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Chapter 17
Glad you could come, Alan,” said Mrs. Marshall, sticking out her black-gloved hand. “My, my. You’ve been in the wars.”
Banks touched his lip. “It’s nothing,” he said.
“I hope you’ll come back to the house for drinks and sandwiches.”
They were standing outside the chapel in the light drizzle after Graham’s funeral. It had been tasteful enough, as such things went, Banks thought, though there was something odd about a funeral service for someone who has been dead over thirty years. They had the usual readings, including the Twenty-third Psalm, and Graham’s sister gave a short eulogy throughout which she verged on tears.
“Of course,” Banks said, shaking Mrs. Marshall’s hand. Then he saw Michelle walking down the path under her umbrella. “Excuse me a moment.”
He hurried along after Michelle. During the service, he had caught her eye once or twice and she had looked away. He wanted to know what was wrong. She had said earlier that she wanted to talk to him. Was it about last night? Was she having regrets? Did she want to tell him she’d made a mistake and didn’t want to see him again? “Michelle?” He put his hand gently on her shoulder.
Michelle turned to face him. When she looked him in the eye, she smiled and lifted the umbrella so it covered his head, too. “Shall we walk awhile?”
“Fine,” said Banks. “Everything okay?”
“Of course it is. Why do you ask?”
So there was nothing wrong. Banks could have kicked himself. He’d got so used to feeling that his every move, every meeting, was so fragile, partly because they had been like walking on eggs with A
“This morning, in the station, I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed last night, but I could hardly say that in the cop shop, could I?”
She reached over and touched his sore lip. “I enjoyed it, too.”
“Are you coming back to the house?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t like that sort of thing.”
“Me, neither. I’d better go, though.”
“Of course.”
They walked down one of the narrow gravel paths between graves, carved headstones dark with rain. Yews overhung the path and rain dripped from their leaves onto the umbrella, tapping harder than the drizzle. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes.” Michelle told him about Dr. Wendell’s tentative identification of the Fairbairn-Sykes commando knife and Harris’s wartime record.
Banks whistled between his teeth. “And you say Jet Harris was a commando?”
“Yes.”
“Bloody hell. That’s a real can of worms.” Banks shook his head. “It’s hard to believe that Jet Harris might have killed Graham,” he said. “It just doesn’t make any sense. I mean, what possible motive could he have had?”
“I don’t know. Only what we speculated about yesterday, that he was somehow co
“Bradford, too? That complicates things.”
“Well, at least we know that Bradford had some sort of involvement with pornography. We don’t even have any evidence that Harris was bent yet,” said Michelle. “Only Shaw’s behavior. Which brings me to our interview with Des Wayman.”
“What did he have to say for himself?”
Michelle told him about Wayman’s assertion that Shaw was behind last night’s attack. “He’d deny he ever said it if we challenged him, and I’m sure Shaw will deny it, too.”
“But we know it’s true,” said Banks. “That gives us an edge. It was a stupid move on Shaw’s part. It means he’s worried, getting desperate. What about the burglary at your flat, the van that tried to run you down?”
Michelle shook her head. “Wayman knows nothing about that. Shaw must have got someone else, maybe someone a bit brighter. My impression is that Wayman is okay for the strong-arm stuff but couldn’t think his way out of a paper bag.”
“Like Bill Marshall?”
“Yes. You think we should have a chat with Shaw?”
“Soon. It’d be nice to know a bit more about Harris first.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.” Michelle turned and carried on walking down the path.
“Where are you going now?” Banks asked.
She slowed, turned and smiled at him. “You’re a very nosy fellow,” she said. “And you know what happens to nosy fellows, don’t you?” Then she walked on, leaving Banks to gape after her. He could swear he saw her shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Okay, Liz, are you going to tell us the truth now?” A
“We didn’t do anything wrong, Ryan and me,” Liz said.
“I have to remind you that you’re entitled to a lawyer. If you can’t afford one we’ll get a duty solicitor for you.”
Liz shook her head. “I don’t need a lawyer. That’s like admitting I did it.”
“As you like. You know we found drugs in your flat, don’t you?”
“There wasn’t much. It was only… you know, for Ryan and me.”
“It’s still a crime.”
“Are you going to arrest us for that?”
“Depends on what you have to tell me. I just want you to know that you’re in trouble already. You can make it better by telling me the truth, or you can make it worse by continuing with your lies. What’s it to be, Liz?”
“I’m tired.”
“The sooner we’re done with this, the sooner you can go home. What’s it to be?”
Liz nibbled at her trembling lower lip.
“Maybe it would help,” said A
Liz looked at her, wide-eyed. “But we didn’t kill Luke. Honest, we didn’t!”
“Tell me what happened. Convince me.”
Liz started crying. A
After a long silence, Liz said, “Yes.”
“Good,” breathed A
“But we didn’t do him any harm.”
“Okay. We’ll get to that. What time did he arrive?”
“Time? I don’t know. Early in the evening. Maybe sixish.”
“So he must have come straight from the market square?”
“I suppose so. I don’t know where he’d been. He was a bit upset, I remember, because he said some of the kids from the school had pushed him around in the square, so maybe he had come straight from there.”
“What happened in the flat?”
Liz looked down at her chewed fingernails.
“Liz?”
“What?”
“Was Ryan there?”
“Yes.”
“All the time? Even when Luke arrived?”
“Yes.”
So that put paid to A
Liz paused, then took a deep breath. “First we had something to eat,” she said. “It must’ve been around teatime.”
“Then what?”
“We just talked, went through a few songs.”
“I thought you did your rehearsals in the church basement.”
“We do. But Ryan’s got an acoustic guitar. We just played around with a couple of arrangements, that’s all.”
“And then?”
Again, Liz fell silent and her eyes filled with tears. She rubbed the back of her hand across her face and said, “Ryan rolled a joint. Luke… he’d… like he was a virgin, you know, when it came to drugs. I mean we’d offered to share before but he always said no.”