‘And then Cruikshank came back home?’ Siobhan prompted.
‘Bold as brass, like he owned the place. Figured we should all be scared of him because he’d done prison time. Fuck that...’ Malky examined his empty glass. ‘Anyone for another?’
They shook their heads, so he headed back behind the bar and fetched himself a refill. ‘This is my last today,’ he told himself.
‘Bit of a drink problem in the past?’ Young asked, sounding sympathetic.
‘I used to put a bit away,’ Malky admitted. ‘I’m fine now.’
‘Good to hear it.’
‘Malky,’ Siobhan said, ‘I know Ishbel and Susie wrote some of those things in the toilet, but who else?’
Malky took a deep breath. ‘I’d guess a pal of theirs called Janine Harrison. She was more a pal of Tracy’s, to be honest, but after Tracy died, she started going around with Ishbel and Susie.’ He leaned back, staring at the glass as if willing himself to eke it out. ‘She works at Whitemire.’
‘Doing what?’
‘She’s one of the guards.’ He paused. ‘Did you hear what happened? Someone hanged himself. Christ, if they shut that place...’
‘What?’
‘Banehall was built on coalfields. Only there’s no coal left. Whitemire’s the only employer round here. Half the folk you see — the ones with new cars and satellite dishes — they’ve got something to do with Whitemire.’
‘Okay, so that’s Janine Harrison. Anyone else?’
‘There’s another friend of Susie’s. Right quiet, she is, until the drink hits her...’
‘Name?’
‘Janet Eylot.’
‘And does she work at Whitemire too?’
He nodded. ‘I think she’s one of the secretaries.’
‘They live locally, Janine and Janet?’
He nodded again.
‘Well,’ Siobhan said, having jotted the names down, ‘I don’t know, DI Young...’ She looked at Les Young. ‘What do you think? Do we still need to take Malky in for questioning?’
‘Not right this moment, DS Clarke. But we need his surname and a contact address.’
Malky was happy to provide both.
18
They took Siobhan’s car to Whitemire. Young admired the interior.
‘This is a bit sporty.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘Good, probably...’
A tent had been pitched next to the access road, and its owner was being interviewed by a TV crew, more reporters listening in, hoping for a few useable quotes. The guard at the gate told them it was ‘an even bigger bloody circus’ inside.
‘Don’t worry,’ Siobhan assured him, ‘we’ve brought our leotards.’
Another uniformed guard was there to meet them at the car park. He greeted them coolly.
‘I know this isn’t the best of days,’ Young said consolingly, ‘but we’re working a murder inquiry, so you can appreciate that it couldn’t wait.’
‘Who is it you need to see?’
‘Two members of staff — Janine Harrison and Janet Eylot.’
‘Janet’s gone home,’ the guard said. ‘She was a bit upset at the news...’ He saw Siobhan raise an eyebrow. ‘News of the suicide,’ he clarified.
‘And Janine Harrison?’ she asked.
‘Janine works the family wing... I think she’s on duty till seven.’
‘We’ll talk to her then,’ Siobhan said. ‘And if you could give us Janet’s home address...’
Inside, the corridors and public areas were empty. Siobhan guessed that the inmates were being kept corralled until the fuss had died down. She caught glimpses of meetings behind doors left only slightly ajar: men in suits with grim looks on their faces; women in white blouses and half-moon glasses, pearls around their necks.
Officialdom.
The guard led them to an open-plan office and put in a call to Officer Harrison. While they were waiting, a man walked past, back-tracking so he could ask the guard what was going on.
‘Police, Mr Traynor. About a murder in Banehall.’
‘Have you told them all our clients are accounted for?’ He sounded profoundly irritated by this latest news.
‘It’s just background, sir,’ Siobhan piped up. ‘We’re talking to anyone who knew the victim...’
This seemed to satisfy him. He made a grunting noise and moved off.
‘Brass?’ Siobhan guessed.
‘Second-in-command,’ the guard confirmed. ‘Not having a good day.’
The guard left the room when Janine Harrison appeared. She was in her mid-twenties with short dark hair. Not tall, but with some muscle beneath the uniform. Siobhan would guess she worked out, maybe did martial arts or the like.
‘Sit down, will you?’ Young offered, having introduced himself and Siobhan.
She stayed standing, hands behind her back. ‘What’s this about?’
‘It’s about the suspicious death of Donny Cruikshank,’ Siobhan said.
‘Somebody nailed him — what’s suspicious about that?’
‘You weren’t a fan of his?’
‘A man who rapes a drunk teenager? No, you couldn’t call me a fan.’
‘The local pub,’ Siobhan prompted, ‘graffiti in the ladies’ loo...’
‘What about it?’
‘You contributed a little something of your own.’
‘Did I?’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Might’ve done, I suppose... female solidarity and all that.’ She gave Siobhan a look. ‘He raped a young girl, beat her up. And now you’re going to knock yourself out trying to pin someone down for getting rid of him?’ She gave a slow shake of her head.
‘No one deserves to be murdered, Janine.’
‘No?’ Harrison sounded doubtful.
‘So which one did you write? “Dead Man Walking” maybe? Or how about “Claimed in blood”?’
‘I honestly don’t remember.’
‘We might ask for a specimen of your writing,’ Les Young interrupted.
She shrugged. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘When did you last see Cruikshank?’
‘About a week ago in the Bane. Playing pool by himself, because no one would give him a game.’
‘I’m surprised he drank there, if he was such a hate figure.’
‘He liked it.’
‘The pub?’
Harrison shook her head. ‘All the attention. Didn’t seem to bother him what kind it was, as long as he was at the centre...’
From the little Siobhan had seen of Cruikshank, she could accept this. ‘You were a friend of Tracy’s, weren’t you?’
Harrison wagged a finger. ‘I know who you are now. You hung around with Tracy’s mum and dad, went to her funeral.’
‘I didn’t really know her.’
‘But you saw what she’d been through.’ Again the tone was accusatory.
‘Yes, I saw,’ Siobhan said quietly.
‘We’re police officers, Janine,’ Young interrupted. ‘It’s our job.’
‘Fine... so go and do your job. Just don’t expect too much help.’ She brought her arms out from behind her back and folded them across her chest, creating a picture of hardened resolve.
‘If there’s anything you can tell us,’ Young persisted, ‘best we should hear it from your own lips.’
‘Then hear this — I didn’t kill him, but I’m glad he’s dead all the same.’ She paused. ‘And if I had killed him, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.’
A few seconds of silence followed, then Siobhan asked: ‘How well do you know Janet Eylot?’
‘I know Janet. She works here... That’s her chair you’re sitting in.’ She nodded towards Young.
‘What about socially?’
Harrison nodded.
‘You go out drinking?’ Siobhan prompted.
‘Occasionally.’
‘Was she with you in the Bane the last time you saw Cruikshank?’