Piece of My Heart (35 page)

“What was the motive?”

“We never found out. He was a nutcase.”

“That being the technical term for a psychopath back then?”

“It’s what we used to call them,” Bradley said, “but I suppose psychopath or sociopath–I never did know the difference–would be more politically correct.”

“He confessed to the murder?”

“As good as.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t deny it when faced with the evidence.”

“The knife, right?”

“With his fingerprints and Linda Lofthouse’s blood on it.”

“How did this person–what’s his name, by the way?”

“McGarrity. Patrick McGarrity.”

“How did this McGarrity first come to your attention?”

“We found out that the victim was known at various houses around the city where students and dropouts lived and sold drugs. McGarrity frequented these same places, was a drug dealer, in fact, which was what we first arrested him for after a raid.”

“And then DI Chadwick became suspicious?”

“Well, yes. We heard that McGarrity was a bit of a nutcase, and even the people whose houses he frequented were a bit frightened of him. There was a lot of tolerance for weird types back then, especially if they provided people with drugs, which is why I say I’m surprised these things didn’t happen more often. This McGarrity clearly had severe mental problems. Dropped on the head at birth, for all I know. He was older than the rest, for a start, and he also had a criminal record and a history of violence. He had a habit of playing with this flick knife. It used to make people nervous, which was no doubt the effect he wanted. There was also some talk about him terrorizing a young girl. He was a thoroughly unpleasant character.”

“Did this other young girl come forward?”

“No. It was just something that came up during questioning. McGarrity denied it. We got him on the other charges, and that gave us all we needed.”

“You met him?”

“I sat in on some of the interviews. Look, I don’t know why you want to know all this now. There’s no doubt he did it.”

“I’m not doubting it,” said Banks. “I’m just trying to find a reason for Nick Barber’s murder.”

“Well, it’s got nothing to do with McGarrity.”

“Nick Barber was writing about the Mad Hatters,” Banks went on, “and Vic Greaves was Linda Lofthouse’s cousin.”

“The one that went bonkers?”

“If you care to put it that way, yes,” said Banks.

“How else would you put it? Anyway, I’m afraid I never met them. DI Chadwick did most of the North Riding side of the investigation with a DS Enderby. I do believe they interviewed the band.”

“Yes, I’ve talked to Keith Enderby.”

Bradley sniffed. “Bit of a scruff, and not entirely reliable, in my opinion. Rather more like the types we were dealing with, if you know what I mean.”

“DS Enderby was a hippie?”

“Well, not as such, but he wore his hair a bit long, and on occasion he wore flowered shirts and ties. I even saw him in sandals once.”

“With socks?”

“No.”

“Well, thank the Lord for that,” said Banks.

“Look, I know you’re being sarcastic,” said Bradley with a smug smile. “It’s okay. But the fact remains that Enderby was a slacker, and he had no respect for the uniform.”

Banks could have kicked himself for letting the sarcasm out, but Bradley’s holier-than-thou sanctimony was starting to get up his nose. He felt like saying that Enderby had described Bradley as an arse-licker, but he wanted results, not confrontation. Time to hold back and stick to relevant points only, he told himself.

“You say you think this writer was killed because he was working on a story about the Mad Hatters, but do you have any reason for assuming that?” Bradley asked.

“Well,” said Banks, “we do know about the story he was working on, that he mentioned to a girlfriend that it might involve a murder, and we know that Vic Greaves now lives very close to the cottage in which Nick Barber was killed. Unfortunately, all Barber’s notes were missing, along with his mobile and laptop, so we were unable to find out more. That in itself is also suspicious, though, that his personal effects and notes were taken.”

“It’s not very much, though, is it? I imagine robbery’s as common around your patch as it is everywhere these days.”

“We try to keep an open mind,” said Banks. “There could be other possibilities. Did you have any other suspects?”

“Yes. There was a fellow called Rick Hayes. He was the festival promoter. He had the freedom of the backstage area, and he couldn’t account for himself during the period we think the girl was killed. He was also left-handed, as was McGarrity.”

“Those were the only two?”

“Yes.”

