Brenda Scupham shot him a mean look, then turned to Banks. “Leave him alone. He’s not done anything. He might not be much, but he’s all I’ve got. I asked you, have you found my Gemma yet?”
“No,” said Banks, turning from Poole. “No, we haven’t.”
“Well, what do you want? More questions?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Brenda Scupham sighed and sat down. “I don’t know where this is going to get us.”
“I need to know more about Gemma’s habits, for a start.”
“What do you mean, habits?”
“Her routines. How did she get to school?”
“She walked. It’s not far.”
“Alone?”
“No, she met up with the Ferris girl from over the street and the Bramhope kid from two houses down.”
“Did she come home with them, too?”
“Yes.”
Banks made a note of the names. “What about lunch-time?”
“School dinners.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“The school’s not far away. Surely it’d have saved you a penny or two if she came home for lunch?”
Brenda Scupham shrugged. “She said she liked school dinners.”
“Did she ever say anything about anyone following her or stopping her in the street?”
“Never.”
“And she wasn’t out on her own?”
“No. She was always with her friends, whether she was off to school or playing out. Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Brenda, I’m trying to figure out why Gemma’s abductors came to the house rather than snatching her in the street. Surely she must have been alone out there at some time?”
“I dare say. She’d nip to the shop now and then. You can’t keep your eyes on them every minute of the day. She is seven, you know. She knows to look right before left when she’s crossing the street, and not to take sweets from strangers.” When she realized what she’d said, she put her hand to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry if this is painful for you,” Banks said, “but it is important.”
“I know.”
“Was Gemma a happy child, would you say?”
“I suppose so. They live in their own worlds, don’t they?”
“Would she be given to exaggeration, to lying?”
“Not that I know of, no.”
“It’s just that I heard a story about Les here throwing some of Gemma’s books out. Does that mean anything to you?”
Les Poole sat up and turned to Banks. “What?”
“You heard, Les. What’s so important about her spilling paint on your paper at two-thirty?”
Poole looked puzzled for a few seconds, then he laughed out loud. “Who told you that?”
“Never mind. What’s it all about?”
He laughed again. “It was the two-thirty. The two-thirty from Cheltenham. Silly little bugger spilled coloured water all over my racing form. You know, the jar she’d been dipping her bloody paint-brush in.”
“And for that you threw her books out?”
“Don’t be daft. They were just some old colouring books. She was painting in them on the other side of the table and she knocked her paint jar over and ruined my bloody paper. So I grabbed the books and tore them up.”
“How did she react?”
“Oh, she whined and sulked for a while.”
“Did you ever grab her hard by the arm?”
“No, I never touched her. Just the books. Look, what’s all this—”
“Why wouldn’t you get her the new book she wanted?”
Poole sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. “Couldn’t afford it, could we? You can’t give kids everything they ask for. You ought to know that if you’ve got kids of your own. Look, get to the point, Mr Banks. I might not have had much time for the little beggar but I didn’t run off with her, did I? We’re the victims, not the criminals. I think it’s about time you realized that.”
Banks looked at him, and Poole quickly averted his gaze. It made Banks think of his first lesson in police thinking. He had been involved in interviewing a petty thief about a burglary in Belsize Park, and he came away convinced that the man hadn’t committed it. Surprised to see the charges being laid and the evidence gathered, he had mentioned his doubts to his commanding officer. The man, a twenty-year veteran called Bill Carstairs, had looked at Banks and shaken his head, then he said, “He might not have done this job, but he sure as hell has done something he ought to be put away for.” Looking at Poole made Banks feel the same way. The man was guilty of something. If he had nothing to do with Gemma’s disappearance, or even with the Fletcher’s warehouse job, he was still guilty of something.
Banks turned back to Brenda Scupham.
“You think we abused Gemma, don’t you?” she said.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been listening to gossip. Probably gossip from kids, at that. Look, I’ll admit I didn’t want her. I was twenty-one, the last thing I wanted was to be lumbered with a kid, but I was brought up Catholic, and I couldn’t get rid of her. I might not be the best mother on earth. I might be selfish, I might not be up to encouraging her in school and paying as much attention to her as I should. I’m not even a very good house-keeper. But all that… I mean, what I’m saying is I never abused her.”
It was an impassioned speech, but Banks got the feeling that she was protesting too much. “What about Les?” he asked.
She glanced over at him. “If he ever touched her he knows he’d be out of here before his feet could touch the floor.”
“So why did you give her up so easily?”
Brenda Scupham chewed on her lip and fought back the tears. “Do you think I haven’t had it on my mind night and day since? Do you think there’s a moment goes by I don’t ask myself the same question?” She shook her head. “It all happened so fast.”
“But if you hadn’t abused Gemma in any way, why didn’t you just tell Mr Brown and Miss Peterson that and send them away?”
“Because they were the authorities. I mean, they looked like they were and everything. I suppose I thought if they’d had some information then they had to look into it, you know, like the police. And then when they found there was nothing in it, they’d bring Gemma back.”
“Did Gemma go willingly?”
“What?”
“When she left with them, did she cry, struggle?”
“No, she just seemed to accept it. She didn’t say anything.”
Banks stood up. “That’s it for now,” he said. “We’ll keep you informed. If you remember anything, you can report it at the mobile unit at the end of the street.”
Brenda folded her arms and nodded. “You make me feel like a criminal, Mr Banks,” she said. “It’s not right. I’ve tried to be a good mother. I’m not perfect, but who is?”
Banks paused at the door. “Mrs Scupham,” he said, “I’m not trying to prove any kind of case against you. Believe it or not, all the questions I ask you are to do with trying to find Gemma. I know it seems cruel, but I need to know the answers. And if you think about it for a while, considering how many other children there are on this estate, and all over Swainsdale, and how many of them really are abused, there’s a very important question needs answering.”
Brenda Scupham’s brow furrowed, and even Poole glanced over from his fireside seat.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Why Gemma?” Banks said, and left.
THREE
I
Marjorie Bingham lingered behind the others on the narrow track and kicked at small stones as she walked. She could hear her husband’s muffled voice, carried back on the breeze, as he explained the history of Dales lead mining to Andrew and Jane.