“All this from the parish magazine?”
“Well, I’m embroidering just a little. But it’s remarkably informative, don’t you think? I mean, it’s easy enough to joke about how petty the news items they publish are at the time – you know, like ‘Farmer Jones loses sheep in winter storm’ – but when you’re looking back into something like this, it’s a real treasure trove. Unfortunately, they also stopped publication early in 1942. Paper shortage again.”
“Pity. Go on.”
“That’s about it, really. Gloria married the Shackletons’ eldest child, Matthew. He was twenty-one and she was nineteen. He had a younger sister called Gwynneth. I assume she was the same one who witnessed the marriage.”
“What became of her?”
“She was still around in the last issue, March 1942, as far as I know. Wrote a little piece on growing your own onions, in fact.”
“How fascinating. What about Matthew?”
“The last time he was mentioned he was shipping overseas.”
“Where?”
“Didn’t say. Secret, I suppose.”
“Any idea where any of these people moved when they cleared out of Hobb’s End?”
“No. But I did ring Ruby Kettering. She knows two people still living who lived in Hobb’s End during the war. There’s Betty Goodall, who lives in Edinburgh, and Alice Poole in Scarborough. She thinks they’d be thrilled to talk to us.”
“Okay. Look, I’ve decided to send DS Hatchley to Saint Catherine’s House tomorrow. Which do you fancy: Edinburgh or Scarborough?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Anything’s better than checking birth, death and marriage records.”
“I’ll toss for it. Heads or tails?”
“How can I trust you over the telephone?”
“Trust me. Heads or tails?”
“This is crazy. Heads.”
Annie paused a moment and heard a sound like a coin clinking on a metal desk. She smiled to herself. Insane. Banks came back on. “It was heads. Your choice.”
“I told you, it doesn’t really matter. I’ll take Scarborough, though, if you insist. I like the seaside there, and it’s not as far to drive.”
“Okay. If I get an early-enough start I can be up to Edinburgh and back by early evening. Plenty of time for us to compare notes. I’d like to get something on tonight’s news, first.”
“Like what?”
“I want to put Gloria’s name out there, see if anything comes back. I know we might be jumping the gun, but you never know. We’ve got no idea what happened to the Shackletons, and Gloria may have had family in London who are still alive. They might know what happened to her. Or, if we’re wrong about it all, she might drop by the station herself and let us know she’s still alive.”
Annie laughed. “Right.”
“Anyway, I’ll try local television. That way I can get them to show the postcard.”
“What? Nudity on the local news?”
“They can crop it.”
“Let me know what time you’ll be on.”
“Why?”
“So I can set my VCR. Bye.”
“So Jimmy Riddle thinks he’s dropped you in the shit with this one, then?” said DS Hatchley, after swallowing his first bite of toasted tea cake.
“To put it succinctly, yes,” said Banks. “I think he was also pretty sure this case wouldn’t involve race relations or any of his rich and influential friends from the Lodge.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Hatchley said. “I’d imagine quite a few of them have got skeletons in their cupboards.”
“Ouch.”
They were sitting in the Golden Grill, just across the street from Eastvale Divisional HQ. Outside, Market Street was packed with tourists, jackets or cardigans slung over their shoulders, cameras around their necks. Like sheep up on the unfenced moorland roads, they strayed all over the narrow street. The local delivery vans had to inch through, horns blaring.
Most of the tables were already taken, but they had managed to find one near the back. Once the two of them had sat down and given their orders to the bustling waitress, Banks told Hatchley about the skeleton. By the time he had finished, their order arrived.
Banks knew his sergeant had a reputation as an idle sod and a thug. His appearance didn’t help. Hatchley was big, slow-moving and bulky, like a rugby prop forward gone to seed, with straw hair, pink complexion, freckles and a piggy nose. His suits were shiny, ties egg-stained, and he usually looked as if he had just been dragged through a hedge backward. But it had always been Banks’s experience that once Hatchley got his teeth into something, he was a stubborn and dogged copper, and damned difficult to shake off. The problem lay in getting him motivated in the first place.
“Anyway, we think we know who the victim was, but we want to cover all possibilities. What I’d like you to do is take PC Bridges and go down to London tomorrow. Here’s a list of information I’d like.” Banks passed over a sheet of paper.
Hatchley glanced at it, then looked up. “Can’t I take WPC Sexton instead?”
Banks grinned. “Ellie Sexton? And you a married man. I’m ashamed of you, Jim.”
Hatchley winked. “Spoilsport.”
Banks looked at his watch. “Before you go, could you put out a nationwide request for information on similar crimes in the same time period? This is a bit tricky because it’s an old crime and they’ll drag their feet. But there’s a chance someone might have something unsolved with a similar MO on the books. I’ll put someone on checking our local records, too.”
“You think this was part of a series?”
“I don’t know, Jim, but what Dr. Glendenning told me about the manner of death made me think I shouldn’t overlook that possibility. I’ve also asked the SOCOs to broaden their search to include the general Hobb’s End area. Given what I’ve just heard from Dr. Glendenning about the way she died, I wouldn’t like to think we’re sitting on another 25 Cromwell Street without knowing it.”
“I’m sure the press would have a field day with that,” said Hatchley. “They could call it the Hobb’s End House of Horrors. Nice ring to it.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Aye.” Hatchley paused and finished his tea cake. “This DS Cabbot you’re working with down Harkside,” said Hatchley. “I don’t think I’ve come across him yet. What’s he like?”
“She’s pretty new around here,” Banks said. “But she seems to be working out okay.”
“She?” Hatchley raised his eyebrows. “Bit of all right, then?”
“Depends on your type. Anyway, you seem to be showing a dangerous interest in these things for a man with a wife and child of his own. How are Carol and April, by the way?”
“They’re fine.”
“Over the teething?”
“A long time ago, that were. But thanks for asking, sir.”
Banks finished his tea cake. “Look, Jim,” he said, “if I’ve been a bit distant this past while, you know, haven’t shown much interest in you and your family, it’s just that… well, I’ve had a lot of problems. There’s been a few changes. A lot to get used to.”
“Aye.”
Bloody hell, Banks thought. Aye. The word with a thousand meanings. He struggled on. “Anyway, if you thought I ignored you or cut you out in any way, I apologize.”
Hatchley paused for a moment, eyes everywhere but on Banks. Finally, he clasped his hamlike hands on the red-and-white-checked tablecloth, still avoiding eye contact. “Let’s just forget about it, shall we, sir. Water under the bridge. We’ve all had our crosses to bear these past few months, maybe you more than most of us. Talking of crosses, I suppose you’ve heard they’re changing our name to Crime Management?”
Banks nodded. “Yes.”
Hatchley mimicked picking up a telephone. “Good morning, Crime Management here, madam. How can we help you? Not enough crime in your neighborhood. Dear, dear. Well, yes, I’m certain there’s some to spare on the East Side Estate. Yes, I’ll look into it right away and see if I can get some sent over by this afternoon. Bye-bye, madam.”
Banks laughed.