“So it was the knife that clinched it?”

“We knew we had the right man–you must have had that feeling at times–but we couldn’t prove it at first. We were able to hold him on a drugs charge, and while we were holding him, we turned up the murder weapon.”

“How long after you first questioned him?”

“It was October, about two weeks or so.”

“Where was it?”

“In one of the houses.”

“I assume those places were searched as soon as you had McGarrity in custody?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t turn up the knife then?”

“You have to understand,” said Bradley, “there were several people living in each of these houses at any one time. They were terribly unsanitary and overcrowded. People slept on the floors and in all kinds of unlikely combinations. There was all sorts of stuff around. We didn’t know what belonged to whom, they were all so casual in their attitudes towards property and ownership.”

“So how did you find out in the end?”

“We just kept on looking. Finally, we found it hidden inside a cushion. A couple of the people who lived there said they’d seen McGarrity with such a knife–it had a tortoiseshell handle
–and we were fortunate enough to find his prints on it. He’d wiped the blade, of course, but the lab still found blood and fibre where it joined the handle. The blood matched Linda Lofthouse’s type. Simple as that.”

“Did the knife match the wounds?”

“According to the pathologist, it could have.”

“Only
could
have?”

“He was in court. You know what those barristers are like. Could have been her blood, could have been the knife. A blade consistent with the kind of blade…blah blah blah. It was enough for the jury.”

“The pathologist didn’t try to match the knife with the wound physically, on the body?”

“He couldn’t. The body had been buried by then, and even if it had been necessary to exhume it, the flesh would have been too decomposed to give an accurate reproduction. You know that.”

“And McGarrity didn’t deny killing her?”

“That’s right. I was there when DI Chadwick presented him with the evidence, and he just had this strange smile on his face, and he said, ‘It looks like you’ve got me then.’”

“Those were his exact words. ‘It looks like you’ve got me then’?”

Bradley frowned with annoyance. “It was over thirty years ago. I can’t promise those were the exact words, but it was something like that. You’ll find it in the files and the court transcripts. But he was sneering at us, being sarcastic.”

“I’ll be looking at the transcripts later,” said Banks. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the investigation into Robin Merchant’s death.”

“Who?”

“He was another member of the Mad Hatters. He drowned about nine months after the Linda Lofthouse murder.”

Bradley shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

“Mr. Enderby was able to tell me a bit about it. He was one of the investigating officers. I was just wondering. I understand DI Chadwick had a daughter?”

“Yes. I only ever saw her the once. Pretty young thing. Yvonne, I think she was called.”

“Wasn’t there some trouble with her?”

“DI Chadwick didn’t confide in me about his family life.”

Banks felt a faint warning signal. Bradley’s answer had come just a split second too soon and sounded a little too pat to be quite believable. The clipped tone also told Banks that he perhaps wasn’t being entirely truthful. But why would he lie about Chadwick’s daughter? To protect Chadwick’s family and reputation, most likely. So if Enderby was right and this Yvonne had been in trouble, or
was
trouble, it might be worth finding out exactly what kind of trouble he was talking about. “Do you know where Yvonne Chadwick is now?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not. Grown up and married, I should imagine.”

“What about DI Chadwick?”

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for years, not since the trial. I should imagine he’s dead by now. I mean, he was in his late forties back then, and he wasn’t in the best of health. The trial took its toll. But I transferred to Suffolk in 1971, and I lost touch. No doubt records will be able to tell you. More coffee?”

“Thanks.” Banks held his mug out and gazed at the spines of the books. Nice hobby, he thought, collecting first editions. Maybe he’d look into it. Graham Greene, perhaps, or Georges Simenon. There were plenty of those to spend a lifetime or
more collecting. “So even after confessing, McGarrity pleaded not guilty?”

“Yes. It was a foolish move. He wanted to conduct his own defence, too, but the judge wasn’t having any of it. As it was, he kept getting up in court and interrupting, causing a fuss, making accusations that he’d been framed. I mean, the nerve of him, after he’d as good as admitted it. Things didn’t go well for him at all. We got the similar fact evidence about the previous stabbing in. The bailiffs had to remove him from the court at least twice.”

