“Be our guest,” said Banks. “But later. There’s a few other things to deal with first.”
Poole frowned. “Oh? Like what?”
“Like why did you run?”
“That’s a daft question. You’d bloody run if you had a mob like that after you.”
“Where were you heading?”
“Dunno. Anywhere. I’d got no money so I could hardly stay in a bleeding hotel, could I?”
“What about your mate at the shop?”
“Wasn’t in.”
“What did the mob want with you, Les?”
“It was all that silly bitch Brenda’s fault. Put on a right show, she did, chucking my stuff at me like that. And that’s another thing. I’ll bloody sue her for damage to property.”
“You do that, Les. She’d probably have to sell the telly and that nice little stereo system to pay her costs. Why did they turn on you?”
Les glanced nervously at Gristhorpe, then said to Banks, “Is he going to stay here all the time?”
Banks nodded. “If I can’t get the truth out of you, he takes over. Believe me, you’ll be a lot happier if that never happens. We were talking about your neighbours. Look at me.”
Poole turned back. “Yeah, well, Brenda yelled some stupid things out the window. It was her fault. She could have got me killed.”
“What did she yell?”
Banks could see Poole weighing him up, gauging what he knew already. Finally, he said, “Seeing as she’s probably already told you, it doesn’t matter, does it?” He kept glancing at Gristhorpe out of the corner of his eye.
“It matters a lot,” Banks said. “It’s a very serious allegation, that is, saying you were mixed up with Gemma’s disappearance. They don’t take kindly to child-molesters in prison, Les. This time it won’t be as easy as your other stretches inside. Why don’t you tell us what you know?”
Poole finished his tea and reached for the pot. Banks let him pour another large mug. “Because I don’t know anything,” he said. “I told you, Brenda was out of line.”
“No smoke without fire, Les.”
“Come on, Mr Banks, you know me. Do I look like a child- molester?”
“How would I know? What do you think they look like? Ogres with hairs growing out of their noses and warts on their bald heads? Do you think they go around carrying signs?”
“She was trying to stir it, to wind me up. Honest. Ask her. Ask her if she really thinks I had anything to do with it.”
“I have, Les.”
“Yeah? And what did she say?”
“How did you feel when she told you Gemma had been abducted?”
“Feel?”
“Yes, Les. It’s something people do. Part of what makes them human.”
“I know what it means. Don’t think I don’t have feelings.” He paused, and gulped down more tea. “How did I feel? I dunno.”
“Were you upset?”
“Well, I was worried.”
“Were you surprised?”
“Course I was.”
“Did anything spring to mind, anything to make you wonder maybe about what had happened?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do, Les.”
Banks looked over at Gristhorpe, who nodded grimly.
Poole licked his lips again. “Look, what’s going on here? You trying to fit me up?”
Banks let the silence stretch. Poole squirmed in his hard chair. “I need a piss,” he said finally.
Banks stood up. “Come on, then.”
They walked down the corridor to the gents and Banks stood by the inside of the door while Poole went to the urinal.
“Tell us where Gemma is, Les,” Banks said, as Poole relieved himself. “It’ll save us all a lot of trouble.”
All of a sudden, the stall door burst open. Poole turned. A red-faced giant in a rumpled grey suit with short fair hair and hands like hams stood in front of him. Poole pissed all over his shoes and cursed, cringing back against the urinal, holding his arms out to ward off an attack.
“Is that him?” the giant said. “Is that the fucking pervert who—”
Banks dashed over and held him back. “Jim, don’t. We’re still questioning—”
“Is that the fucking pervert or isn’t it?”
Hatchley strained to get past Banks, who was backing towards the door with Poole scrabbling behind him. “Get out, Les,” Banks said. “While you can. I’ll keep him back. Go on. Hurry!”
They backed into the corridor and two uniformed constables came to hold Hatchley, still shouting obscenities. Banks put a protective arm around Poole and led him back to the interview room. On the way, they passed Susan Gay, who looked at Poole and blushed. Banks followed her gaze. “Better zip it up, Les,” he said, “or we’ll have you for indecent exposure as well.”
Poole did as he was told and Banks ushered him back into the room, Hatchley cursing and shouting behind them, held back by the two men.
“What the hell’s going on?” Gristhorpe asked.
“It’s Jim,” Banks explained, sitting Poole down again. “You know what he’s been like since that bloke interfered with his little girl.”
“Aye,” said Gristhorpe, “but can’t we keep a leash on him?”
“Not easy, sir. He’s a good man. Just a bit unhinged at the moment.”
Poole followed the exchange, paling.
“Look,” he said, “I ain’t no pervert. Tell him. Keep him away from me.”
“We’ll try,” Banks said, “but we might have a hard time getting him to believe us.”
Poole ran a hand through his greasy hair. “All right,” he said. “All right. I’ll tell you all I know. Okay? Just keep him off me.”
Banks stared at him.
“Then you can tell them all I’m not a pervert and I had nothing to do with it, all right?”
“If that’s the way it turns out. If I believe you. And it’s a big if, Les, after the bollocks you’ve been feeding us this past week.”
“I know, I know.” Poole licked his lips. “Look, first off, you’ve got to believe me, I had nothing to do with what happened to Gemma. Nothing.”
“Convince me.”
Outside, they could hear Hatchley bellowing about what he would do to perverts if he had his way: “I’d cut your balls off with a blunt penknife, I bloody would! And I’d feed them down your fucking throat!” He got close enough to thump at the door and rattle the handle before they could hear him being dragged off still yelling down the corridor. Banks could hardly keep from laughing. Jim and the uniforms sounded like they were having the time of their lives.
“Christ,” said Les, with a shudder. “Just keep him off me, that’s all.”
“So you had nothing to do with Gemma’s disappearance?” Banks said.
“No. See, I used to talk about the kid down the pub, over a jar, like. I admit I wasn’t very flattering, but she was a strange one was Gemma. She could irritate you just by looking at you that way she had, accusing like. Make you feel like dirt.”
“So you complained about your girlfriend’s kid. Nothing odd in that, is there, Les?”
“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? What I’ve been saying. It was just pub talk, that’s all. Now, I never touched her, Mr Banks. Never. Not a word of a lie. But Brenda got pissed off that time after Gemma spilled her paints on my racing form and gave her a bloody good shaking. First time I seen her do it, and it scared me, honest it did. Left big bruises on the kid’s arm. I felt sorry for her, but I’m not her fucking father, what am I supposed to do?”
“Get to the point, Les. Those lads out there can’t hold Sergeant Hatchley down forever.”
“Aye, well, I didn’t exactly tell you the truth before. You see, I did meet this Chivers and his bird a couple of times, with Carl at the pub. Never took to him. She wasn’t a bad-looking bint, mind you. A bit weird, but not bad. He thought I was coming on to her once and warned me, all quiet and civilized, like, that if I went so much as within a yard of her he’d cut off my balls and shove them up my arse.” Poole paused and swallowed. No doubt he was realizing, Banks thought, that threats to his privates were coming thick and fast from all sides. “He gave me the creeps, Mr Banks. There was something not right about him. About the pair of them, if you ask me.”