Aftermath

“What is it?” A

One of the men looked up at her. She hadn’t recognized Stefan Nowak at first. She didn’t know him well, as he hadn’t been at Eastvale’s Western Divisional Headquarters for long, but Banks had introduced them once. Stefan was the man, ACC Ron McLaughlin had said, who would drag North Yorkshire kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. A

“It’s A

“DI, now, Stefan. How’s it going?”

“Didn’t know you were on this case.”

“One of them,” A

“I can’t believe the CPS will even let that one see the light of day,” said Stefan. “Justifiable homicide, surely?”

“I hope that’s how they’ll see it, but you never know with them. Anyway, I just wanted a look at the place.”

“I’m afraid we’ve made rather a mess,” said Stefan. “It looks as if we’ve just found another body. Want a look?”

A

“Be careful,” said Stefan. “Follow the marked path.”

A

“Hard to say,” Stefan answered. “More than a few months.” He introduced the two men who had been poring over the grave with him, one a botanist and the other an entomologist. “These lads should be able to help with that. And we’re getting Dr. Ioan Williams to come over from the university and give us a hand.”

A

“I know this isn’t my case,” A

Stefan looked up at her and shielded his eyes from the sun. “Yes,” he said. “It is. Rather throws a spa

“Indeed it does.”

A

“What the hell do you mean, talking to press like that?” said Banks. “Didn’t I warn you about it?”

“This is the first I’ve heard we’re living in a police state,” said Maggie Forrest, arms folded over her chest, eyes angry and tearful. They stood in her kitchen, Banks brandishing the Post and Maggie in the midst of clearing away her breakfast dishes. After seeing the article at Millgarth, he had headed straight for The Hill.

“Don’t give me that adolescent crap about police states. Who do you think you are, a student protesting some distant war?”

“You’ve no right to talk to me like this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Anything wrong? Have you any idea of the wasp’s nest you could be helping to stir up?”

“I don’t know what you mean. All I wanted to do was tell Lucy’s side of the story, but that woman twisted it all.”

“Are you so naïve that you didn’t expect that?”

“There’s a difference between being naïve and caring, but a cynic like you probably wouldn’t understand it.”

Banks could see that Maggie was shaking, either with anger or fear, and he was worried that he had given too free a rein to his anger. He knew she had been abused by her husband, that she was a bruised soul, so she was probably scared stiff of this man raising his voice in her kitchen. It was insensitive of him, but damn it, the woman irritated him. He sat at the kitchen table and tried to cool things down a bit. “Maggie,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, but you could cause us a lot of problems.”

Maggie seemed to relax a little. “I don’t see how.”

“Public sympathy is a very fickle thing, and when you mess with it, it’s like dancing with the devil. It’s just as likely to reach out and eat you up as anyone else.”

“But how would people find out what Lucy went through at her husband’s hands? She won’t talk about it, I can guarantee you that.”

“None of us know what went on in Lucy’s house. All you’re doing is jeopardizing her chance of a fair trial, if-”

“Trial? Trial for what?”

“I was going to say, ‘if it comes to that.’ ”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t agree.” Maggie put the electric kettle on and sat opposite Banks. “People need to know about domestic abuse. It’s not something that should be swept under the carpet for any reason. Especially not just because the police say so.”

“I agree. Look, I understand you’re prejudiced against us, but-”

“Prejudiced? Right. With your help I ended up in hospital.”

“But you have to understand that in many of these matters our hands are tied. We’re only as good as the information we have and the laws of the land allow.”

“All the more reason for me to speak out about Lucy. After all, you’re not exactly here to help her, are you?”

“I’m here to find out the truth.”

“Well, that’s all very high-and-mighty of you.”

“Now who’s the cynic?”

“We all know the police only want convictions, that they’re not overly concerned with the truth, or with justice.”

“Convictions help, if they keep the bad guys off the street. Too often they don’t. And justice we leave to the courts, but you’re wrong about the rest. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m very much concerned with the truth. I’ve worked day and night on this case since the begi

“I didn’t mean it like that. And I wasn’t always safe and warm.”

“Do you know that what you’ve just done actually stands a good chance of warping the truth, whatever it may be?”

“I didn’t do that. It was her. That journalist. Lorraine Temple.”

Banks slapped the table and immediately regretted it when Maggie jumped. “Wrong,” he said. “She was only doing her job. Like it or not, that’s what it was. Her job’s to sell newspapers. You’ve got this all backward, Maggie. You think the media’s here to tell the truth and the police to lie.”

“You’re confusing me now.” The kettle boiled and Maggie got up to make tea. She didn’t offer Banks a cup, but when it was ready, she poured him one automatically. He thanked her.

“All I’m saying, Maggie, is that you might be doing Lucy more harm than good by talking to the press. Look at what happened this time. You say it came out all wrong and that they practically said Lucy is as guilty as her husband. That’s hardly helping her, is it?”

“But I told you. She twisted my words.”

“And I’m saying you should have expected that. It made a better story.”

“Then where am I supposed to go to tell the truth? Or to find it?”