Ray picked up his fork again. ‘What are you suggesting I do, then?’
‘Talk to her. Or let me talk to her. I’ll try again to persuade her to put me in touch with her supervisor. There’s nothing wrong with a little cooperation.’
‘I could try,’ Ray said slowly.
‘Because the moment she becomes even a blip on Keane’s radar, she’s in danger. You, too, for that matter.’
Ray sighed and played with his food, then turned back to Banks. ‘I’m not a fool, Alan. I’m well aware that Zelda might have been a victim herself, forced into it, and it’s easier for her to make up a story about someone close to her being trafficked than it is to tell me the truth. But for whatever reason, she hasn’t talked to me about her past, and I don’t want to push her. The balance is fragile enough as it is. What I do know is that she lived much of her life before we met in danger and fear. She was a child in Eastern Europe in the late eighties and early nineties, and that must have been bad enough. She let slip once that she’s an orphan, too. She’s told me some of it, but not all. OK, so maybe she does want to protect me from the hard truth. She has dark moods, and she disappears for hours, days sometimes. Places I can’t touch her. Disappears, I mean, in her workshop, or walking the moors, or whatever. It was the same in Cornwall. She’s haunted, troubled, and she probably always will be. When I met her just over a year ago she was like some ragamuffin street urchin. I kid you not. She wore baggy clothes. She’d cut her hair short. No make-up. I honestly didn’t know at first whether she was a boy or a girl. And do you know, she has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. That lady of the lowlands is no contest. If I tried for a million years I’d never be able to capture that sadness on canvas. When she came back to the colony with me, I gave her her own place. Only a small caravan, but private. She spent a lot of time alone there. It was three months before she came to me one night and climbed into bed beside me. And the night after that she came again, and so on. Just for comfort, you understand. For someone to hold her and make her feel safe. I never put the slightest bit of pressure on her to go any further. That came only in time, slowly. And it came from Zelda. Now here we are, to all extents living together as man and wife. But I know there are parts of her I’ll never get close to, aspects of her past that she will never share, perhaps things she has had to do to survive. I’ve accepted that, or at least got used to it. She doesn’t want to cause me pain. She’s an incredible woman, Alan. Every day I count my blessings. What we have is enough. It has to be enough.’
‘I’m not arguing with you, Ray. I know how special Zelda is, and I can imagine only an inkling of what she’s been through if what you say is right. Like I said, I know a little bit about that world. That’s why I’m talking to you now. Humour me and ask her to do as I say. I’m sure she’s got enough on her plate anyway without chasing after new demons. Think about it. All I want is a contact. Her boss or case handler. I can take it from there. She doesn’t need to get involved. Believe it or not, I’ve got a few contacts of my own.’
‘Oh, I believe it.’ Ray took another bite of his lunch and looked at Banks as he chewed. His eyes misted over, and finally, he nodded, pointing with his fork. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise anything. Do you think I don’t know I’m one of the luckiest men on earth? An old codger like me living with a woman like Zelda. And it’s real. She loves me. But do you think I don’t worry about losing her? Of course I do. The sixties stuff is mostly just talk. Sure, I get jealous and possessive, but I manage to rationalise the feelings away most of the time. And I know her work might be dangerous, but it comes with the territory, mate. So do the black moods. Do you think I don’t worry about her running off with some thirty-year-old stud while I’m down in London at some gallery opening or showing? Or her meeting someone on one of her trips down there? Of course I bloody do. But that comes with the territory, too. And you know what? I’d rather have the territory with all the shit that comes with it than not have the territory at all. That’s why I try not to let possessiveness and jealousy rule all my days. Because if I did, I couldn’t stand it. So I’ll talk to her, OK? But no guarantees. She’s her own woman, and I, for one, want to keep it that way.’
‘It’s all I ask, Ray.’
‘Good. OK. We understand one another. Now back to that facile claim you made about Jerry Garcia.’
‘It can’t be Daddy, it simply can’t be,’ said Poppy Hadfield, handing back the sketch. Annie almost expected her to stamp her little foot, only it wasn’t so little. Poppy had stringy blond hair, bright red lipstick, far too much make-up on her rather horsey face, and the kind of figure most men would call voluptuous but Annie called wobbly. Bracelets jangled on her wrists and chains hung around her neck. There was a ring on every finger, two on some. She wore skin-tight ice-blue jeans artfully torn at the knees and thighs, and a black PUSSY RIOT T-shirt, also torn in a place Annie thought might cause a bit of an uproar at a posh society dinner. She could see what Gerry had meant by describing Poppy as a walking wardrobe malfunction. She was in her early thirties, perhaps a bit too old to be dressed the way she was. But hers was another world.
‘Please calm down, Miss Hadfield,’ said Annie. ‘We don’t know anything for certain yet. Only that your father is apparently missing. You’ve seen the artist’s impression. We would like you to come and—’
‘Oh, no. I’m not doing that. You can’t make me do that. No way. I’m not looking at a DEAD BODY, no matter whose it is. You can get someone else to do that. I need a lie down. Where’s my bag, Balter? I need my pills.’
Thinking that pills and a lie down for Poppy might be a good idea for everyone’s sanity, Annie suggested she go and do just that while they talked to Adele Balter, who was standing by the sixty-inch flat-screen TV, wringing her hands and staring at the three of them, horrified, with red-rimmed eyes.
After Adele had found the required bag on the floor behind an armchair, Annie signalled Gerry to follow Poppy upstairs and see what she was up to, then she asked Adele Balter to sit down. She sat down on a huge sofa upholstered in some sort of black-and-white striped horsehair material. Annie tried hard to be a vegetarian most of the time, and she didn’t really want to know what animal the hair had come from. Maybe a zebra. At any rate, it was enough that it seemed ugly and uncomfortable. She remained standing.
‘Are you up to answering a few questions, Miss Balter?’
‘I’ll try. And it’s Mrs Balter. But call me Adele, please. Like the singer.’
‘I like her,’ said Annie. ‘Nice name, too.’
‘Well, it’s better than Geraldine,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘That’s my first name.’
Annie coughed and put her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. She would have to tease Gerry about that. She walked towards the fireplace, intending to keep standing, but found the mantelpiece was far too high to lean on. She felt awkward. In the end, there was nothing for it but sit in a black-and-white armchair. It felt prickly, even through her clothes.
‘I’ll do it.’ Adele said.
‘Do what?’
‘Identify that body for you. You heard Poppy. She won’t do it without going hysterical, and who knows where Mr Ronald is, or whether he can get away?’