“Okay.”
“I suppose you could call it the missing link. The link between Linda’s childhood and the possibility of Lucy’s being involved in the abductions and murders.”
“There’s the sexual abuse.”
“Yes, there’s no doubt that many people who were abused become abusers themselves – it’s a cycle – and according to Maureen Nesbitt, Linda was sexually aware at eleven. But none of that’s enough in itself. All I can say is that it could have created a psychopathology in Lucy that made her capable of becoming the compliant victim of a man like Terence Payne. People often repeat mistakes and bad choices. You just have to look at my history of relationships to see that.”
Banks smiled. “You’ll get it right one day.”
“Meet my knight in shining armor?”
“Is that what you want? Someone to fight your battles for you, then pick you up and carry you upstairs?”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
“And I thought you were a feminist.”
“I am. It doesn’t mean I might not fight his battles, pick him up and carry him upstairs the next day. All I’m saying is that chance would be a fine thing. Anyway, can’t a woman have her fantasies?”
“Depends where they lead. Has it occurred to you that Lucy Payne wasn’t the compliant victim at all, and that her husband was?”
“No, it hasn’t. I’ve never come across such a case.”
“But not impossible?”
“In human psychology, nothing’s impossible. Just very unlikely, that’s all.”
“But supposing she were the powerful one, the dominant partner…”
“And Terence Payne was her sex slave, doing her bidding?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t know,” said Jenny. “But I very much doubt it. Besides, even if it is true, it doesn’t really get us any further, does it?”
“I suppose not. Just speculation. You mentioned that Payne might have used a camcorder when you visited the cellar, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Jenny sipped some lager and dabbed her lips with a paper serviette. “It would be highly unusual in such a ritualized case of rape, murder and interment for the perpetrator not to keep some sort of record.”
“He had the bodies.”
“His trophies? Yes. And that probably explains why there was no further mutilation, no need to take a finger or a toe to remember them by. Payne had the whole body. But it’s not just that. Someone like Payne would have needed more, something that enabled him to relive the events.”
Banks told her about the tripod marks and the electronics catalog.
“So if he had one, where is it?” she asked.
“That’s the question.”
“And why is it missing?”
“Another good question. Believe me, we’re looking hard for it. If it’s in that house, even if it’s buried ten feet down, we’ll find out. We won’t leave a brick of that place standing until it’s given up all its secrets.”
“If it’s in the house.”
“Yes.”
“And there’ll be tapes, too.”
“I haven’t forgotten them.”
Jenny pushed her plate aside. “I suppose I’d better go and get some work done.”
Banks looked at his watch. “And I’d better go see Mick Blair.” He reached forward and touched her arm lightly. She was surprised at the tingle she felt. “Take care, Jenny. Keep your eyes open, and if you see that car again, phone me right away. Understand?”
Jenny nodded. Then she noticed someone she didn’t know approaching them, walking with an easy, confident grace. An attractive young woman, tight jeans emphasizing her long and shapely legs, what looked like a man’s white shirt hanging open over a red T-shirt. Chestnut hair cascaded in shiny waves to her shoulders, and the only flaw on her smooth complexion was a small mole to the right of her mouth. Even that wasn’t so much an imperfection as a beauty spot. Her serious eyes were almond in shape and color.
When she got to the table, she pulled up a chair and sat down without being invited. “DS Cabbot,” she said, stretching out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Dr. Fuller.” Jenny shook. Firm grasp.
“Ah, the famous Dr. Fuller. A pleasure to meet you at last.”
Jenny felt tense. Was this woman, surely the Annie Cabbot, staking out her territory? Had she seen Banks touching her arm and thought something of it? Was she here to let Jenny know as subtly as possible to keep her hands off Banks? Jenny knew she was not bad when it came to the looks department, but she couldn’t help feeling somehow clumsy and even a bit dowdy next to Annie. Older, too. Definitely older.
Annie smiled at Banks. “Sir.”
Jenny could sense something between them. Sexual tension, yes, but it was more than that. Had they had a disagreement? All of a sudden the table was uncomfortable and she felt she had to leave. She picked up her bag and started rummaging for her car keys. Why did they always sink to the bottom and get lost among the hairbrushes, paper hankies and makeup?
“Don’t let me interrupt your lunch,” said Annie, smiling again at Jenny, then turning to Banks. “But I just happened to be in the station catching up on some paperwork after lunch. Winsome told me you were here and that she’d got a message for you. I said I’d deliver it.”
Banks raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“It’s from your mate Ken Blackstone in Leeds. It seems Lucy Payne’s done a runner.”
Jenny gasped. “What?”
“Local police dropped by her parents’ house this morning just to make sure everything was okay. Turns out her bed hadn’t been slept in.”
“Bloody hell,” said Banks. “Another cock-up.”
“Just thought you’d want to know as soon as possible,” said Annie, untangling herself from the chair. She looked at Jenny. “Nice to meet you.”
Then she walked out with the same elegant grace she had walked in with, leaving Banks and Jenny to sit and stare at each other.
Mick Blair, the fourth person in the group on the night Leanne Wray disappeared, lived with his parents in a semi in North Eastvale, near enough to the edge of town for a fine view over Swainsdale, but close enough to the center for easy access. After Annie’s revelation about Lucy Payne, Banks wondered whether he should change his plans, but he decided that Leanne Wray was still a priority and Lucy Payne was still a victim in the eyes of the law. Besides, there would be plenty of coppers keeping an eye open for her; it was the most they could do until, and unless, they had anything to charge her with.
Unlike Ian Scott, Mick had never been in trouble with the police, though Banks suspected he might well have been buying drugs from Ian. He had a slightly wasted look about him, not quite all there, and didn’t seem to have much time for personal grooming. When Banks called after his lunch with Jenny that Sunday, Mick’s parents were out visiting family, and Mick was slouching around in the living room listening to Nirvana loud on the stereo, wearing torn jeans and a black T-shirt with a picture of Kurt Cobain on it, above his birth and death dates.
“What do you want?” Mick asked, turning down the volume and flopping on to the sofa, hands behind his head.
“To talk about Leanne Wray.”
“We’ve already been over that.”
“Let’s go over it again?”
“Why? Have you found out something new?”
“What would there be to find out?”
“I don’t know. I’m just surprised at your coming here, that’s all.”
“Was Leanne your girlfriend, Mick?”
“No. It wasn’t like that.”
“She’s an attractive girl. Didn’t you fancy her?”
“Maybe. A bit.”
“But she wasn’t having any of it?”
“It was early days, that’s all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some girls need a bit of time, a bit of working on. They don’t all just jump into bed with you the first time you meet.”