Ms. Wakefield glanced at her watch. “As you will. But please hurry up. I have appointments.”
“Don’t let me keep you.” Banks went immediately back to Tanner. “Where were you on Monday evening, Ronald?”
“Home, I suppose. I haven’t been out much all week. The weather, you know. Plays havoc with my rheumatism.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”
It was no alibi, but Banks knew that most alibis were thin. If you had someone who would lie for you, it helped, of course, but Tanner could just as easily have said he went for a walk on the moors, and it would have been as hard to disprove, unless he had been seen elsewhere. The damn thing was, they had only Alex Preston’s statement to go on. Not that Banks doubted her for a moment, but it might not be enough when people like Ronald Tanner and Cassandra Wakefield were involved. Officers were still asking questions around Alex Preston’s tower block, but Banks held out little hope that anything would come from that. The residents of the East Side Estate were hardly known for helping the police. “Are you currently employed?” Banks asked.
“Not at the moment.”
“What do you do for money?”
“Benefits. The social. I’m entitled.”
“Did you know a lad called Morgan Spencer?”
“Can’t say as I did. Is he dead or something?”
He was lying, Banks could tell from his change in tone. Cassandra Wakefield knew it, too, but she was doing her best not to react. “Yes, he’s dead,” Banks went on. “Murdered. Were you anywhere near the Riverview Caravan Park on Monday night?”
“Why would I go there?”
“To burn down Morgan’s caravan after you’d had a good look for anything that might incriminate you or your mates.”
“Incriminate how? What mates?”
“What about Caleb Ross?”
Tanner looked just surprised enough at the question that Banks guessed he did know Caleb Ross.
“No,” Tanner went on. “Funny name, Caleb. I think I’d remember.”
“Mr. Ross used to drive for Vaughn’s ABP. He is also deceased.”
“Murdered?”
“We’re not sure. What kind of work did you do before you became unemployed?”
“I’m a motor mechanic. Skilled, trained, experienced and all that, but it doesn’t seem to matter these days when they can get someone half my age with half the experience for half the money. Last while I’ve been doing a bit of club work.”
“Bouncer?”
“Crowd maintenance, noise control, that sort of thing.”
“Odd that,” Banks said. “About your being a motor mechanic and all. Caleb Ross died in a motor accident.”
“Treacherous time of year on the roads.”
“Have you ever worked in an abattoir?”
“You must be joking. Me? In one of those places. I couldn’t stand the stink, for a start.”
“But killing the animals wouldn’t bother you?”
Tanner shrugged.
“Do you own a captive bolt gun?”
“What’s that when it’s at home?”
“It’s a nasty little weapon. A special kind of gun used in an abattoir to stun or kill the animals. Mostly fatal on humans.”
“Sounds cruel to me. No, I don’t own anything like that. You’ll no doubt have searched the house, so you’ll know that already.”
“You could have hidden it somewhere. Have you got a lockup?”
“Why would I need a lockup? I don’t even need a garage.”
“Do you take drugs?”
“Tobacco and alcohol, for my sins.”
“Do you know anything about tractors?”
“I’ve worked on a few in my time. Stands to reason, if you’re a motor mechanic on the edge of a large rural area.”
“Where were you on Saturday night?”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
“I went to the pub. I usually do on a Saturday night. Then I should think I went home and fell asleep watching telly.”
Another flimsy but probably unbreakable alibi. Even if the people in the pub didn’t remember him, it wouldn’t mean much. One night was very much like another and most people, if pushed, didn’t know what they were doing last week. Tanner was being smart in not coming up with anything too elaborate. Elaborate alibis were the easiest to break.
“What about Sunday morning?”
“Sunday morning’s my lie-in time. Make a cuppa, read the Sport and the Mail. I don’t usually do much on a Sunday. Maybe down the pub for a jar or two and a game of darts at lunchtime. Roast beef and Yorkshires if I can afford it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t go out last Sunday?”
“I don’t think so. Where to?”
“An abandoned airfield near Drewick.”
“I’d remember that.”
“Do you know the place?”
“I’ve seen it from the train.”
“Did you go there last Sunday morning about nine-thirty?”
“Why would I do that?”
But Tanner was getting worried, Banks could tell. He could see his mind working furiously behind the words. Banks wanted to push him. Tanner hadn’t realized that they had already connected him to the airfield and Morgan Spencer’s murder.
“No reason. Only our lads found another fingerprint there that’s very much—”
“DCI Banks,” Cassandra Wakefield cut in. “I’d like to know where you’re going with this. But first of all I’d like to know about this fingerprint. There’s no mention of it in my notes. If it was indeed Mr. Tanner’s, why wasn’t I informed? And if it wasn’t, why bring it up?”
“It was brought to my attention just before this interview,” said Banks. “It’s only a fragment, not enough to be certain, but—”
“In that case, DCI Banks, I think we’ll pass it by. Continue.”
