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A
It was close to lunchtime, A
CATCHEM offered a few more options. Essentially, you could enter the victim details, stressing the salient features of the crime, and the system presented you with a potential scale of probability in several categories. After a little tinkering, A
So much for computers.
She was just about to go to lunch when DS Hatchley came in. A
Of course, despite Banks’s little crack the previous day, A
Hatchley said hello and grumbled about his aching feet.
“Where’ve you been?” A
“No such luck. Charlie bloody Courage. You know, some people just don’t seem to care how much inconvenience they cause by getting themselves murdered.”
A
“Aye. And about as much use as the time you were there.”
“Nobody saw the van?”
“On a Sunday night about ten o’clock? Nobody there.”
“Except Charlie.”
“Except the PKF people, who we’re trying to find, Charlie himself, and Jonathan Fearn, the van driver, who’s still languishing in a coma in Newcastle.”
“Best way to be, in Newcastle,” said A
“Nay, lass, it’s not such a bad place. Some grand pubs there. Anyway, according to my sources, Charlie did know Jonathan Fearn, so we’ve got a co
“Maybe Courage lined up the job for him, thought he was doing him a favor?”
“Could be.”
“What did you find out from this DI… what’s his name?”
“Dalton. DI Wayne Dalton. Seems a nice-enough sort of bloke. You ask me, though, he’s down on a weekend break.”
“In December?”
“Why not? The weather’s not so bad. He’s a bit of a rambler, apparently. Talking about going walking up Reeth way on Sunday morning. Says if he gets a nine-o’clock start, he’ll just about be ready to enjoy a pint and roast beef di
Looking at him, A
Her thoughts drifted off at what he said. Maybe that was the answer. If Dalton was indeed pla
Dare she do it? What would she say if she stepped out in front of him on a deserted footpath? What would he do? Would he get physical, perhaps even try to get rid of her permanently? Having seen him again, A
But perhaps, when it came down to it, what worried her more than what he might do to her in a lonely place was what she might do to him.
The lights were blazing in Barry Clough’s Little Venice villa when Banks and Burgess arrived shortly after eight that Saturday evening. Someone had even rigged up some Christmas lights on the facade of the house and put up a big tree in the garden.
“Bit early for a party, isn’t it?” said Burgess, glancing at his watch.
“It’s never too early for this lot,” said Banks. “Their whole life is one long party.”
“Now, now, Banks. Isn’t envy one of the seven deadly sins? Thou must not covet thy neighbor’s arse, and all that.”
The iron gates were open, but a minder stood at the front door asking for invitations. He wasn’t one of the two Banks had seen on his previous visit. Maybe Clough went through minders the way some people went through chauffeurs or maids. Hard to get good help these days. Banks and Burgess showed him their warrant cards, but he clearly wasn’t programmed to deal with anything like that. The way he screwed up his face in concentration as he looked at them, Banks wondered if he even got past the photographs.
“These mean we get in free,” said Burgess.
“I’ll have to check with the boss. Wait here.”
The minder opened the door to go inside, and before he could close it, Burgess had followed him, with Banks not far behind. Banks realized he had to remember whom he was with, what a loose ca
There were people all over the place. All sorts of people. Young, old, tough-looking, artsy-fartsy, well-dressed, scruffy, black, white – you name it. Music blasted through speakers that seemed to be positioned, discreetly out of sight, just about everywhere. Cream’s “Tales of Brave Ulysses,” Banks noticed. How retro. Still, Clough would have been in his mid-twenties when he was a roadie for the punk band, which meant he had been in his teens when Cream came along, pretty much the same age as Banks. The air reeked of marijuana smoke.