Aftermath (34 page)

It was hard to explain to a civilian, but Banks needed the feel of investigating Leanne’s disappearance as if it were a fresh crime. He didn’t want to start by poring over old files in his office – though it would no doubt come to that if something didn’t turn up soon – he wanted to start by revisiting the place where she had last been seen.

‘Did Leanne seem intoxicated at all?’ he asked.

‘She was a bit giggly, a bit loud, as if maybe she wasn’t used to the drink.’

‘What was she drinking?’

‘I can’t remember. Not beer. Maybe wine, or it could have been Pernod, something like that.’

‘Did you get the impression that the four of them had paired off? Anything along those lines?’

Shannon thought for a moment. ‘No. Two of them were clearly a couple. You could tell by the way they were touching one another casually. I mean, it’s not as if they were necking or anything. But the other two, Leanne and . . .’

‘Mick Blair,’ said Banks.

‘I don’t know their names. Anyway, I got the impression he might have been a bit keen and she was flirting a bit, maybe because of the drinks.’

‘Was he bothering her at all?’

‘Oh, no, nothing like that, or I’d have a made a point of saying so before. No, just the way I caught him looking at her once or twice. They seemed comfortable enough together, but as I say, I just thought maybe he fancied her and she was playing him along a bit, that’s all.’

‘You didn’t mention this before.’

‘It didn’t seem important. Besides, nobody asked me. Back then, everyone was more concerned that she’d been abducted by a serial killer.’

True enough, Banks thought, with a sigh. Leanne’s parents had been adamant that she was a good girl and would never, under any normal circumstances, break a curfew. So certain were they that she must have been attacked or abducted that their certainty influenced the investigation, and the police broke one of their cardinal rules: don’t make assumptions until you’ve checked out every possible angle. People were also making noises about Kelly Matthews and Samantha Foster at the time, too, so Leanne’s disappearance – another nice, well-adjusted teenager – became linked with theirs. And there was, of course, the matter of the abandoned shoulder-bag. In it were Leanne’s inhaler, which she needed in case of an asthma attack, and her purse, which contained twenty-five pounds and a handful of change. It made no sense that she would throw away her money if she was running away from home. Surely she would need all she could get?

DC Winsome Jackman had questioned Shannon, and perhaps she should have asked more probing questions, but Banks couldn’t blame Winsome for the omissions. She had discovered what mattered at the time: that the group had been well behaved, that they had caused no problems, that there had been no arguments, that they weren’t drunk, and that there had been no unwelcome attention from strangers. ‘What was their general mood?’ Banks asked. ‘Did they seem quiet, rambunctious, or what?’

‘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 under age. 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 grownups, 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. Shannon took it from him and put it in the waste bin behind the bar.

‘I do remember that they seemed excited about something just before they left, though,’ Shannon added. ‘I mean they were too far away for me to hear anything and they weren’t really noisy about it, but I could tell someone had come up with a good idea for something to do.’

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 Leanne?’

‘I couldn’t honestly separate out the reactions for you,’ Shannon said with a frown. ‘It was just a general sort of thing, as if someone had an idea for something to do and they all thought it would be fun.’

‘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 Leanne Wray had an eleven o’clock curfew,’ he said. ‘And according to her parents she never stayed out past her curfew. If she was planning on going off anywhere with them
after
they’d been here, she’d have missed it. There’s something else, too.’

‘What?’

‘If they were all planning to do something, it means her friends all lied.’

Shannon thought for a moment. ‘I see what you mean. But there was no reason to think she wasn’t going home. She might have. I mean, it could have been just the three of them planning something. Look, I’m really sorry . . . I mean, I never thought, you know, last time. I tried to remember everything that was important.’

‘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 Shannon. ‘I mean, my last night’s a week next Wednesday, you know, if you’d like to stop by for a drink, say goodbye.’

Banks didn’t know how to take the invitation. Was it a come on? Surely not. Shannon couldn’t have been a day over twenty-one. Still it was nice to think there was even the remotest chance that a younger girl fancied him. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it, so in case I don’t, I’ll say
bon voyage
now.’

Shannon gave a little ‘whatever’ sort of shrug and Banks walked out into the dismal alley.

•

It was only mid-afternoon, but Annie would have sworn that Janet Taylor was drunk. Not totally, falling-down pissed, but emitting a slight buzz, fuzzy around the edges. She’d had a bit of experience with drunks at the artists’ commune where she had grown up with her father, Ray. There had once, briefly, been an alcoholic writer, she remembered: a big, smelly man with rheumy eyes and a thick, matted beard. He hid bottles all over the place. Her father told her to stay away from him and once, when the man, whose name she couldn’t remember, started talking to her, her father got angry and made him leave the room. It was one of the few times she had ever seen Ray really angry. He liked a drop or two of wine now and then, and no doubt he still smoked a bit of pot, but he wasn’t a drunk or a drug addict. Most of the time he was consumed by his work, whatever painting it happened to be at the time, to the exclusion of pretty much everything, including Annie.

