‘To see a man about a dog,’ she said, and slammed the door behind her.
SIX
Though the sun still lingered low on the horizon, it was dark on Market Street in the shadow of the buildings on the western side, and the cobbled square was deserted. Banks hadn’t even bothered to turn on his office light after returning to go over his notes. Sandra had gone home to assure Brian and Tracy that they weren’t becoming latchkey children. The door was closed and the dark room was full of smoke. Occasionally he heard footsteps in the corridor outside, but nobody seemed to know he was there.
As was his habit when a case felt near to its end, he sat by the window smoking and rearranged the details in his mind four or five times. After about an hour things still looked the same. The pattern, the picture, was complete, and however unbelievable it was, it had to be right. Eliminate the impossible and whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth. Or so Sherlock Holmes had said.
It was time for action.
Banks played no music as he drove towards the purplish-red sunset west along Swainsdale; his mind was far too active to take in anything more. Finally he swung up the hill to Gratly, turned sharp left after the bridge and pulled up outside the Steadman house. There were no lights on. Banks cursed and walked down the path to Mrs Stanton’s.
‘Oh, hello Inspector,’ she greeted him. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again. Please come in.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Banks said, ‘but I don’t think I will. I’m a bit pushed for time. If you could just answer a couple of quick questions?’
Mrs Stanton frowned and nodded.
‘First of all, have you any idea where Mrs Steadman is?’
‘No, I haven’t. I think I heard her car about an hour or so ago, but I’ve no idea where she was going.’
‘Did you see her?’
‘No, I wasn’t looking. Even if I was it wouldn’t matter, though. They’ve got a door from the kitchen goes straight into the garage. Money,’ she said. ‘They’ve even got those automatic doors. Just press a button.’
‘Which direction did she drive off in?’
‘Well, she didn’t come past here.’
‘So she went east?’
‘Aye.’
‘Do you remember that Saturday you spent watching television with her?’ Mrs Stanton nodded slowly. ‘Do you know if she went out again after she got home?’
Mrs Stanton shook her head. ‘I certainly didn’t hear her, and I was up for more than an hour pottering around.’
‘Last Friday night, did she go out at all?’
‘Couldn’t tell you, Inspector. That was my bingo night.’
‘Your husband?’
‘Pub. As usual.’
‘This was a regular Friday night arrangement?’
‘Ha! For him it’s a reg’lar every night arrangement.’
‘And you?’
‘Aye, I go to bingo every Friday. So does half of Swainsdale.’
‘Mrs Steadman?’
‘Never. Not her. Not that she’s a snob, mind. What pleases some folks leaves others cold. Each to his own is what I say.’
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Stanton,’ Banks said, leaving her mystified as he got back into the Cortina and set off toward Helmthorpe.
He parked illegally in High Street by the church, right at the bottom of Penny’s street. There was a light on in her front room. Banks walked quickly up the path and knocked.
He was surprised when Jack Barker answered the door.
‘Come in, Chief Inspector,’ Barker said. ‘Penny’s not here, I’m afraid. Or have you come to ask me where I was on Friday evening?’
Banks ignored the taunt; he had no time for games. ‘Has she said anything odd lately about the Steadman business?’ he asked.
Puzzled, Barker shook his head. ‘No. Why?’
‘Because I got the impression she was holding something back. Something she might not have been sure about herself. I was hoping I could persuade her to tell me what it was.’
Barker lit a cigarette. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘Penny has been a bit strange the few times I’ve seen her lately. Secretive and touchy. She hasn’t said anything, though.’
Banks sat down and began tapping the frayed arm of the chair. ‘You two,’ he said, looking around the room. ‘Are you… er…?’
‘Playing house? Not really. No such luck. I was here for dinner. We just had a bit of a row about the very thing you just mentioned, actually. She left and I’m waiting for her to come back.’
‘Oh?’
‘I suggested she knew more than she was letting on, and she accused me of treating her like a criminal, just like you did.’
‘That’s what she thinks?’
