‘Frank, I don’t have time for—’
‘No, really. It’s a bit hard to describe. A piece of jewellery.’
‘Are you at the house now?’
‘Yes.’
Annie looked at her watch. ‘I’m in Eastvale,’ she said. ‘It shouldn’t take me long to get there.’ At least the Hadfield house was on her way to her own cottage in Harkside. As soon as she’d dealt with Frank, she’d ship Poppy off to London, go home, have a long shower or bath and maybe just go back to bed. Some hope, the way this day was going.
‘Just be careful driving,’ Frank said. ‘You know how some people are still technically pissed from the night before even the morning after.’
Annie took a deep breath. ‘Frank?’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Fuck off.’
‘There’s not much to tell,’ Banks said.
‘I know you can’t give any details away. I’ve been through it, remember? On the receiving end.’
‘I remember,’ said Banks. ‘But there’s still not a lot to tell.’
‘I’ve read the newspaper reports, seen the TV news. It sounds tragic.’
‘What’s really tragic is that we don’t have a lot to go on. No, that’s too flippant,’ said Banks. ‘It is tragic. A young girl like Adrienne Munro, cut down in her prime, all her life ahead of her.’
‘And you’ve no idea why?’
Banks shook his head.
‘It is suicide, isn’t it?’
‘Even if I knew for certain, I couldn’t say. Cause of death is still under investigation.’
‘Then there’s the other case. Laurence Hadfield. Accidental death, the papers say. Is that yours, too?’
‘I’m officially Senior Investigating Officer, though Annie’s got the role in reality. It’s another puzzle.’
‘I know I’m just an overimaginative poet speaking,’ Linda said, ‘but has it crossed your mind that the two cases might be connected in some way?’ When Banks just guzzled some beer and didn’t say anything, she went on. ‘Unless, of course, you already know they are and you can’t tell me?
‘No, no. It’s not that. I don’t believe in coincidences any more than you do. It’s one of the first things I thought of, but I’ve learned over the years not to trust first impressions without evidence. It’s just that there’s no obvious connection between the victims, no evidence to tie them together, except they both died rather mysteriously within a short time of one another. They moved in very different circles. If I could find something to link them, anything, it would be different.’
‘What if there was a point of contact? If something brought the circles to intersect?’
‘We think it’s possible that Adrienne was involved with drugs in some way, but there’s no connection there with Hadfield. At least not yet. It’s more likely to be connected with someone at the college.’
‘I’ve heard of Laurence Hadfield,’ said Linda. ‘I even met him once, briefly. Maybe that’s why I’m interested.’
Banks’s ears pricked up. ‘Met him? Where? When? How?’
‘Aha,’ Linda teased. ‘Now he’s interested.’
‘If you know anything, you should tell me.’
‘It’s nothing relevant. Don’t get your hopes up. You’ll only be disappointed. It’s just that Mr Hadfield was a bit of a philanthropist, and his benevolent gestures even extended as far as the arts community. He was involved in setting up a local poetry award, mostly to encourage young people to write poetry. I had the honour of presenting it at a dinner a couple of years ago. We were at the same table. That’s all.’
‘What did you think of him?’
‘I didn’t really get the chance to form an impression. He was polite, said all the right things. It was pretty obvious he wasn’t really interested in poetry, but that was hardly a surprise.’
‘So why not come up with an award for some other field?’
‘It’s my guess that the other fields weren’t doing too badly as far as the Arts Council budget was concerned. He saw a gap, or someone saw it for him. People like Hadfield are constantly searching for ways to unload their money that make them look good in the public eye.’
‘Isn’t that a bit cynical to say about someone who was so generous?’
Linda snorted. ‘For him it was a mere drop in the ocean. For the poet, it was an opportunity to spend a year concentrating on her writing. Have you any idea how much of a godsend that is? I’m sorry if I appear cynical, but I’m afraid philanthropists have often been in the business of whitewashing their business practices, the sources of their wealth, perhaps even seeking atonement, if you like. Basically, they all want to be loved, but they know that what they do makes them unlovable — things like propping up foreign dictatorships or orchestrating coups against moderate governments that might not exactly be marching in time with their financial interests, selling weapons to both sides, or being involved in practices that seriously damage the environment. Not all, of course. Some don’t give a damn about public perception or what harm they do, and others are genuinely selfless. But most fall somewhere in the middle.’
‘So Laurence Hadfield chose to share some of his good fortune with young, unknown poets. Isn’t that a good thing, whatever his motives?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘I mean, he wasn’t trying to impose a programme on them or anything, was he, or using his position to take advantage of... well, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Linda. ‘All those impressionable young girls with their love poetry. But no, I don’t think he was. Someone told me he was involved in a lot of charities and good causes, that he donated time as well as money.’
‘So did Jimmy Savile.’
Linda glared at him. ‘But he had ulterior motives. I’m saying I don’t think Mr Hadfield did, other than the usual need to be thought well of in the community. Oh, maybe he flirted with the young lasses at the dinner a bit, but it was nothing serious.’
‘As far as I know, flirting hasn’t been made illegal yet.’
‘And you’d know, of course.’
‘I can accept that nobody’s wholly bad, not even a rapacious venture capitalist. But are you sure he wasn’t using his philanthropy to cover up more sinister activities?’
Linda laughed. ‘Have you ever wondered how your job warps your perception of the world?’
‘Every day. But I try to stay on the straight and narrow.’
‘Anyway, on a brief acquaintance, I’d have to say no. I didn’t get that impression about Laurence Hadfield. He seemed genuine enough. He came across as fairly well educated, too. I mean, I’m not saying he was a huge poetry fan, but he knew his Keats from his Eliot. Said he mostly read non-fiction, though. Biographies and history. If anything, he seemed a bit bored. Kept looking at his watch. Put his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn when the winner read her poem.’
‘That’s hardly unusual at a poetry reading, is it?’
Linda lifted her glass. ‘Hey, enough of that, or you’ll be wearing this glass of red wine.’
Banks held up his hands. ‘I take your point. I take all your points. But Adrienne Munro never won a poetry competition. Never even entered one, as far as I know. She played the violin.’
‘Maybe he was involved in sponsoring musical talents, too?’
‘It’s worth a look,’ said Banks. ‘Are you after a job or something?’
‘With the police? Never. I like the idle life of a poet best.’
‘Well, whatever Laurence Hadfield’s true motives for his philanthropy, and however he earned his wealth, the mystery remains of what the hell he was doing up on Tetchley Moor wearing a business suit, and how he got there.’
‘Well, somebody must have driven him,’ said Linda. ‘I know I’m not a detective, but I would have thought that much was obvious.’