‘That’s right. I’ve already put a call through to the locals to get in touch with Ronald, see if he knows anything of his father’s whereabouts.’
‘And Poppy?’
‘Erm... well, according to Adele Balter, Poppy’s here already.’
Annie’s eyes widened. ‘Is she, indeed? Well, how interesting.’
‘I can’t say Adele sounded too thrilled about it.’
Annie drove on through the deep channel of the pass to the next dale south, taking an unfenced road to the south-west, not far from where she lived in Harkside. She then wound through some woods to the edge of the reservoir, easternmost in a chain of three, where Laurence Edward Hadfield’s house stood high on the northern bank. It was an ideal location, she thought, pulling up on the tarmac drive beside the house, which was hidden from the road by the woods, and faced south over the water to the rolling Pennine hills beyond. It was also far enough away from where his body was found that the officers making door-to-door enquiries hadn’t reached the area yet.
‘Well, here we are,’ she said, parking behind a shabby green Hyundai, in front of which a red sports car was parked diagonally. ‘Looks like Poppy got here before the char.’
Perhaps mansion would be a better word than house to describe the place, Annie thought. Laurence Edward Hadfield had to be a wealthy man indeed. Instead of the usual Victorian gothic pile or Elizabethan extravaganza, this was an art deco construction with a large rounded front covering all three floors. Some of the windows resembled large portholes. Built of reinforced concrete, most likely, the whole place was clad in white stucco and looked a bit like an iced cake. It had two wings, one extending from each side, also round-edged, and a separate, more functional double garage. The house was far too large for one person and could have doubled as an apartment building, Annie thought, housing a whole village of Syrian refugees.
They got out. Annie sniffed the air. It was fresh and cold. She could hear the reservoir, stirred by the wind, lapping against the bank below. Diamonds danced on the water’s surface. She heard the click of a door opening round the corner. ‘Right,’ she said to Gerry. ‘Gird your loins and let’s go and see how the other half live.’
‘Thanks for coming, Ray,’ Banks said after they had given their orders in the Black Bull in Lyndgarth. ‘And thanks for your efforts with Peter on the sketch.’ It was Friday lunchtime, and the pub was almost full, mostly with off-season tourists, who had parked their cars all over the village green. Banks was happy to have his familiar Porsche back, though it was looking distinctly old these days. Still, he’d never be able to afford a new one, so he would hang on to it until it fell apart.
‘You didn’t have to offer to buy me lunch to get me to meet you,’ Ray said.
Banks smiled. ‘My pleasure.’ He raised his pint. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
They both sipped some Black Sheep bitter, then Banks smacked his lips and said, ‘Thanks for dinner the other night, Ray. It was great. Zelda’s a fine cook.’
Ray’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know I made most of that meal?’
Banks laughed. ‘I complimented you often enough about your cooking when you were staying with me. This time, you can pass on my compliments to Zelda.’
‘It’ll go to her head.’
‘Better than it going to yours.’
Ray grunted. ‘So what is it you want to see me about? You want to argue Cipollina over Garcia or Kaukonen?’
‘No contest,’ Banks said. ‘Jerry wins hands down every time. But thanks for the Quicksilver. I enjoyed that. And the Donovan and Bridget St John. Haven’t listened to them in ages.’
‘I got the impression that my wayward daughter wasn’t too impressed by the music. Or the evening.’
‘Annie’s musical tastes run the gamut of A to B. That’s Abba to Beyoncé. I’ve given up on her as far as that’s concerned. She puts her hands over her ears if you play Dylan. As for the other stuff, give her time, Ray.’
‘Of course. But what is it? Doesn’t she want me to be happy? Surely she can’t be feeling it’s disrespectful to her mother after all these years?’
‘I don’t think it’s that, no. As I said, just give her time.’
‘Zelda was upset, you know, after you’d gone. She wants Annie to like her.’
‘So was Annie,’ said Banks. ‘With her it usually comes out as anger. Though I think she was more angry with herself than anyone else. Except me, maybe. Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’
Their lunches arrived, two giant Yorkshire puddings filled with roast beef, vegetables and onion gravy. Perhaps not the healthiest meal around, but one of the tastiest, especially with a good pint to wash it down. The sounds of conversation and laughter rose and fell around them. Beyond the window, on the edge of the green, a group of ramblers with sticks and all the right Gore-Tex winter gear stood listening to someone giving them instructions.
‘So, what is it?’ Ray asked, after a bite of Yorkshire pudding and a swig of beer.
‘What we suggested to Zelda the other night, about trying to locate Phil Keane, or whatever his name is now.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d like you to tell her to stop, not to do it.’
‘You think she’ll listen to me?’
‘Make her listen, Ray. The man’s poison. He tried to kill me. Nearly succeeded. He’d have killed Annie, too.’
‘I know that. But you obviously don’t know Zelda. Once she gets her teeth into something she never lets go.’
‘I can understand that when it comes to the work she’s doing against the traffickers. But this isn’t her fight. And it’s too dangerous. Tell her to hand what information she has over to us, and we’ll pursue it through the proper channels.’
‘I don’t think Zelda trusts the proper channels. Besides, it’s not as if she’s going out on the streets to search for him herself. All she ever does is look at pictures. And she’s made it part of her fight now. She’ll ask around, that’s all.’
‘From what little you and Zelda told us the other night, Ray, I think you’re taking a pretty naive view of what Zelda does when she goes off on her little work trips.’
Ray put his knife and fork down. ‘What do you mean by that? What do you know about it?’
‘Doesn’t it worry you, her going off like that for days at a time?’
‘Oh, that. I gave up being possessive and jealous years ago. Especially as far as women are concerned. It only brings you grief. Besides, Zelda’s a free spirit. She can do what she wants. I’m just happy she seems to want to spend some time with me.’
‘Noble sentiments, Ray, and very sixties, love the one you’re with and all that, but that’s not what I meant. I know something about the kind of people she works for. They’re ruthless. They wouldn’t hesitate to put Zelda in harm’s way if it meant netting a big catch. And those are the good guys.’
‘That’s rubbish. She just sits in a room and studies pictures.’
‘That might be what she wants you to believe, but it must be more dangerous than that. She cares about you, Ray. She doesn’t want you to worry about her. Why do you think she does it?’
‘Because she feels she owes it to the victims. I don’t know all the details of her background, but I know she lost someone close to her to those people.’
‘I’m not quibbling with the work she does — that’s admirable — I’m just trying to set you right about the true nature of the kind of people who employ her. Don’t be so trusting about their motives. Or their methods. Not to mention the criminals they chase. What I am saying is that you have to try to persuade her not to go off half-cocked against someone like Phil Keane, not to let anyone know she’s interested. He’s a psychopath, Ray, a cold, clever psychopath with no qualms about killing anyone who gets in his way. And he’s manipulative. He draws people in. He could sell ice cream to Eskimos, as they say. He forged the provenance of some very pricey works of art, including a Turner, for crying out loud. That meant getting access to the archives, getting influential and important people in the art world to trust him. And it takes nerve.’