‘Well, you have been giving her a rough time; you can’t deny it.’
Banks looked at his watch. ‘Is she coming back soon?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘No idea? Where is she?’
‘I told you,’ Barker said. ‘We had a row and she stormed out.’
‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘She said she was going to see a man about a dog.’
‘A lot of help that is.’
‘Just what I thought.’
‘And you’d been on at her about knowing something?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did she take the car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right.’ Banks got to his feet. ‘Come on.’
Without thinking, Barker jumped up and obeyed the command. Banks only gave him time to blow out the candles and lock the door.
‘Look, what’s going on?’ Barker asked as they shot into the darkening dale. ‘You’re driving like a bloody lunatic. Is something wrong? Is Penny in danger?’
‘Why should she be?’
‘For Christ’s sake, I don’t know. But you’re behaving damned oddly, if you ask me. What the hell’s happening?’
Banks didn’t reply. He focused all his concentration on driving, and the silence intensified as darkness grew. On the northern outskirts of Eastvale, he turned on to the York Road.
‘Where are we going?’ Barker asked a few minutes later.
‘Almost there,’ Banks replied. ‘And I want you to do exactly as I say. Remember that. I’ve only brought you with me because I know you’re fond of Penny and you happened to be in her house. I’d no time to waste, and you might be some use, but do as I say.’ He broke off to overtake a lorry.
Barker gripped the dashboard. ‘So you’ve not brought me along for the pleasure of my company?’
‘Give me a break.’
‘Seriously, Chief Inspector, is she in danger?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to find. Don’t worry, though, it won’t be long now,’ he said, and the tyres squealed as he turned sharp left. About a quarter of a mile along the bumpy minor road, Banks pulled into a driveway and Barker pointed and said, ‘That’s her car. That’s Penny’s car.’
A face peered through a chink in the curtains as they jumped out of the Cortina and hurried towards the door.
‘No time for pleasantries,’ Banks said after trying the handle to no avail. He stood back and gave a hard kick, which splintered the wood around the lock and sent the door flying open. With Barker close behind, he rushed into the living room and quickly took in the strange tableau.
There were three people. Michael Ramsden stood facing Banks, white-faced and slack-jawed. Penny lay inert on the couch. And a woman stood with her back to them all.
In a split second, it came to life. Barker gasped and ran over to Penny, and Ramsden started to shake.
‘My God,’ he groaned, ‘I knew this would happen. I knew it.’
‘Shut up!’ the woman said, and turned to face Banks.
She wore a clinging red dress that accentuated her curves; her hair was drawn back into a tight V on her forehead and carefully applied blusher highlighte
d the cheekbones of her heart-shaped face. But the most striking thing about her was her eyes. Before, Banks had only seen them watery and distorted through thick lenses, but now she was wearing contacts they were the chilly green of moss on stones, and the power that shone through them was hard and piercing. It was Emma Steadman, transformed almost beyond recognition.
Ramsden collapsed into an armchair, head in hands, whimpering, while Emma continued to glare at Banks.
‘You bastard,’ she said, and spat at him. ‘You ruined it all.’ Then she lapsed into a silence he never heard her break.
12
ONE
But Ramsden talked as willingly as a sinner in the confessional, and what he said over the first two hours following his arrest gave the police enough evidence to charge both of them. Banks was astonished at Ramsden’s compulsion to unburden himself, and realized only then what terrible pressure the man must have been under, what inner control he must have exerted.
As for Penny, she said she had been doing a great deal of thinking over the last few days. Steadman’s death, Banks’s questions and Sally’s disappearance had all forced her to look more deeply into a past she had ignored for so long, and especially into the events of a summer ten years ago.
At first she remembered nothing. She hadn’t lied; everything had seemed innocent to her. But then, she said, the more she found herself dwelling on the memory, the more little things seemed to take on greater significance than they had done at the time. Glances exchanged between Emma Steadman and Michael Ramsden – had they really happened or were they just her imagination? Ramsden’s insistent overtures, then his increasing lack of interest – again, had it really happened that way? Was there, perhaps, a simple explanation? All these things had inflamed her curiosity.
