“Great. That would seem to indicate that Mark Wood did a deal with Motcombe through Varney. Anything else?”
“This is where it gets a bit more complicated, I’m afraid. And you owe me. I had to spend yesterday evening in a pub with Richie Hall, and he drinks like a bloody fish. I’ll be sending you the bill.”
Banks laughed. “Find anything out?”
“Yes. The band Mark Wood worked with at the time of his first arrest was called Cloth Ears. They split up shortly after the drug bust. But this Scattered Dreams was formed partly from the ashes. Phoenix-like, you might say. Apparently the blokes you’re interested in used to play with Cloth Ears, but now they just hang around the fringes of Scattered Dreams and sell dope. Seems drugs have sapped whatever talents they might once have had, and most of the time they’re too stoned to strum a chord. And you were right about the family connection. The one with the dreadlocks is Shirelle Wood’s brother, Wesley Campbell, and the other’s a mate of his called Francis Robertson. ‘Wes’ and ‘Frankie,’ as they’re known locally. Both of them have been seen to associate with Devon recently, according to Richie.”
“Low-level dealers?”
“Looks that way.”
“Excellent.”
“And in Shirelle Wood’s favor, Richie says she’s not connected with any of this. In fact, she stopped talking to her brother Wes as soon as she discovered he was involved in getting Mark busted the first time, and she hasn’t talked to him since. Cut him off completely.”
Good for her, Banks thought. There were very few people he had come to have respect for in this whole business. Frank Hepplethwaite was one of them, and Shirelle Jade Wood was another. Pity about her husband. He should have followed her lead and cut off communications with Wesley Campbell, too. But no, Mark Wood thought he could make an easy fortune. And it was a sad thought that Shirelle and Connor would be the ones to suffer the most if the truth did come out.
“Thanks, Ken,” Banks said. “You’ve done a great job.”
“No problem.”
“Now for the hard part.”
He heard Blackstone sigh. “Somehow I had a feeling there might be more to it than this. I assume this is your ‘cunning plan’ for getting to the truth?”
Banks laughed. “Hear me out, Ken, then let me know if you think we can do it.”
III
About an hour later, Banks drove down to Leeds alone. There was no point involving Susan Gay or Jim Hatchley in his scheme. It was risky and could backfire, then he’d have their jobs on his conscience, too. Ken Blackstone would be fine; he was simply carrying out an investigation on his own patch, based on information received. The fact that Banks was along for the ride really didn’t matter.
Banks lit a cigarette and turned up the volume on Bryn Terfel’s renditions of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Songs of Travel. He looked at the digital clock. Eleven o’clock. Plenty of time to do what he had to and pick up Tracy at the residence by six o’clock.
As he pulled up behind Millgarth, he looked at his watch. Just after twelve. If Ken Blackstone had done his work, everything ought to be set up and ready to roll by now. He checked at the front desk and went straight up to Blackstone’s office. In the corridor outside the CID offices, as arranged, sat Mark Wood, who had been brought in from Armley Jail shortly after Banks’s nine-thirty talk with Ken Blackstone, just to answer a few more questions and help make the paperwork flow more smoothly.
Apparently, Wood had been more than willing to show his cooperation. And even though he’d been sitting there for probably a couple of hours already, he hadn’t asked for Giles Varney yet. If he did, they’d have to lie and tell him they couldn’t get in touch. With Varney present, the plan would be useless.
Mark Wood didn’t look like much, Banks thought. Muscular, yes, but basically just another sullen, nervous kid chewing his fingernails in a police station.
Banks introduced himself. They hadn’t met before, and it was important that Wood know someone from Eastvale was involved in all this. As expected, Wood looked puzzled and confused. When he asked Banks why he had come down all this way, Banks said it was nothing to worry about, he would find out in a while. He sounded like a doctor about to tell a patient he has a terminal illness.
Leaving Wood under guard in the corridor, they went into Ken Blackstone’s office, where Wood could watch them through the glass partition if he wanted, though he couldn’t hear what they were saying. That would make him even more nervous. Especially if they glanced his way once in a while as they spoke.
They had been standing behind the glass chatting about Leeds United’s abysmal season and occasionally looking at Mark for about fifteen minutes, when three large uniformed officers led Wesley Campbell and Francis Robertson along the corridor, as arranged. The two had been passive and compliant when picked up over an hour earlier, Ken said. That was either a mark of confidence that they’d be out again in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, Banks thought, or they were too stoned to care. Both had been found in possession of small amounts of marijuana, and neither had had time to flush it down the toilet, so they had been languishing in the charge room for a while. By now, they weren’t quite as complacent.
As they passed Mark Wood, they glanced down at him, and Mark looked even more confused. His eyes widened with fear. Campbell actually struggled against his guards for a moment and tried to get closer to Wood, as if he wanted to warn or threaten him. But the guards held on. Campbell and Robertson were taken to separate interview rooms around the corner. Both seemed to know the PACE regulations by heart, and they asked to make their phone calls immediately.
At about two o’clock, after Banks and Blackstone had enjoyed a leisurely lunch across the road, it was time to start. They went back upstairs and took Mark into an interview room. It was agreed that Banks, being more familiar with the case, would do most of the questioning. Blackstone would give the occasional prod if things got slow. They weren’t taping this one. There would be time for formalities later, with Banks well out of the way, if the plan worked. If it didn’t, then all hell might break loose as far as disciplinary actions were concerned. Banks had already warned Ken and given him the option of staying well away, but Ken had insisted on being involved.
“Well, Mark,” said Banks, “I know we haven’t met until today, but I’ve had a great interest in you ever since I saw Jason Fox’s body a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’ve told the police all about that,” Wood said. “I’ve pleaded guilty to manslaughter. What’s all this about?”
Banks raised an eyebrow. “It’s not quite settled yet,” he said. “Not to my satisfaction, anyway.”
Wood folded his arms. “I don’t know what you mean. First you leave me hanging about in the corridor for hours, now you start interrogating me. I’m not saying anything. I want my solicitor.”
“Mr. Varney? Well, we’ll see what we can do. For the moment, though, I suggest you hold your horses, Mark, and listen to me. Certain new evidence has come to light that puts an entirely different complexion on the Jason Fox killing.”
“Oh? What’s that, then?”
Banks jerked his head toward the door. “We’ve just had a long chat with Mr. Campbell and Mr. Robertson, and they’ve told us some very interesting things.”
“Like what?”
“Like the truth about what you did to Jason Fox.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Mark, surely you can do much better than that?”
“I’m not saying a word.”
“Listen to me, then. According to your brother-in-law, Mr. Campbell, an old mate of yours from the Cloth Ears days, the two of you were commissioned by Neville Motcombe to get rid of Jason Fox. Jason had become a major risk in a heroin deal you were planning, and a serious threat to Motcombe’s power. Motcombe couldn’t get any of his own members to do it because Jason was too popular with them. Instead, he got two of the people who were already involved in the drug deal – one from each side, so to speak – two people who also stood to gain a lot. I should imagine Devon wanted one or two of his own lads along just to make sure you did what you agreed, didn’t he? From what I hear, he’s not the kind of bloke to take undue risks. How am I doing so far?”