Aftermath (22 page)

‘You’re not,’ said Banks. ‘And abominable only scratches the surface. But don’t tell the papers.’

‘My lips are sealed. They’ve been around already, you know.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

‘I didn’t tell them anything. Nothing
to
tell, really. Here we are. The Bascombe Building.’

The Bascombe Building was a modern concrete and glass addition to the main school building. There was a plaque on the wall near the door, which read: ‘This building is dedicated to the memory of Frank Edward Bascombe, 1898–1971.’

‘Who was he?’ Banks asked, as they went in the door.

‘A teacher here during the war,’ Knight explained. ‘English teacher. This used to be part of the main building then, but it was hit by a stray doodlebug in October of 1944. Frank Bascombe was a hero. He got twelve children and another teacher out. Two pupils were killed in the attack. Just through here.’ He opened the door to the chemistry lab, where a young man sat at the teacher’s desk in front of a sheaf of notes. He looked up. ‘Geoff. A Detective Superintendent Banks to see you.’ Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

Banks hadn’t been in a school chemistry lab for thirty years or more, and though this one had far more modern fixtures than he remembered from his own schooldays, much of it was still the same: the high lab benches, Bunsen burners, test tubes, pipettes and beakers, the glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of stoppered bottles containing sulphuric acid, potassium, sodium phosphate and such. What memories. It even smelled the same: slightly acrid, slightly rotten.

Banks remembered the first chemistry set his parents bought him for Christmas when he was thirteen, remembered the fine, powdered alum, the blue copper sulphate and bright purple crystals of potassium permanganate. He liked to mix them all up and see what happened, paying no regard to the instructions or the safety precautions. Once he was heating some odd concoction over a candle at the kitchen table when the test tube cracked, making a mess all over the place. His mother went spare.

Brighouse, wearing a lightweight jacket and grey flannel trousers, not a lab coat, came forward and shook hands. He was a fresh-faced lad, about Payne’s age, with pale blue eyes, fair hair and a lobster complexion, as if he’d been able to find some sun and stayed out in it too long. His handshake was firm, dry and short. He noticed Banks looking around the lab.

‘Bring back memories, does it?’ he asked.

‘A few.’

‘Good ones, I hope?’

Banks nodded. He had enjoyed chemistry, but his teacher, ‘Titch’ Barker, was one of the worst, most brutal bastards in the school. He used the rubber connecting lines of the Bunsen burners in his thrashings. Once he held Banks’s hand over a burner and made as if to light it, but he backed off at the last moment. Banks had seen the sadistic gleam in his eye, how much effort it had cost him not to strike the match. Banks hadn’t given him the satisfaction of a plea for mercy or an outward expression of fear, but he had been shaking inside.

‘Anyway, it’s sodium today,’ said Brighouse.

‘Pardon?’

‘Sodium. The way it’s so unstable in air. Always goes down well. The kids these days don’t have much of an attention span, so you have to give them pyrotechnics to keep them interested. Luckily, there’s plenty of scope for that in chemistry.’

‘Ah.’

‘Sit down.’ He pointed towards a tall stool by the nearest bench. Banks sat in front of a rack of test tubes and a Bunsen burner. Brighouse sat opposite.

‘I’m not sure I can help you in any way,’ Brighouse began. ‘I know Terry, of course. We’re colleagues, and good mates to some extent. But I can’t say I know him well. He’s a very private person in many ways.’

‘Stands to reason,’ said Banks. ‘Look at what he was doing in private.’

Brighouse blinked. ‘Er . . . quite.’

‘Mr Brighouse—’

‘Geoff. Please. Call me Geoff.’

‘Right, Geoff,’ said Banks, who always preferred the first name, as it gave him an odd sort of power over a suspect, which Geoff Brighouse certainly was in his eyes. ‘How long have you known Mr Payne?’

‘Since he first came here nearly two years ago.’

‘He was teaching in Seacroft before then. Is that right?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

‘You didn’t know him then?’

‘No. Look, if you don’t mind my asking, how is he, by the way?’

‘He’s still in intensive care, but he’s hanging on.’

‘Good. I mean . . . oh, shit, this is so difficult. I still can’t believe it. What am I supposed to say? The man’s a friend of mine, after all, no matter . . .’ Brighouse put his fist to his mouth and chewed on a knuckle. He seemed suddenly close to tears.