Finally, after the argument with Jack Barker, she knew it wouldn’t all just go away. She had to do something or her doubts about the past would poison any chance of a future. So she went to visit Ramsden to find out if there was any truth in her suspicions.
Yes, she knew what had happened to Sally Lumb and she also knew the police linked the girl’s death to Steadman’s, but she honestly didn’t believe she had anything to fear from Michael Ramsden. After all, they’d known each other off and on since childhood.
She questioned Ramsden and, finding his responses nervous and evasive, pushed even harder. They drank tea and ate biscuits, and Ramsden tried to convince her that there was nothing in her fears. Eventually she found difficulty focusing; the room darkened and she felt as if she were looking at it through the wrong end of a telescope. Then Penny fell asleep. When she awoke she was in Barker’s arms and it was all over.
Banks told her that Ramsden had sworn he wouldn’t have hurt her. True, he had drugged her with some prescription Nembutal and driven to the public telephone on the main road to send for Emma, but only because he was confused and didn’t know what to do. When Emma had insisted that they would have to kill Penny because she knew too much, Ramsden claimed that he had tried to stand up to her. She had called him weak and said she would do what was necessary if he wasn’t man enough. She said it would be easy to arrange an accident. According to Ramsden, they were still arguing when Banks and Barker arrived.
Penny listened to all this at about one o’clock in the morning over a pot of fresh coffee in Banks’s smoky office. All she could say when he had finished was, ‘I was right, wasn’t I? He wouldn’t have hurt me.’
Banks shook his head. ‘He would,’ he insisted, ‘if Emma Steadman told him to.’
TWO
It was a couple of days before all the loose ends were tied up. Hatchley made notes and wrote up the statements, complaining all the while about DC Richmond sunning himself in Surrey, and Gristhorpe went over the details. Emma Steadman said nothing; she didn’t even bother to deny Ramsden’s accusations. To Banks, she was a woman who had risked everything and lost. There was no room for regret or recrimination now it was all over.
Later in the week, Banks took Sandra over to Helmthorpe, where they heard Penny sing at a special memorial concert for Sally Lumb. Afterwards, as it was a warm night and the show ended early, they went with Penny and Jack Barker for a drink in the beer garden of the Dog and Gun. Crow Scar gathered the failing light and gleamed as the hills around it fell into shadow. It looked like a pale curtain hanging in the sky.
Sandra and the others pressed Banks for an explanation of the Steadman business, and though he felt very uncomfortable in the role they forced on him, he did feel he owed Barker and Penny something; nor had he had much time to talk to Sandra since the arrests, and she had helped him arrive at the correct pattern.
‘When did it start?’ Sandra asked first.
‘About ten years back,’ Banks told her. ‘That makes Penny here sixteen, Michael Ramsden eighteen, Steadman about thirty-three and his wife just twenty-eight. Harold Steadman had a promising career as a university lecturer. If he wasn’t exactly rich, he was certainly comfortably off, and he did have the inheritance to look forward to. Emma too, must have been quite pleased with life in those days, but I imagine she quickly got bored. She was beginning to fade into the background like so many faculty wives.
‘When I talked to Talbot and Darnley, two of Steadman’s colleagues at Leeds University, one of them remembered Emma as a “pretty young thing” at first, then she just seemed to disappear into the woodwork. I dare say she’d have liked to go abroad for her holidays more often, but no, Steadman had discovered Helmthorpe – Gratly rather – and that satisfied all his requirements for a busman’s holiday, so that was that. For Emma, life seemed to be passing by too quickly and too dully, and she felt too young to give it all up.
‘That summer was beautiful, just like this one.’ Banks paused to look around at the other drinkers with their jackets and cardigans hung on the backs of chairs. ‘How often can you do this in England?’ he asked, sipping chilled lager. ‘Especially in Yorkshire. Anyway, Penny and Michael were the pride of the village – two bright kids with their whole lives ahead of them. Michael was a lean serious romantic young fellow, and if he imagined he was losing Penny to an older wiser man, then he still had a steady diet of Keats and Shelley to keep him nicely melancholy. Penny here simply enjoyed Steadman’s company, as she’s told me often enough. They had a lot in common, and there were no amorous inclinations on either side. Or if there were, they were well repressed.’