“Our men are still working at the scene.”
“I still say you’re fishing. Move on.”
Banks paused to shuffle his papers and frame his words. “We believe that the hangar was used as a transfer point for stolen farm equipment on its way overseas. Possibly also for stolen livestock being shipped to illegal abattoirs around the country.” Banks knew he was close to the edge, especially with Cassandra Wakefield present, but he needed a break.
“Sheep rustling, eh?” said Tanner, grinning. “Just like the Wild West, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps even more important,” Banks went on, “a man was murdered there. The one I mentioned earlier. Morgan Spencer.”
“Yes, and I told you then I don’t know him. Didn’t know him. Never known any Morgans or Calebs. And I don’t own a gun, even one of those abattoir ones you’ve been going on about.”
It was true that police searching Tanner’s Darlington home had found no trace of a captive bolt gun by the time Banks started the interview, though they had found a stash of weapons, including various knives and flick-knives, knuckle-dusters, a cosh and a crossbow. If Tanner had used the bolt gun on Spencer, there was a good chance that he had done the sensible thing and tossed it. On the other hand, according to ballistics, it was a formidable weapon, and would no doubt be expensive and difficult to replace.
As if reading his mind, Cassandra Wakefield said, “This is getting us nowhere, DCI Banks. I trust your search hasn’t turned up a gun of any sort on my client’s property?”
“Not yet.”
She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Like the fingerprint that’s not quite his but might be?” She scooped up the papers in front of her and stood up as if to leave. “Then I suggest we suspend this interview for the time being and review my client’s situation. Pending the results of the house search, the finger
print identification at this abandoned hangar, as I see it you have no evidence on which to base a charge. I also find myself confused about what it is exactly you want to charge Mr. Tanner with. Threatening this poor woman, murdering Morgan Spencer and Caleb Ross, sheep rustling? What is it to be?”
“We’ll decide that later, Ms. Wakefield,” Banks shot back. “With the CPS of course. And it may include possession of illegal weapons.”
Cassandra Wakefield favored him with a sweet smile, tender lips curled at the edges. “Of course. And in the meantime . . .”
“Just a couple of final points. I’ll keep it brief.”
Tanner looked apprehensive.
“Have you ever heard of a man called Montague Havers?” Banks asked.
Tanner narrowed his eyes. “You do come up with some funny names.”
“His real name is Malcolm Hackett.”
“Means nothing to me.”
“What about John Beddoes?”
“Isn’t that the bloke whose tractor got pinched?”
“It is. Do you know him?”
“Only from reading about it in the paper.”
“Why are you looking for Michael Lane?”
“Who’s that?”
“Who wants you to find Michael Lane?”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Why did you visit Alex Preston and ask her where Lane has gone?”
“I told you, I never did that. I don’t know the woman.”
“Is it because Lane witnessed something happen at the hangar on Sunday morning?”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Me, too, I’m afraid,” said Cassandra Wakefield. “I think we’ll have to call it a day.”
“Interview suspended at 10:05,” said Banks. Tanner was rattled, he could tell. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let him stew for a few hours while the team tried to dig up more damning evidence.
Cassandra Wakefield walked toward the door.
Ronald Tanner, however, lingered a moment, then said, “Look, I’m sure this will all be sorted out soon. In the meantime, please give my regards to Ms. Preston. Tell her I’m sorry she felt that she had to go to such trouble over a silly mistake and I hope her young lad’s all right.”
Cassandra Wakefield stopped in her tracks and turned, an alarmed expression on her face, then quickly shooed her client out of the interview room, where the custody officer was waiting to take him back to his cell.
Gerry Masterson looked at Banks openmouthed and said, “Was that what I thought it was, sir?”
Banks smiled. “Yes, Gerry,” he said. “I’m afraid I very much think it was. We’ve got to get moving fast on this. Our twenty-four hours is running down. We’ve got to connect Ronald Tanner to Morgan Spencer and Caleb Ross. Finding Michael Lane would be a big help. And you might have a look into Tanner’s known associates.”
“What about Alex Preston?” Gerry said.
“I’ll have a word with Annie and AC Gervaise, but I think we’re going to have to increase security on Alex. She’s in far more danger now that Tanner knows she shopped him. He obviously isn’t in this alone.”
“I DON’T like it,” Annie said over an early lunch in the Queen’s Arms with Banks and Gerry Masterson. “I don’t like it at all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Banks, putting aside his bacon sandwich for a moment. “But it’s done now. And you know as well as I do that it had to be done.”
“But I’m the one who convinced her to talk in the first place, arranged the sketch artist, had Vic get the fingerprints from the card.”
“None of this is your fault, Annie. You were only doing your job. And it was good police work. Alex Preston herself volunteered the information about Tanner’s visit, even after he had threatened her to keep silent.”
“I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her. Or Ian.” She gave a shudder.
“It won’t come to that.”
