‘Nothing. Like I said, I didn’t like the look of him, and I don’t like to give out that kind of information about my customers on spec. You never know who you’re telling, do you? Could be planning on burgling the place. Or raping her or something. I don’t know Ray and his missus very well, but they come in here for a drink or two now and then, and they always seemed nice enough to me. This bloke looked like trouble, and Mrs. Cabbot, well, she’s an attractive woman, out there on her own sometimes... you know. Like I said, you never know what someone has in mind.’
‘That was good thinking,’ said Banks. ‘You did the right thing.’
‘Seems as if he found her, anyway, doesn’t it? Maybe I should have reported it straight away. At least told Ray and Zelda, given them a chance.’
‘Not your fault.’ He must have asked someone else, Banks thought, or driven around until he saw the name on the front of the cottage. Then when he’d found it, he staked out the place from the hollow over the weekend before making his move, probably after seeing Ray leave in the late afternoon. There would be an accomplice somewhere, too. Maybe someone had seen him out on the moorland? You tended to get quite a few ramblers out there on weekends.
‘Did you see his car?’
‘No.’
‘I did,’ came a voice from the left.
Banks turned. ‘And you are?’
‘Kit. Kit Riley.’
‘Kit’s a regular,’ Mick Slater said.
Banks looked more closely. Kit was an elderly man, a bit dishevelled in a grubby, striped rugby shirt, baggy brown cord trousers, and a leather gilet, despite the weather. His white hair stuck out at all angles, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in a week. He had the weather-beaten complexion of a lifelong farmer.
‘You saw the car?’ Banks said.
‘Aye. I were just leaving, like, and he pushed past me, rude as can be. Foreigners. Sooner we’re shut of ’em, the better.’
‘But you did see his car?’
‘Oh, aye.’ Kit paused and glanced down at his glass, which was almost empty.
Banks sighed. Everyone had watched too much television these days, it seemed, and expected something in return for whatever information they gave the police.
Banks nodded to Mick Slater. ‘Give him what he wants.’
‘Ooh, ta very much. I’ll have a whisky, please, Micky, my boy. A double.’
Slater poured the drink. When Banks reached for his wallet, the landlord shook his head, as if to indicate he’d bear the expense. ‘No, it’s only fair,’ said Banks, passing some money over. Slater shrugged and got the change from the till.
‘Right then, Kit,’ said Banks, after Riley had taken his first sip and smacked his lips. ‘What kind of car was it?’
Riley sipped some more whisky theatrically before saying, ‘It were a Ford Fiesta.’
‘You’re sure?’ Banks asked, heart sinking.
‘I know my cars,’ said Riley. ‘I tell you, it were a Ford Fiesta.’
Only the most popular car in the country, with about 100,000 registrations last year alone. ‘What colour was it?’
‘Dark green. Or blue. Hard to tell.’
‘You didn’t get the number, by any chance?’
‘Stopped writing down car numbers when I was twelve,’ Riley replied.
Banks felt a memory rise up from deep in his mind. Sitting on the secondary modern school wall by the main road junction with his best friends, Steve and Paul, writing down the makes and numbers of cars that went by. He must have been about ten or eleven. Why on earth had he thought to do something as pointless as that? Probably because his friends did. But it wasn’t even as serious a pastime as trainspotting, standing at the end of a windy platform in the rain jotting down train names and numbers, then going home and neatly crossing them off in your book with pencil and ruler. There was no book of car numbers, as far as he knew, only pictures and descriptions of models in the Observer’s Book of Automobiles.
It was a pity that Kit Riley had given up the practice so early. Inquiries about a dark Ford Fiesta wouldn’t get very far. It was clear that whoever was looking for Zelda had made no effort to hide the fact. He had gone into the pub on the village high street, obviously rather exotic in his bling, and described Zelda to the landlord. So he clearly wasn’t worried about his description being circulated. Why? Did he think the police were too stupid to trace him? Was he so confident and arrogant that he could afford to do what he wanted right under their noses? Banks had known plenty of criminals who were, who would think nothing of walking into their local, shooting someone they had a grudge against and walking out again. And how did the man know what Zelda looked like unless he knew her? He must have seen her somewhere, or at least seen a photograph of her.
‘Is that all?’ he asked Kit.
‘Aye. Oh, there’s one more thing.’ Kit glanced down at his empty glass.
Banks ignored the gesture. ‘Go on. Tell,’ he said.
Riley seemed disappointed, but he knew when he’d gone too far. ‘There were another bloke with him. Waiting in the car, like. I didn’t get a good look at him, but it wasn’t someone I’d care to meet in a dark ginnel, I can tell you that much.’
9
Ray looked terrible, Annie thought, when he answered the door to Banks’s cottage. And it was hard not to feel hurt at the expression of disappointment that crept over his features when he saw her. She wouldn’t deny that there were ‘issues’ between her and Zelda, but that didn’t mean she wished her any harm. Whatever Annie thought of Ray’s choice of partner, he clearly loved Zelda, and it was good for him to have someone to share his life with. If only she weren’t so damned young and attractive. It was hard to trust anyone as beautiful as her, and Annie lived in fear that she would run off with some young stud and break Ray’s heart. Literally.
‘Annie,’ he said. ‘I thought... Is there any news?’
‘Sorry.’
For a few moments they just stood there staring at one another, then they hugged, long and hard, Ray sobbing on Annie’s shoulder. A little embarrassed, they moved apart and Annie followed Ray through the front room and down the hall, watching his elbows move as he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, then through Banks’s kitchen and conservatory. ‘I was sitting out back,’ he said.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘I’m not very good company right now, but you’re quite welcome.’
Annie smiled. ‘Oh, Dad, I didn’t expect you to be good company. After all, it’s not often you are.’ She hardly ever called him ‘Dad’ or ‘Father,’ but he didn’t react when she did this time. Nor did he react to her little tease.
‘My house is swarming with coppers,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be respectful.’
They sat down. ‘Want a drink?’ Ray asked.
‘No, thanks. I’m not stopping long. Alan told me you were here, and I wanted to see how you’re doing.’
Ray spread his arms, then started rolling a cigarette. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘as you can see.’
‘We’ll find her,’ Annie said.
‘I think I might have one. A drink, that is.’ He left his unlit cigarette on the table and disappeared inside, emerging a few seconds later with a tumbler of whisky.
Annie felt like telling him to take it easy with the booze, but she held her tongue. It would only antagonise him. And maybe a drop or two of whisky wasn’t such a bad idea for him at the moment. ‘I know you think I don’t like Zelda,’ she said, ‘and I know we got off on the wrong foot, but just put it down to me being silly, my silly feelings. And being overprotective of you. You know I want you to be happy, and if she makes you happy—’
‘She does,’ Ray said. ‘You have no idea. Since your mother...’