Aftermath

DC Winsome Jackman had questioned Sha

“I don’t remember anything unusual about them. They weren’t causing any trouble, or I’m sure I’d have said. Usually you get that with people who know they’re drinking underage. They know they’re under sufferance, if you know what I mean, so they tend not to draw attention to themselves.”

Banks remembered the feeling well. At sixteen he had sat, proud and terrified, with his mate Steve in a poky little pub a mile or so from the estate where they both lived, drinking their first pints of bitter in a corner by the jukebox, smoking Park Drive tipped. They had felt like real grown-ups, but Banks also remembered being worried in case the police came around, or someone who knew them came in – one of his father’s friends, for example – so they tried to fade into the woodwork as much as possible.

He sipped his shandy and crumpled up the crisp packet. Sha

“I do remember that they seemed excited about something just before they left, though,” Sha

Banks hadn’t heard about this before. “You’ve no idea what it was?”

“No, it was just like, they were going, ‘Yeah, let’s do that.’ Then a couple of minutes later they left.”

“What time was this?”

“Must have been about a quarter to eleven.”

“And they were all excited about this idea? Including Lea

“I couldn’t honestly separate out the reactions for you,” Sha

“This great idea, did you get the impression it was something they were going to do right then, after they left here?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. Why?”

Banks finished his drink. “Because Lea

“What?”

“If they were all pla

Sha

“It’s okay,” said Banks, smiling. “Not your fault.” He looked at his watch. Time to head out for Withernsea. “Must dash.”

“Oh. I’m leaving at the end of next week,” said Sha

Banks didn’t know how to take the invitation. Was it a come-on? Surely not. Sha

Sha

It was only mid-afternoon, but A

Janet’s flat was a mess, with clothes strewn everywhere and half-full cups of tea on the windowsill and mantelpiece. It also smelled like a drunk’s room, that peculiar mix of stale skin and the sweet-and-sour smell of booze. Gin, in Janet’s case.

Janet slumped on to a wrinkled T-shirt and a pair of jeans on the armchair, leaving A

“So what is it now?” Janet asked. “You come to arrest me?”

“Not yet.”

“What, then? More questions?”

“You’ve heard Terence Payne died?”

“I’ve heard.”

“How are you doing, Janet?”

“How am I doing? Ha. That’s a good one. Well, let me see.” She started counting off on her fingers as she spoke. “Apart from not being able to sleep, apart from pacing the flat and feeling claustrophobic whenever it gets dark, apart from reliving the moment over and over again whenever I close my eyes, apart from the fact that my career’s pretty much fucked, let me see… I feel just fine.”

A

“No! No, I’m not seeing any shrinks. I’ll not have them messing with my head. Not with all this shit going on. When they’ve done with me, I’ll not know whether I’m coming or going. Imagine how that would look in court.”

A

“Are you saying I was lying?”

“No, not at all.”

Janet ran her hand through her lifeless, greasy hair, “Because I’m not a liar. I might have been a bit confused about the sequence of events – it all happened so fast – but I told it as I remember it.”

“Okay, Janet, that’s fine. Look, in your statement you say you hit Payne three times on the left temple and once on his wrist, and that one of the blows to the temple was delivered two-handed.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Is that correct?”

“I couldn’t remember exactly how many times or where I hit him, but that seemed about right, yes. Why?”

“According to Dr. Mackenzie’s postmortem, you hit Payne nine times. Three on the temple, one to the wrist, one on the cheek, two to the base of the skull while he was crouching or kneeling, and two to the top of his head while he was squatting or sitting.”

Janet said nothing, and a jet from the airport streamed into the silence, filling it with the roar of engines and the promise of distant, exotic places. Anywhere but here, A

“What? I wasn’t aware you’d asked me a question.”

“How do you respond to what I just said?”

“I don’t know. I told you, I wasn’t counting. I was just trying to save my life.”

“Are you sure you weren’t acting out of revenge for De