“He said he’d been framed?”

“Well, they all do, don’t they?”

“Was he more specific about it?”

“No. Couldn’t be really, could he, seeing as it was all a pack of lies? Besides, he was gibbering. There’s no doubt about it, Patrick McGarrity was guilty as sin.”

“Perhaps I should have a chat with him.”

“That would be rather difficult,” said Bradley. “He’s dead. He was stabbed in jail back in 1974. Something to do with drugs.”

16

“I
s it just me, or do I sense a bit of an atmosphere around here?” Banks asked Annie in the corridor on Thursday morning.

“Atmosphere would be an understatement,” said Annie. Her head still hurt, despite the paracetamol she had taken before leaving Winsome’s flat that morning. Luckily, she always carried a change of clothes in the boot of her car. Not because she was promiscuous or anything, but because once, years ago, a mere DC, when she had done a similar thing, got drunk and stayed with a friend after a breakup with a boyfriend, someone in the station had noticed and she had been the butt of unfunny sexist jokes for days. And after that, her DS had come on to her in the lift after work one day.

“You look like shit,” said Banks.

“Thank you.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

Annie looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one was lurking. Great, she thought, she was getting paranoid in her own station now. “Think we can sneak over the road to the Golden Grill without setting too many tongues wagging?”

“Of course,” said Banks. He looked as if he was wondering what the hell she was talking about.

The day was overcast and chilly and most of the people window-shopping on Market Street wore sweaters under their windcheaters or anoraks. They passed a couple of serious ramblers, kitted out in all the new, fancy gear, each carrying the two long, pointed sticks, like ski poles. Well, Annie supposed, they might be of some use climbing up Fremlington Edge, but they weren’t a lot of use on the cobbled streets of Eastvale.

Their regular waitress greeted them, and soon they were sitting over hot coffee and toasted teacakes, looking through the misted window at the streams of people outside. Annie felt a sudden rush of nausea when she took her first sip of black coffee, but it soon waned. It was always there, though, a low-level sensation in the background.

Annie and Winsome had certainly made a night of it, shared more confidences than Annie could ever have imagined. It made her realize, when she thought about it in the cold hangover dawn, that she didn’t really have any friends, anyone to talk to like that, be silly with, do girly things with. She had always thought it was a function of her job, but perhaps it was a function of her personality. Banks was the same, but at least he had his kids. She had her father, Ray, down in St. Ives, of course, but they only saw one another rarely, and it wasn’t the same; for all his eccentricities and willingness to act as a friend and confidante, he was still her father.

“So what were you up to last night that’s left you looking like death warmed up? Feeling like it, too, by the looks of you.”

Annie pulled a face. “You know how I love it when you compliment me.”

Banks touched her hand, a shadow of concern passing over his face. “Seriously.”

“If you must know, I got pissed with Winsome.”

“You did what?”

“I told you.”

“But Winsome? I didn’t even think she drank.”

“Me neither. But it’s offcial now. She can drink me under the table.”

“That’s no mean feat.”

“My point exactly.”

“How was it?”

“Well, a bit awkward at first, with the rank thing, but you know I’ve never held that in very great esteem.”

“I know. You respect the person, not the rank.”

“Exactly. Anyway, by the end of the evening we’d got beyond that, and we had quite a giggle. It was ‘Annie’ and ‘Winsome’–she hates Winnie. She’s got a wicked sense of humour when she lets her hair down, does Winsome.”

“What were you talking about?”

“Mind your own business. It was girl talk.”

“Men, then.”

“Such an ego. What makes you think we’d waste a perfectly good bottle of Marks and Spencer’s plonk talking about you lot?”

“That puts me in my place. How was it when you met up at work this morning? A bit embarrassing?”

“Well, it’ll be ‘Winsome’ and ‘Guv’ in the workplace, but we had a bit of a giggle over it all.”

“So what started it?”

Annie felt another wave of nausea. She let it go, the way she did thoughts in meditation, and it seemed to work, at least for the moment. “DS Templeton,” she said finally.

