‘Suspicious?’ said Litton. ‘In what way? This has gone far enough. What you’re implying is absurd. Thousands of people live in this town, and my sister-in-law doesn’t know all of them. And as for the population of North America — well, I suggest you work out the odds on that one yourself. Besides, why should she know a bloody college teacher who was fired for, what did you say, sexual misconduct? It’s ridiculous. Are you suggesting that my sister-in-law is lying? That she was somehow responsible for this man’s death?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Banks. He turned back to Lady Chalmers. ‘I’d just like to know why you’re not telling me the whole truth.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Nathan, getting authoritatively to his feet. ‘This is nothing but a mass of coincidences and circumstance. I don’t know how you dare suggest such things.’ He glanced at Lady Chalmers and Sir Anthony, then back to Banks and Annie. ‘And now, Mr Banks, Ms Cabbot, I think it’s time for you to go. I’m sure you can find your own way out.’
Not inclined to give Nathan any kind of concession, Banks ignored him and asked Lady Chalmers, ‘What are you hiding? Why don’t you want to admit to knowing Gavin Miller? Was he blackmailing you?’
‘Because I don’t know him! Didn’t know him. Why can’t you just believe me and leave me alone?’ Her eyes were pleading. She turned away. ‘I’ve got nothing more to say on the matter. If you want to talk to me any further, you’ll have to arrest me and take me down to the station, or whatever it is you people do.’
‘I don’t think we’ve quite got to that point yet,’ said Annie.
Lady Chalmers shot her a glance. ‘Then perhaps you should leave.’
Anthony Litton walked over to Lady Chalmers and rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘I think my sister-in-law is right,’ he said. ‘You’re bullying her, and you’ve got no proof of anything. She’s had enough. She’s upset. It’s time for you to leave. She clearly had nothing to do with this man.’
There was no Oriana to lead them back across the broad chequered floor this time. They had definitely gone down in the world, Banks thought as they got back in the car.
Winsome had decided to take Gerry Masterson with her to interview Beth Gallagher because the young DC needed the experience, and Gerry had located both Beth and Kayleigh for her. Kayleigh Vernon was a researcher at the new BBC studio complex on Salford Quays. They would talk to her later. Beth Gallagher, whom they were on their way to see at the moment, had moved to London to work for a TV production company, but she was presently assigned to a TV police drama near Thornfield Reservoir. Gerry had told her that Beth was a floor runner, which Winsome guessed was a sort of gofer or general dogsbody.
The flooding wasn’t too bad on the road out of Harrogate towards Thornfield Reservoir, apart from a deceptively deep puddle every now and then, when the car sent sheets of water whooshing up on either side. Luckily, there was never anyone walking by the roadside so far from civilisation. Gerry had got good directions over the phone, and she seemed to be a decent enough driver, even if she did go too fast on occasion, Winsome thought as they followed the makeshift signs to the base unit.
The reservoir appeared below them, beyond the woods that straggled down the hillside. It was full almost to the brim, and there were no signs of the village that used to be there, cupped in the hollow. Winsome vaguely remembered Banks telling her once about an old case there, before her time, when the water had dried up one summer and revealed the remains of an old village, including a body that dated back the Second World War. Not much chance of it drying up these days, she thought.
Just past the eastern end of the reservoir, the road dipped down into a vale and a sign on a tree showing an arrow pointing left directed them through the farm gate and into the field the TV people were using as their base camp. It was filled with caravans, trailers, vans and cars, people wandering everywhere, like an encampment of Travellers. At the centre of it all stood a blue double-decker bus, which seemed to have been converted into a canteen. The gate was closed, and a rent-a-guard asked them their business and examined their identification before opening it for them.
Winsome suggested that they park close to the gate to avoid getting the car too bogged down in the mud, which was churned up and glistening everywhere. There had not been enough heat recently to allow the water to evaporate from the rain-soaked earth. Anticipating the lie of the land, Gerry had put their wellies in the back of the car, and they struggled to get them on before stepping out. Winsome’s felt half a size too small. The mud squelched unpleasantly beneath her feet, like the slippery innards of some slaughtered farmyard animal.
They walked towards the first group of caravans and saw a row of several trailers with the actors’ names on the doors. The star’s was the largest, of course; it seemed quite luxurious from the outside, big enough for an en suite, Winsome thought. The people they passed paid them no attention, as if they were used to strangers wandering around their camp. Winsome accosted a bearded young man in torn jeans and a woolly jumper and asked him where they could find the floor runner.
‘Probably running somewhere,’ he said. When Winsome didn’t respond to his attempt at humour, he pointed to a white caravan not far from the bus. ‘That’s the office,’ he said, and went on his way.
Winsome and Gerry squelched on towards the caravan and knocked on the door. Though they had talked to the line producer, they hadn’t called Beth Gallagher to let her know they were coming because Winsome stressed the need for the element of surprise. If Beth had lied or was keeping something back, then they didn’t want to give her time to fabricate a story or bolster it up or, worse, run away. There was no answer.
‘If you’re looking for Beth,’ said a young woman passing by, ‘she’s just gone out to the shooting location to deliver some script revisions to the AD.’
‘AD?’
‘Sorry. Assistant director. Anyway, it’s open. You can wait inside for her if you want. She shouldn’t be long.’
Winsome thanked her, and they scraped the mud off their boots as best they could on the metal steps and went inside. Someone had placed a sheet of cardboard just inside the door, and it was covered with muddy footprints. The office was heated by a small electric fire, turned off at the moment. There were two desks, both of them rather messy, and the walls were plastered with schedules, notes and photos of the cast. There was a battered sofa against the only free wall, and they both sat down.
It was only about ten minutes or so before the door opened, during which time Gerry had played a game of Solitaire on her smartphone and Winsome had gone over her notes for the interview. The woman who came in would have been about Beth’s age, and they confirmed that it was indeed her. She seemed surprised to see them waiting, and then nervous when she found out who they were. She was taller than Winsome had expected, long-legged, with her jeans tucked into her wellies, and full-breasted under the tight sweater, with an oval face framed in curly chestnut hair. She positively radiated youth and health.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened? Is my dad all right?’
‘Your dad’s fine, as far as we know,’ said Winsome. ‘No, it’s about something else entirely.’
Beth sat down on the swivel chair at the desk and swung it around so she was facing them, stretching out her legs and crossing them. The chair squealed. ‘What is it?’