‘I’ll bet you were. And Adrienne was sitting dead in the broken-down car, Laurence Hadfield was lying at the bottom of the gully with a broken neck, and you’d no idea what had happened to Randall and Sarah?’
‘That’s right. I’m not proud of myself, but I didn’t see what else I could have done at the time.’
Banks shook his head slowly. ‘There were dozens of things you could have done, Mia, should have done, and none of them were what you actually did.’
‘What will happen to me? Will I go to jail?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know. That depends on the Crown Prosecution Service.’
‘But I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t kill anyone. You have to believe me.’ Her voice took on a pleading tone.
‘I know,’ said Banks. Though he didn’t. He didn’t know whether Mia had sneaked up behind Laurence Hadfield on Tetchley Moor and given him a little shove. He would like to think she hadn’t done, but he realised that he might never know for certain. As things stood, both Laurence Hadfield and Adrienne Munro had died by misadventure, and only Sarah Chen had been murdered.
‘Anyway,’ Mia said, turning her head to one side. ‘I’m tired. And I could use that bedpan now.’
Banks would hardly have called the night out at the Queen’s Arms a celebration, but it was tradition to mark the successful conclusion of a case. The whole Eastvale crew was there, such as it was — Annie, Gerry, Winsome, a few of the uniforms, Jazz Singh, Stefan Nowak, Vic Manson and several CSIs — along with Ken Blackstone, DCs Collier and Musgrave and a few other members of his team. Despite the jokes and laughter, such occasions always held a residual sadness for Banks, who couldn’t help but think of, in this case, Adrienne Munro, Sarah Chen and Laurence Hadfield. In a way, the events of that fateful Saturday had been like the perfect storm. Things didn’t need to have happened that way, but they had.
‘Penny for them?’ It was Annie plonking a pint in front of him on the table and sitting down beside him.
‘What? Oh, just the usual, you know.’
Annie nodded and clinked glasses. ‘To the fallen.’
‘To the fallen.’
‘So apart from Randall, nobody killed anybody else?’
‘So it would appear.’
‘What about Mia Carney? Will she do time?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘She’ll have to face some charges, but I’ve talked to Diane from the CPS, and they’ll probably strike some sort of bargain, after everything she’s been through. She might avoid prison. I suppose they could charge her with interfering with a dead body, wasting police time, perverting the course of justice, tampering with evidence, maybe even pimping and Lord knows what else, if they wanted to make an example of her, but...’
‘But what?’
‘Well, she might have suspected that Randall killed Sarah, but wasn’t involved. She’s not an accessory to murder. And she should have called an ambulance for Laurence Hadfield. I know it sounds trite, but I think she’s learned her lesson. Or a lesson.’
‘Ever the optimist.’
Banks laughed. ‘It’s not often I get called that.’
‘Don’t fancy her, do you?’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Methinks the man doth protest too much.’
‘I like her spirit, that’s all. There’s something refreshing about her. But I don’t like what she does. Anyway, I think she’s found someone else. The last time I went to visit her I saw Leila heading in while I was on my way out. She was carrying a bunch of flowers.’
‘Lucky Mia.’
‘Especially after the way she treated Leila. Still, it takes all sorts.’
Annie clinked glasses again. ‘Spoken like a true wise man.’
‘You pissed already?’
‘Getting there.’
‘How’s Ray?’
‘Haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘Nothing wrong, is there?’
‘No. I just haven’t seen him.’
Winsome wandered over and started talking to Annie. Banks drifted back to his thoughts. The conversations drowned out most of the music, but he could pick out ‘The Maigret Theme’ among the general hubbub. Cyril’s little joke. Though not, apparently. It had disappointed him slightly to find out from one of the temporary barmaids that it was an Internet radio channel and not hand-crafted sixties playlists that Cyril broadcast in the pub. Even so, the music was as good, wherever it came from. One of the Leeds DCs knocked over a pint and everyone cheered. Except Cyril.
‘Keep it down, lads, keep it down,’ he said. And most of those present took note.
Annie turned back to Banks. ‘What do you think about Zelda’s picture, then? Keane?’ she asked.
‘It’s him, without a doubt.’
‘Yes. But what do we do about it?’
‘Haven’t had time to think yet,’ said Banks. ‘Let’s have lunch next week and talk about it.’
‘Fine with me. The sooner we get the bastard, the better. By the way, have you heard from Zelda?’
‘Not since she sent the picture.’
‘Maybe you should introduce her to Mia?’
‘Now that would be an interesting conversation.’
‘Or not.’
Annie went over to join one of the Leeds detectives she’d had her eye on for a while.
Banks turned to Winsome. ‘Is it true?’ he asked.
‘Is what true, guv?’
‘That you’re going to have a baby.’
‘Who told you that?’
Banks put his finger to the side of his nose. ‘I’m a detective, you know.’
Winsome laughed. ‘Between you and me, yes. I’m so excited. But I don’t want the whole station to know yet. It’s early days.’
‘My lips are sealed. Congratulations.’ Banks raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’
Winsome clinked with her diet tonic. ‘I’ll confess I’m a bit scared, too.’
‘That’s not unreasonable. I was just thinking I’ll be down another officer soon. There’ll only be me, Annie and Gerry left. Some Homicide and Major Crimes Unit.’
‘I’ll be around for a while yet, guv, don’t you worry, and I’m sure HR will do something about finding a replacement for Doug.’
Banks got up and circulated among the crowd, offering congratulations here and there. At the bar, he bought another couple of pints and took one over to Annie, deep in conversation with her Leeds detective, then leaned back against the bar to survey the scene. They had already scared off most of the locals and tourists, so they practically had the place to themselves. Cyril was used to it, so he wasn’t going to complain unless someone broke another glass. Banks looked out of one of the clear panes in the window across from the bar. The Christmas lights twinkled outside in the market square, and there were a few people standing outside around the pubs and restaurants enjoying the festive spirit, despite the drizzle and the winter chill.
He thought of Mia Carney and how foolish she had been. Had she really learned her lesson? Does anyone, ever? Wouldn’t she be back at the same game again as soon as she recovered her health? He had to admit that he didn’t know the answers, only that he didn’t believe jail would do her a great deal of good. She had almost died, after all, and Randall’s assault had left her with permanent, if not fatal, cardiac damage. And he wished her good luck with Leila.
Then he thought of Adrienne Munro, whom he had never known, who was so desperate for money to get through her studies and save the world from famine that she had prostituted herself. He assumed that he would never really know whether she had deliberately taken that overdose of Mandrax or simply tried to sedate herself enough to be able to handle what lay ahead that night, and drastically miscalculated. It was easy to do, according to Dr Glendenning, even if you knew something about drugs, which Adrienne didn’t. There were still so many unknowns in the case, and they were likely to remain unknown. The one certainty was that Sarah Chen had been murdered, and Anthony Randall was going down for it. The skin under Sarah’s fingernails had nailed him, along with the minute traces of her blood the CSIs had found in his drains.