‘No matter what he’s done?’

‘I was going to say that, but . . . I’m just confused. Forgive me.’

‘It’ll take time. I understand. But in the meantime I need to find out all I can about Terence Payne. What sorts of things did you do together?’

‘Mostly went to pubs. We never drank a lot. At least I didn’t.’

‘Payne’s a heavy drinker?’

‘Not until recently.’

‘Did you say anything to him?’

‘A couple of times. You know, when he was in his car.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I tried to take his keys away.’

‘What happened?’

‘He got angry. Even hit me once.’

‘Terence Payne hit you?’

‘Yeah. But he was pissed. He’s got a temper when he’s pissed.’

‘Did he give you any reason why he was drinking so much?’

‘No.’

‘He didn’t talk about any personal problems he might be having?’

‘No.’

‘Did you know of any problems other than the drinking?’

‘He was letting his work slip a bit.’

The same thing Knight had said. Like the drinking, it was probably more of a symptom than the problem itself. Jenny Fuller would perhaps be able to confirm it, but Banks thought it made sense that a man who was doing, who felt
compelled
to do, what Payne had been doing would need some sort of oblivion. It seemed almost as if he had
wanted
to be caught, wanted it all to be over. The abduction of Kimberley Myers, when he knew he was already in the system because of his car number-plate, was a foolhardy move. If it hadn’t been for DCs Bowmore and Singh, he might have been brought to Banks’s attention earlier. Even if nothing had come from a second interview, his name would have leaped out of HOLMES as soon as Carol Houseman had entered the new data, that Kimberley Myers was a pupil at Silverhill, where Payne taught, and that he was listed as the owner of a car whose number ended in KWT, despite the false NGV plates.

‘Did he ever talk about Kimberley Myers?’ Banks asked.

‘No. Never.’

‘Did he ever talk about young girls in general?’

‘He talked about girls, not particularly young ones.’

‘How did he talk about women? With affection? With disgust? With lust? With anger?’

Brighouse thought for a moment. ‘Come to think of it,’ he said, ‘I always thought Terry sounded a bit sort of domineering, the way he talked about women.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, he’d spot a girl he fancied, in a pub, say, and go on about, you know, how he’d like to fuck her, tie her to the bed and fuck her brains out. That sort of thing. I . . . I mean, I’m not a prude, but sometimes it was a bit over the top.’

‘But that’s just male crudeness, isn’t it?’

Brighouse raised an eyebrow. ‘Is it? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what it means. I’m just saying he sounded rough and domineering when he talked about women.’

‘Talking about male crudeness, did you ever lend Terry any videos?’

Brighouse looked away. ‘What do you mean? What sort of videos?’

‘Pornographic videos.’

It wasn’t possible for someone as red as Brighouse to blush, but for a moment Banks could almost have sworn that he did.

‘Just some soft stuff. Nothing under the counter. Nothing you can’t rent at the corner shop. I lent him other videos, too. War films, horror, science fiction. Terry’s a film buff.’

‘No home-made videos?’

‘Of course not. What do you think I am?’

‘The jury’s still out on that one, Geoff. Does Terry own a camcorder?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Do you?’

‘No. I can just about manage a basic point and shoot camera.’

‘Did you go to his house often?’

‘Once in a while.’

‘Ever go down in the cellar?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Are you sure about that, Geoff?’

‘Damn it, yes. Surely you can’t think . . .?’

‘You do realize we’re carrying out a complete forensic examination of the Paynes’s cellar, don’t you?’

‘So?’

‘So the first rule of a crime scene is that anyone who’s been there leaves something and takes something away. If you were there, we’ll find out, that’s all. I wouldn’t want you looking guilty simply for not telling me you were there on some innocent mission, like watching a porn video together.’

‘I never went down there.’

‘Okay. Just so long as you know. Did the two of you ever pick up any women together?’

Brighouse’s eyes shifted towards the Bunsen burner, and he fiddled with the test tube rack in front of him.

‘Mr Brighouse? Geoff? It could be important.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘Let me be the judge of that. And if you’re worried about splitting on a mate, you shouldn’t be. Your mate’s in hospital in a coma. His wife’s in the same hospital with a few cuts and bruises he inflicted on her. And we found the body of Kimberley Myers in the cellar of his house. Remember Kimberley? You probably taught her, didn’t you? I’ve just been to the post mortem of one of his previous victims and I’m still feeling a bit off colour. You don’t need to know any more, and believe me, you don’t
want
to.’

