‘Always was. In his own world. What things might Zelda need to escape from?’
‘I think it’s something to do with what she wouldn’t tell me. Someone was after her. She was always looking over her shoulder.’ He laughed. ‘You know what they say: just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody following you.’
‘Who?’
‘That I don’t know. I have my suspicions. It was probably someone from her past. Tadić, maybe. But I’ve no idea why. She’s either crossed someone, or she knows something they’re afraid she’ll tell. The only good news is that they took her alive. They didn’t leave her in her studio beaten or dead, and they didn’t appear to have tortured her. That means there’s a good chance that she might still be alive. I’m hoping the door-to-door and forensics on the studio will give us some sort of a lead. The only trouble is that forensics can sometimes take a long time, and time is one thing we don’t have. All we know right now is that there was a struggle and they drove off to the west, on that unfenced moorland road. That’s an awful lot of area to cover.’
‘Did they take anything?’
‘Not that we can tell. Her computer was still in the studio, and her shoulder bag with her phone, purse, and so on. Passport, too, in a drawer.’
‘Odds are if she did a bunk she’d have taken her passport and money,’ said Annie. ‘She wouldn’t get far without them.’
‘What I thought,’ said Banks.
‘So they’ve probably not taken her out of the country.’
‘Depends who we’re dealing with,’ said Banks. ‘No doubt her old traffickers know safe routes out, as well as in. And if Keane, or Foley, is in with them, he could probably fix up a fake passport quickly enough.’
‘Any forensics yet?’
‘Not much. One of the CSIs found six cigarette ends in a hollow within good viewing distance of Ray and Zelda’s cottage. They’re not Marlboro Gold, which was Zelda’s brand, or Ray’s roll-ups, so whoever took her might have been staking the place out for a while. They’re being analysed.’
‘Have you considered that if Keane is with them, he might also be up here, and you might be in danger? What if he wants to finish what he started?’
‘No, I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Banks. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
Annie slapped his arm. ‘I’m just saying you should be careful, Alan, that’s all. And remember, he’s not alone this time.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ said Annie. ‘Just because I’m not officially allowed near the case, it doesn’t mean I can’t help you if you need me.’
‘Of course not,’ said Banks. ‘I know that and I appreciate it. Just watch yourself, that’s all. AC Gervaise is bound to have her eye on you. And as you know, with Zelda missing and probably in danger, not to mention Ray on my back, I’m going to have to live and breathe this case, but keep me informed on the rape investigation, too. Anything new?’
The music jumped forward a few years to Tim Hardin’s ‘Hang on to a Dream.’ Another tortured soul and heroin casualty.
‘We still haven’t identified the victim,’ Annie said. ‘According to Charlotte Westlake, there were no guest lists for the parties, so we’re still stuck with finding out who was there on the night in question.’
‘Do you think this Charlotte Westlake was involved?’
‘I don’t think she’s telling us everything. Though she could hardly be the rapist — that was a man — and I doubt that she facilitated it. She said she was in Costa Rica at the time of the party, and it’s true. We checked. She says she doesn’t recognise the girl in the photo, but that’s not surprising, given its poor quality.’
‘Could she be lying?’
‘I think she could. There was something a bit suspicious about her reaction to the whole mention of the rape and the minicams.’
‘What do you know about her?’
‘She used to be plain old Christine Pollard from the local comprehensive in Halifax — though I doubt she was ever plain. Then she got into Oxford. Apparently, she was the one in her year to make it. She drifted into events planning, met Gareth Westlake at a function she helped organise for his construction company. That was when she became Charlotte Westlake. Charlotte was her middle name. I guess it sounded a bit posher now she’d gone up in the world and mixed with a different set. Gareth died of leukaemia five years ago, as she told us. No children. Then three years ago she bumped into Blaydon at an opening party for a new shopping development he was involved with — the one before the Elmet, out Selby way. She’d known him vaguely from before, apparently, and he needed a PA. She took the job and the rest is history.’
‘No connections with Gashi or Tadić?’
‘Not that Gerry could find. Not before going to work for Blaydon, at any rate. Not that we expected any.’
‘No form?’
‘None. Again, we didn’t expect any.’
‘So what next?’
‘Gerry’s arranged to talk to her ex-secretary this afternoon. Tamara Collins. She took care of the actual party invitations by text or email. She works for that solicitor’s firm on Market Street now. You know the one, just a few doors down from the Costa Coffee.’
‘I know who you mean,’ said Banks. ‘Proctor, Maddox, and Reaney. I used to walk past there every morning on my way to work, back when Sandra and I were together.’
‘Apparently there were a lot of word-of-mouth invitations, too,’ Annie said. ‘If we can just track down some of the invitees and show them the girl’s picture, someone might remember seeing her and know who she is, or who was with her that night.’
‘I doubt anyone will talk.’
‘But they can’t all have been involved, can they? It was a big party. You’ve seen Blaydon’s mansion, how many rooms there are, with the swimming pool and all. Not all the guests were rapists. It was very late at night. There must be quite a few who don’t know what happened and would be as appalled by the news as Charlotte Westlake said she was. Probably most of them. Maybe they saw the victim around the pool or somewhere, noticed who she was talking to or hanging out with. Maybe someone was bothering her. Maybe she said something to someone.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ said Banks. ‘Good luck.’
Ray Cabbot sat in Banks’s back garden, where they had talked just the previous evening, which seemed a lifetime ago now, and rolled another cigarette. How his whole world had fallen to pieces in such a short time. Shifted and crumbled. He was oblivious to the sunshine, the birds, and the beautiful view. Even the muted strains of David Gilmour’s ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’ coming through the open windows of the conservatory failed to move him or console him in any way. Ever since Banks had left him alone at Newhope Cottage, he had been fighting the urge to attack the collection of single malt whiskies, but had resisted so far. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. Only oblivion could take away the pain of losing Zelda and save him from the terrible images that filled his mind.
Faceless men ripped off her clothes and pawed at her; they stuck knives in her until the blood flowed; they beat her face until it was misshapen and unrecognisable. His beautiful, vulnerable Zelda lay dying with no one to help her, no one to hold her as her last breath ebbed. But it wasn’t just the pain and the violence, it was what she must be feeling that also tore at his heart. The loneliness, the fear, the despair. After all she had been through, had she found herself a captive again in the hands of people who lacked any semblance of empathy? Was she going to die alone and in agony?
Ray had never felt so impotent, so useless, in his life. And their last words to one another had been angry ones. He would never forget the sound of the studio door slamming. Zelda was so rarely angry. Why hadn’t he gone after her? Surely, she would have let him in if he had knocked? Then he could have apologised and comforted her and taken her to Leeds with him and none of this would have happened. She had listened to his lectures before and said she enjoyed them. They could have gone for dinner afterwards, perhaps booked in at the Dakota and made a night of it. Instead he was exiled to Banks’s garden while heavy-handed coppers went through his home and belongings.