea

If the second victim, Samantha Foster, was a little eccentric, Lea

“Yeah, I’m all right to talk, sir. Really. Come on in.”

PC Janet Taylor didn’t look all right to Banks when he called at her flat after six that evening, but then anyone who had, that morning, both fought off a serial killer and cradled her dying partner’s head on her lap had every right to look a bit peaky. Janet was pale and drawn, and the fact that she was dressed all in black only served to accentuated her pallor.

Janet’s flat was above a hairdresser’s on Harrogate Road, not far from the airport. Banks could smell the setting lotion and herbal shampoo inside the ground-floor doorway. He followed her up the narrow staircase. She moved listlessly, dragging her feet. Banks felt almost as weary as Janet seemed. He had just attended Kimberley Myers’s postmortem, and while it had yielded no surprises – death by ligature strangulation – Dr. Mackenzie had found traces of semen in the vagina, anus and mouth. With any luck, DNA would link that to Terence Payne.

Janet Taylor’s living room showed signs of neglect typical to a single police officer’s dwelling. Banks recognized it all too well. He tried to keep his own cottage clean as best he could, but it was difficult sometimes when you couldn’t afford a cleaning lady and you didn’t have time yourself. When you did have a bit of free time, the last thing you wanted to do was housework. Still, the small room was cozy enough despite the patina of dust on the low table and the T-shirt and bra slung over the back of the armchair, the magazines and occasional half-empty teacups. There were three framed posters of old Bogie movies on the walls – Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon and The African Queen – and some photos on the mantelpiece, including one of Janet looking proud in her uniform, standing between an older couple Banks took to be her mother and father. The potted plant on the windowsill looked to be on its last legs, wilting and brown around the edges of the leaves. A television set flickered in one corner, the sound turned down. It was a local news program, and Banks recognized the scene around the Payne house.