“You can’t guarantee it, short of locking them in a cell. Even then—”
“There’s no point jumping to worst-case scenarios,” Banks snapped. “At the moment, Tanner’s the one in a cell.”
“Yes, but you and I know damn well how long that will last. That Harvey Nicks lawyer of his will have him out on the street the minute his twenty-four hours are up. What are you going to do then? Put Alex and Ian in the witness protection program? We don’t have one.”
“I’m sure something along those lines could be arranged, but it’s not necessary yet.”
“You mean you won’t do anything until you’ve brought Tanner’s accomplices into the open. You’re using Alex and Ian as bait?”
“That’s not fair,” said Gerry.
Annie shot her a dark look and turned back to Banks. “It’s true, though, isn’t it? That’s why you had Gerry here in on the interview and not me. You didn’t trust me to keep my cool. These people are out there covering their tracks, and the closer we get the more danger all the people on the fringes are in. They’ve got rid of Spencer and perhaps Ross. They’re after Michael Lane, maybe they’ve even got to him already, and now there’s Alex and Ian, too.”
“It’s Lane they want,” said Banks. “Not Alex or Ian.”
“No, but they’ll use her and Ian as a means to an end, won’t they? And we’ve seen just how much respect for human life they have. I saw Caleb Ross’s and Morgan Spencer’s bodies in the pass, too, you know.”
“I know,” said Banks. “But this all started with Spencer. He wasn’t killed as a part of any cleanup operation, or for information, as far as we know. We don’t know why he was killed, but I think Michael Lane does. There’s a different motive for his murder, and as far as we can be certain, there’s been only one murder so far. We might suspect that Caleb Ross’s van was sabotaged, but we have absolutely no evidence of that. The CSIs have managed to get the pieces back to the forensics garage and they’re still working on it. Until they can tell us something definite, we’re only investigating one murder: Morgan Spencer.”
“Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”
Gerry Masterson nibbled on her chicken in a basket and looked from one to the other. “I’ll get back to the computer with the lists straight after lunch,” she said. “We’ve got plenty of names from a number of sources. Maybe it’s Venture Properties?”
“Venture?” said Annie. “What makes you think that?”
“Just that someone who has invested in the new shopping center development would be in a good position to know the state of negotiations and the lie of the land at the airfield. I mean, I doubt the place was chosen just at random.”
“Good point,” said Annie grudgingly. “I must admit I had a funny feeling about Venture.”
Banks laughed. “I always have a funny feeling around property developers. It doesn’t mean they’re all murderers.”
“I’m not saying anything about murderers,” said Gerry, tucking a stray tress of red hair behind her ear. “It’s probably just a business to them.” She glanced at Banks. “And I’m not saying Venture is involved, only that their lists might provide a connection.”
“Have you got anywhere with that name I gave you yesterday? Montague Havers?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” said Gerry. “It took a bloody long time and a lot of perhaps less than legal maneuvers, but I got the name.”
“He’s on the Venture list?”
“Indeed he is.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
Gerry blushed. “I just got it, the moment before we came out to lunch, sir.”
“Well, go on,” Banks urged her.
“It might not lead anywhere.”
“But Havers is an investor in the shopping center?”
“Indirectly, yes. That’s why it took so long. To cut a long story
short, sir, he’s connected with a company called Retail Perfection Ltd., or a smaller division of that, a company within a company.”
“You’re losing me, Gerry.”
“High finance and corporate finagling aren’t really my area of expertise, either, sir, but let’s say he’s on the board, a major shareholder, of a branch of Retail Perfection Ltd. that handles property acquisition and development. His main business is international financing, but he’s got his finger in a number of pies, or companies, I should say.”
“That’s the connection we were looking for.”
“Yes, but there are lots of other investors.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Banks. “Joanna gave me Havers’s name as someone they were keeping an eye on for Operation Hawk. Apparently he’s clever and slippery and they’ve not been able to get him for anything yet. He’s obviously careful and makes sure he never handles anything that can be traced back to the thefts and transportation. But if he’s also an investor in the Drewick shopping center development, then he’s in a position to know that it would be a good place to use as a depot. All he has to do is know and pass on that knowledge. He doesn’t have to organize anything himself, get his hands dirty. It’s ideal. That’s great, Gerry. Well done.”
“Wait a minute,” said Annie. “Gerry said there are a lot of other people involved in investing in the airfield. What about them? Shouldn’t we check all of them out?”
“We could, I suppose,” said Banks. “But I vote that Havers gets first attention. It’s a double hit, Annie. He’s invested in the airfield development and he’s on Joanna MacDonald’s Operation Hawk list. Also, he drove up here on the Sunday we think Morgan Spencer was killed at the hangar.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Annie said. “What are you going to do?”
“Go see him. I was going anyway, but now I’ve even got a bit more ammunition, thanks to Gerry.”
Gerry Masterson blushed, and Annie looked sulky. “While Alex and Ian just wait around for someone to kill them or abduct them?”
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