Brighouse took a deep breath. Some of the bright red colouring seemed to have leached from his cheeks and brow. ‘Well, okay, yeah, we did. Once.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Nothing. You know . . .’

‘No, I don’t know. Tell me.’

‘Look, this is . . .’

‘I don’t care how embarrassing it is. I want to know how he behaved with this woman you picked up. Carry on. Think of it as confiding in your doctor over a dose of clap.’

Brighouse swallowed and went on. ‘It was at a conference in Blackpool. In April, just over a year ago.’

‘Before he got married?’

‘Yeah. He was seeing Lucy, but they weren’t married then. Not till May.’

‘Go on.’

‘Not much to tell. There was this cracking young teacher from Aberdeen, and one night, you know, we’d all had a few drinks at the bar and got to flirting and all. Anyway, she seemed game enough after a few gins so we went up to the room.’

‘The three of you?’

‘Yes. Terry and I were sharing a room. I mean, I’d have stayed away if it was his score, like, but she made it clear she didn’t mind. It was her idea. She said she’d always fancied a threesome.’

‘And you?’

‘It had been a fantasy of mine, yes.’

‘What happened?’

‘What do you think? We had sex.’

‘Did she enjoy it?’

‘Well, like I said, it had been mostly her idea in the first place. She was a bit drunk. We all were. She didn’t object. Really, she was keen. It was only later . . .’

‘What was only later?’

‘Look, you know what it’s like.’

‘No, I don’t know what it’s like.’

‘Well, Terry, he suggested a Greek sandwich. I don’t know if you—’

‘I know what a Greek sandwich is. Go on.’

‘But she didn’t fancy it.’

‘What happened?’

‘Terry can be very persuasive.’

‘How? Violence?’

‘No. He just doesn’t give up. He keeps on coming back to what he wants and it just wears down people’s resistance in the end.’

‘So you had your Greek sandwich?’

Brighouse looked down and rubbed his fingertips on the rough, scratched lab bench. ‘Yeah.’

‘And she was willing?’

‘Sort of. I mean, yes. Nobody
forced
her. Not physically. We’d had a couple more drinks and Terry was at her, you know, just verbally, about how great it would be, so in the end . . .’

‘What happened afterwards?’

‘Nothing, really. I mean she didn’t kick up a fuss. But it soured the mood. She cried a bit, seemed down, you know, as if she felt betrayed, used. And I could tell she didn’t like it much, when it was happening.’

‘But you didn’t stop?’

‘No.’

‘Did she scream or tell you to stop?’

‘No. I mean, she was making noises but . . . well, she was a real screamer to start with. I was even worried about the people next door telling us to keep the noise down.’

‘What happened next?’

‘She went back to her own room. We had a few more drinks, then I passed out. I assume Terry did the same.’

Banks paused and made a jotting in his notebook. ‘I don’t know if you realize this, Geoff, but what you’ve just told me constitutes accessory to rape.’

‘Nobody raped her! I told you. She was willing enough.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it to me. Two men. Her by herself. What choice did she have? She made it clear that she didn’t want to do what Terence Payne was asking for, but he went ahead and did it anyway.’

‘He brought her round to his way of thinking.’

‘Bollocks, Geoff. He wore down her resistance and resolve. You said so yourself. And I’ll also bet she was worried what might happen if she didn’t go along with him.’

‘Nobody threatened her with violence.’

‘Maybe not in so many words.’

‘Look, maybe things went just a little too far . . .’

‘Got out of hand?’

‘Maybe a little.’

Banks sighed. The number of times he’d heard that excuse for male violence against women. It was what Annie Cabbot’s assailants had claimed, too. He felt disgusted with Geoffrey Brighouse, but there wasn’t much he could do. The incident had taken place over a year ago, the woman hadn’t filed a complaint as far as he knew, and Terence Payne was fighting for his life in the Infirmary anyway. Still, it was one worth noting down for future reference.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Brighouse. ‘But you must understand. She never told us to stop.’

‘Didn’t seem as if she had much chance to do that, sandwiched between two strapping lads like you and Terry.’