He glanced at Penny, who looked down into her beer.
‘So,’ Banks went on after a deep breath, ‘one sunny day Penny’s out with Steadman looking at the Roman excavations in Fortford say, and Michael’s languishing in the garden reading “Ode to a Nightingale” or something. His parents are out shopping in Leeds or York and won’t be back till it’s time to prepare the evening meal. Emma Steadman is moping around the place staying out of the sun, and probably feeling bored and neglected. I’m making this up, by the way. Ramsden didn’t give me a blow by blow account. Anyway, Emma seduces young Michael. Not so difficult when you consider his age and his obsession with sex. Surely it’s every schoolboy’s fantasy – the experienced older woman. To Emma, he must have seemed like a younger more vital version of her husband. Perhaps he wrote poetry for her. He was certainly gawky and shy, and she gave him his first sexual experience.
‘Most people probably thought of Emma Steadman as a married woman going quickly to seed, but Michael made her feel wanted, and then she began to see definite advantages in not being thought particularly attractive. That way, nobody would think of her as the type to be having an affair.’
Banks stopped to drink some more lager, pleased to see that he hadn’t lost his audience. ‘The affair went on over the years,’ he continued. ‘There were gaps and breaks, of course, but Ramsden told us they often got together in London when Emma went down for a weekend’s “shopping”, or when she went to “Norwich” to “visit her family”. I don’t think her husband paid her a great deal of attention, he was far too busy poring over ruins.
‘Anyway, Emma developed a powerful hold over Michael. As his first lover, she had a natural advantage. She taught him all he knew. And he was still shy in company and found it hard to meet girls his own age. But why bother? Emma was there and she gave him all he needed, far more than the inexperienced girls of his own age group could have given him. And, in turn, he made her feel young, sexy and powerful. They fed off each other, I suppose.
‘Over the years, Emma developed two distinct personalities. Now I’m not suggesting for a moment that she’s mentally ill – there’s nothing at all clinically wrong with her – all her actions were deliberate, willed, calculated. But she had one face for the world and another for Ramsden. If you think about it, it wasn’t that difficult for her to change her appearance. She only had to do it to please Ramsden, and he was strongly under her influence anyway. Visiting him in London would have been no problem, of course. But even after she moved to Gratly and he moved to York, it was simple enough. She could easily do herself up a bit in the car on the way to see him – a little make-up, a hairbrush. She could even change her clothes after she arrived, if she wanted. With Harold gone, it was even easier. Her neighbour told me there’s a door from the kitchen right into the garage, and it’s a lonely road over the moors to Ramsden’s place. But it wasn’t just looks, it was attitude, too. With Ramsden she felt her sexual power, something that was more or less turned off the rest of the time.
‘As time went by, everything she expected to happen, happened. Steadman threw himself more and more into his work, and she found herself, except for Ramsden, increasingly isolated. Why did she stay with her husband? I’m only guessing here, but I can think of two good reasons. First of all security, and secondly the promise of the inheritance, the possibility that things might improve when they became rich. And what happens? The money comes through all right, but nothing changes. In fact, things get worse. And here I can sympathize with her, to some extent. She’s a woman with dreams – travel, excitement, wealth, a social life – but all that happens is her husband buys the Ramsden house and she ends up even more bored and cut off while he spends the money on historical research. A dedicated man. Even though I can’t condone what she did to him, I can understand why she was driven to it. Steadman wasn’t exactly sensitive to her needs, emotional or material. He was selfish and mean. There they were, rich as bloody Croesus, and he spends his time drinking in the Bridge and his money on his work. I’m sure Emma Steadman would have preferred the country club. In fact she was little more than a prisoner, and the only person her husband was really close to was Penny again.’
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