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 onto a wrinkled T-shirt and a pair of jeans on the armchair, leaving Annie to fend for herself. She cleared some newspapers off a hard-backed chair and sat.

‘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.’

Annie took a deep breath. She certainly wasn’t there to make Janet feel any better, though in a way she wished she could. ‘You know, you really should seek some sort of counselling, Janet. The Federation will—’

‘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.’

Annie held her hands up. ‘Okay. Okay. It’s your choice.’ She took some papers from her briefcase. ‘I’ve attended Terence Payne’s post mortem, and there’s a couple of things I’d like to go over on your statement.’

‘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 post mortem, 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, Annie was thinking, and she guessed that Janet probably felt the same. ‘Janet?’

‘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 Dennis?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The number of blows, the position of the victim, the violence of the blows.’

Janet turned red. ‘
Victim!
Is that what you call the bastard?
Victim
. When Dennis was lying there on the floor with his life blood pumping away. You call Terence Payne a victim. How dare you!’

‘I’m sorry, Janet, but that’s the way a case would be presented in court, and you’d better get used to the idea.’ Janet said nothing. ‘Why did you say what you did to the ambulance attendant?’

‘What did I say?’

‘ “Is he dead? Did I kill the bastard?” What did you mean by that?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t even remember saying it.’

‘It could be construed as meaning you set out to kill him, do you see?’

‘I suppose it could be twisted that way, yes.’

‘Did you, Janet? Did you intend to kill Terence Payne?’

‘No! I told you. I was just trying to save my life. Why can’t you believe me?’

‘What about the blows to the back of his head? When might those have occurred in the sequence of events?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Try harder. You can do better than that.’

‘Maybe when he was bent over reaching for his machete.’

‘Okay. But you don’t remember delivering them?’

‘No, but I suppose I must have done if you say so.’

‘What about those two blows to the
top
of his head? Dr Mackenzie tells me they were delivered with a lot of force. They weren’t just random hits.’

Janet shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’

Annie leaned forward and held Janet’s chin between thumb and forefinger, looking into her blurry, scared eyes. ‘Listen to me, Janet. Terence Payne was taller than you. By the angle and force of those blows, the
only
way they could have been delivered was if he was sitting and the attacker had plenty of time to take a huge, uninterrupted downward swing and . . . well, you get the picture. Come on, Janet. Talk to me. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.’

Janet twisted her chin from Annie’s grip and looked away. ‘What do you want me to say? I’d only get myself deeper in trouble.’

‘Not true. You’ll get nowhere if you’re perceived as lying or covering up your actions. That’ll only lead to perjury. The truth’s your best defence. Do you think there’s a person on that jury – if that’s what it comes to – who won’t sympathize with your predicament, even if you did admit to losing it for a few moments? Give yourself a break here, Janet.’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Tell the truth. Was that how it happened? Was he down and you just lost your temper, gave him one for Dennis? And, crack, there’s another. Is that how it happened?’

Janet jumped up and began pacing, wringing her hands. ‘So what if I did give him one or two for Dennis? It was nothing less than he deserved.’

‘That’s what you did? You remember now?’

Janet stopped and narrowed her eyes, then she poured herself two fingers of gin and knocked it back. ‘Not clearly, no, but if you’re telling me that’s how it happened, I can hardly deny it, can I? Not in the face of the pathologist’s evidence.’

‘Pathologists can be wrong,’ Annie said, though not, she thought, about the number, strength and angle of the blows.

‘But who will they believe in court?’

‘I’ve told you. If it comes to that you’ll get a lot of sympathy. But it might not come to court.’

Janet sat down again, perched at the edge of the armchair. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s up to the CPS. I’ll be meeting with them on Monday. In the meantime, if you want to alter your statement at all before then, now’s the time to do it.’

‘It’s no good,’ said Janet, holding her head in her hands and weeping. ‘I don’t remember it clearly. It all seemed to happen so fast, it was over before I knew what was happening and Dennis . . . Dennis was dead, bleeding on my lap. That went on for ever, me telling him to hang on, trying to staunch the blood.’ She looked at her hands as if seeing the same thing Lady Macbeth saw, what she couldn’t wash away. ‘But he wouldn’t stop bleeding. I couldn’t stop it from coming out. Maybe it happened as you said. Maybe that’s the only way it could have happened. All I remember is the fear, the adrenalin, the—’