“Kev Templeton? Was this about the promotion? Because–”

“No, it wasn’t about the promotion. And keep your voice down. Of course Winsome’s pissed off about that. Who wouldn’t be? We know she was the right person for the job, but we also know the right person doesn’t always get the job, even if she is a black female. I know you white males always like to complain when a job goes elsewhere for what you see as political reasons, but it’s not always the case, you know.”

“So what, then?”

Annie explained how Templeton had behaved with Kelly Soames.

“It sounds a bit harsh,” he said when she had finished. “But I don’t suppose he was to know the girl would be physically sick.”

“He enjoyed it. That was the point,” said Annie.

“So Winsome thought?”

“Yes. Look, don’t tell me you’re going to go all male and start defending the indefensible here, because if you are, I’m off. I’m not in the mood for an all-lads-together rally.”

“Christ, Annie, you ought to know me better than that. And there’s only one lad here, as far as I can see.”

“Well…you know what I mean.” Annie ran her hand through her tousled hair. “Shit, I’m hungover and I’m having a bad hair day, too.”

“Your hair looks fine.”

“You don’t mean it, but thank you. Anyway, that’s the story. Oh, and Superintendent bloody Gervaise had a go at me yesterday in her office.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I went to complain about the personal remarks she made about me during the briefing. At the very least, I expected an apology.”

“And you got?”

“A bollocking, more personal remarks, and an assignment to statement reading.”

“That’s steep.”

“Very. And she warned me off you.”

“What?”

“It’s true.” Annie looked down into her coffee. “She seems to think we’re an item again.”

“Where could she possibly have got that idea from?”

“I don’t know.” Annie paused. “Templeton’s in thick with her.”

“So?”

Annie leaned forward and rested her hands on the table. “She knew about the pint you had at the Cross Keys that first night, when we went to the scene of Barber’s murder. And Templeton was there, too. He knew about that. But this…look, tell me if I’m being paranoid, Alan, but don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious? I think Kev Templeton might be behind it.”

“But why would he think we were an item, as you put it?”

“He knows that we were involved before, and we turned up at Moorview Cottage together. We also stayed overnight in London. He’s putting two and two together and coming up with five.”

Banks looked out of the window, seeming to mull over what Annie had said. “So what’s he up to? Ingratiating himself with the new super?”

“It looks that way,” said Annie. “Kev’s smart, and he’s also ambitious. He thinks the rest of us are plods. He’s a sergeant already, and he’ll pass his inspector’s boards first chance he gets, too, but he’s also smart enough to know he needs more than good exam results to get ahead in this job. It helps to have recommendations from above. We know our Madame
Gervaise thinks she’s cut out for great things, chief constable at the very least, so a bit of coattail riding wouldn’t do Templeton any harm. At least that’s my guess.”

“Sounds right to me,” said Banks. “And I don’t like what you told me earlier, about the Soames interview. Sometimes we have to do unpleasant things like that–though I believe in this case it could have all been avoided–but we don’t have to take pleasure in them.”

“Winsome thinks he’s a racist, too. She’s overheard him make the odd comment about ‘darkies’ and ‘Pakis’ when he thinks she’s not listening.”

“That would hardly make him unique in the force, sadly,” said Banks. “Look, I’ll have a word with him.”

“Fat lot of good that will do.”

“Well, we can’t go to Superintendent Gervaise, that’s for certain. Red Ron would probably listen, but that’s too much like telling tales out of school for me. Not my style. No, the way it looks is that if anything’s to be done about Kev Templeton, I’ll have to do it myself.”

“And what exactly might you do?”

“Like I said, I’ll have a word, see if I can talk some sense into him. On the other hand, I think it might be even better if I tipped the wink to Gervaise that we’re onto him. She’ll drop him like the proverbial hot potato. I mean, it’s no bloody good having a spy who blows his cover on his first assignment, is it? And gets the wrong end of the stick, into the bargain.”

“Good point.”

“Look, I have to go to Leeds to see Ken Blackstone later today. Want to come?”

