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‘You say James seemed attracted enough to Caroline to upset Teresa,’ he said. ‘How strong would you say his interest was?’
‘He flirted with her in the pub. That was all I ever saw.’
‘How did she react?’
‘She gave as good as she got.’
‘Did they sleep together?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Teresa never referred to them doing that?’
‘No, just to the way James fussed about her. It wasn’t Caroline who manoeuvred the seating in the pub. If anyone, Teresa should have blamed James, not Caroline.’
‘People aren’t very logical when it comes to blame,’ Banks said, thinking of what Claude Ivers and Patsy Janowski had said about Caroline and Veronica.
‘Where did you all go after the rehearsal on the day of Caroline’s death?’
‘I came home. Honestly. I was tired. I didn’t even have a date.’
‘Why didn’t you all go for a drink as usual?’
Faith shrugged. ‘No special reason. Sometimes we just didn’t, that’s all. People just wandered off home. There’s nothing more to it than that. It was close to Christmas. There was shopping to do, family to visit.’
Banks didn’t believe her. She fiddled with her pearl necklace as she spoke and looked away from him. She also spoke as if there was nobody listening to her.
‘Did something happen at that rehearsal, Faith?’ he asked. ‘Was there a row between Caroline and Teresa?’
Faith shifted in her seat. She turned her eyes on him again. They gave away nothing. A waft of perfume drifted over.
‘Another drink?’
‘No. Tell me what happened.’
‘Leave me alone. Nothing happened.’
Banks put his glass down on the St Ives coaster and stood up.
Faith scratched the inside of her elbow. ‘Are you going now?’ she asked. All of a sudden she seemed like a frightened girl whose parents were about to turn the lights out.
‘Yes. Thanks very much for the drinks. You’ve been a great help.’
She touched his arm. ‘Nothing happened. Really Believe me. We just finished our rehearsal and we all went home. Don’t you believe me?’
Banks moved towards the door. Faith walked beside him, still holding on. ‘You must catch him soon, you know,’ she said.
‘Him?’
‘Whoever killed Caroline. Was it a woman? I suppose it could have been. But you must.’
‘Don’t worry. We will. With or without your help. Why are you so concerned?’
Faith let go of his arm. ‘The rest of us are in danger, aren’t we? It stands to reason.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Whoever killed Caroline. He might be stalking the cast A serial killer.’
‘A psychopathic killer? It’s possible, but I don’t think so. You’ve been reading too many books, Faith.’
‘So you really don’t think the rest of us are in danger?’
‘No. But you might as well keep your door locked anyway. And always look and see who’s there.’ He paused, half out of the door.
‘What is it?’ Faith asked.
‘Some of you could be in danger,’ he added slowly, ‘if you know more about the crime than you’re telling, and if the killer knows you know, or suspects that you do.’
Faith shook her head. ‘I know nothing more than I told you.’
‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?’
Banks smiled and left. He wanted to get Teresa’s version of that final night, but she would have to wait. It was going on for ten o’clock, he was tired, and he was going to London early in the morning. If he still needed to talk to her when he got back, he could do it then.
As he walked over the brittle ice listening to the rest of the Milhaud piece, he recalled Faith Green’s expression at the door. She had told him that she knew nothing, but had looked distinctly worried when he had hinted she might be in danger. Of course, knowing her, it could have been just another act, but perhaps, he thought, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have Richmond and Susan Gay keep an eye on the thespians while he was in London.
9
ONE
It wasn’t until the Intercity train pulled out of Leeds City Station that Veronica Shildon seemed to relax.
Banks had met her at Eastvale Station early that morning and they had paced the platform, shivering and breathing plumes of mist, until the overheated old diesel rattled in and carried them off. Silent but for small talk, they’d watched the shrouded landscape roll by. South of Ripon, the dales and moors to the west gave way to rolling farmland, where patches of frozen brown earth and clumps of bare trees showed through the gauze of snow, and, finally, to the suburbs and industrial estates of the city itself. They had endured a half-hour wait on the cold, grimy platform at Leeds, breathing in the diesel smell of warm engines and listening to the crackly voice over the loudspeaker.
Now, well past the sign at the station’s entrance in honour of the local beer magnate – ‘Joshua Tetley Welcomes You to Leeds’ – Banks looked over his shoulder and watched the city recede into the distance. First it filled the horizon, an urban sprawl under a heavy sky. Tall chimneys and church spires poked through the grey-brown snow; the town hall dome and the white university library tower dominated the distance. Then the city was gone and only bare fields stretched east and west.
Veronica took off her heavy blue winter coat and, folding it carefully, placed it in the luggage rack. Then she smoothed her tweed skirt and sat back down opposite Banks, resting her hands on the table between them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with an embarrassed smile. ‘I know I must be a burden, but I didn’t like the idea of travelling down by myself. It’s a while since I’ve been anywhere alone.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Banks, who had been uncharitably wishing he could spend the journey with the Guardian crossword and some Poulenc chamber music on his Walkman. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
The buffet car hadn’t opened yet, but a British Rail steward was making his way slowly along the corridor with an urn and a selection of biscuits. Banks headed him off, bought two coffees and pushed one over the smooth table to Veronica. Automatically, he reached for his cigarettes, then remembered he was in a non-smoking carriage.
It wasn’t Veronica’s fault; she would have been happy to sit anywhere with him since he had allowed her to come along. The problem was that there was only one smokers’ car on the entire train and, as usual, it was almost full and completely unventilated. Even Banks refused to sit in it. He could do without a cigarette for a couple of hours, easily. It might even do him good. As an alternative, he caught up with the steward and bought a Penguin biscuit.
After Wakefield, they sped along past dreary fields and embankments trying to sip the hot, weak coffee without spilling any. Their carriage was unusually quiet and empty. Perhaps, Banks guessed, this was because they were in that limbo between Christmas and New Year. Everyone was both broke and in need of a brief hibernation period of recovering between the two festive occasions.
Deep into South Yorkshire, Banks noticed Veronica looking out at the desolate landscape of pit wheels and slag heaps and asked her what she was thinking about.
‘It’s fu
‘That’s understandable,’ Banks said. ‘It takes time How did you meet her?’
Veronica gave him a long, appraising look and then leaned forward and rested her arms on the table, clasping her slim, freckled hands.
‘It must seem very odd to you. Perverted, even. But it’s not. There was nothing sordid about it.’