“No, thanks.” Annie made a grim face. “Statements to read. And the way I feel today, if I’m doing a menial job, I might even
just knock off early, go home and have a long hot bath and an early night.”

They paid and left the Golden Grill, then walked across the road to the station in the light drizzle. At the front desk, the PC on reception called Annie over. “Got a message for you, miss,” he said. “From Lyndgarth. Local copper’s just called in to say all hell’s broke loose up at the Soames farm. Old man Soames went berserk, apparently.”

“We’re on our way,” said Annie. She looked at Banks.

“Ken Blackstone can wait,” he said. “We’d better put our wellies on.”

Annie drove, and Banks tried to find out what he could over his mobile, but coverage was patchy, and in the end he gave up.

“That bastard, Templeton,” Annie cursed as she turned onto the Lyndgarth road by the Cross Keys in Fordham, visions of flaying Templeton alive and dipping him in a vat of boiling oil flitting through her mind. “I’ll have him for this. He’s not getting away with it.”

“Calm down, Annie,” Banks said. “Let’s find out what happened first.”

“Whatever it is, he’s behind it. It’s down to him.”

“If that’s the case, you might have to join the queue,” said Banks.

Annie shot him a puzzled glance. “What do you mean?”

“If you were thinking clearly right now, one of the things that might cross your mind–”

“Oh, don’t be so bloody patronizing,” Annie snapped. “Get on with it.”

“One of the things that might cross your mind is that if something has happened as a direct result of DS Templeton’s
actions, then the first person to distance herself will be Superintendent Gervaise.”

Annie looked at him and turned into the drive of the Soames farm. She could see the patrol car up ahead, parked outside the house. “But she told him to do it,” Annie said.

Banks just smiled. “That was when it seemed like a good idea.”

Annie pulled up to a sharp halt, sending gobbets of mud flying, and they got out and walked over to the uniformed officer. The door to the farmhouse was open, and Annie could hear the sound of a police radio from inside.

“PC Cotter, sir,” said the officer on the door. “My partner, PC Watkins, is inside.”

“What happened?” Banks asked.

“It’s not entirely clear yet,” said Cotter. “But we had a memo from Eastvale Major Crimes asking us to report anything to do with the Soameses.”

“We’re glad you were so prompt,” Annie cut in. “Is anybody hurt?”

Cotter looked at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Young girl. The daughter. She rang the station, and we could hear cursing and things breaking in the background. She was frightened. Told us to come as soon as we could. We came as soon as possible, but by the time we got here…Well, you can see for yourselves.”

Annie was first inside the farmhouse, and she gave a curt nod to PC Watkins, who was standing in the living room scratching his head at the sight. The room was a wreck. Broken glass littered the floor, one of the chairs had been smashed into the table and splintered, a window was broken and lamps were knocked over. The small bookcase had been pulled away from the wall, and its contents joined the broken glass on the floor.

“The kitchen’s just as bad,” said PC Watkins, “but that seems to be the extent of the damage. Everything’s fine upstairs.”

“Where’s Soames?” Annie asked.

“We don’t know, ma’am. He was gone when we arrived.”

“What about his daughter, Kelly?”

“Eastvale General, ma’am. We radioed ahead to A and E.”

“How bad is she?”

PC Watkins looked away. “Don’t know, ma’am. Hard to say. She looked bad to me.” He gestured back into the room. “Lot of blood.”

Annie looked again. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now she could see dark stains on the carpet and the broken chair leg.
Kelly.
Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Okay,” said Banks, stepping forward. “I want you and your partner to organize a search for Calvin Soames. He can’t have gone far. Get some help from uniformed branch in Eastvale if you need it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Banks turned to Annie. “Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s go pay a visit to Eastvale General.”

Annie didn’t need asking twice. When they got back in the car, she thumped the steering wheel with both fists and strained to hold back her tears of anger. Her head was still throbbing from the previous night’s excess. She felt Banks’s hand rest on her shoulder, and her resolve not to cry strengthened. “I’m all right,” she said after a few moments, gently shaking him off. “Just needed to let off a bit of steam, that’s all. And there was me thinking I’d go home early and have a nice bath.”