“But who are they? Why me? Are you going to arrest them?”
“That’s a lot of questions, and I’m the one supposed to be doing the asking. Did you know that your friend Jaff McCready works for a man called Fanthorpe, better known as The Farmer?”
“Fanthorpe? No. Who’s he?”
“All you need to know is that he’s also the employer of Ciaran and Darren, the men who just paid you a visit. And they may have sup-planted Jaff in Fanthorpe’s favor in recent days.”
Mallory swallowed. Banks could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “They wanted to know where Jaff is. That’s all.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No, I don’t. Honest, I don’t.”
“But you must have some idea. The Ciaran and Darren I know wouldn’t believe that at face value. They’d have cut at least a little finger off, or sharpened it like a pencil, just to make sure, and they don’t really seem to have harmed a hair on your head. All the damage that was done, you did to yourself.”
“They terrorized me! Tortured me. In my own home.”
“My guess is,” Banks went on, “that you talked, and that you talked very quickly indeed. So we’d like you to do the same with us. You owe us that courtesy, at least. I mean, they only tied you up and threatened you with mutilation. We set you free, let you change your wet clothes, gave you a cup of tea and a glass of brandy. You owe us something, Victor. You must see that.”
“You sound just like them.”
“Don’t be silly. Where’s Jaff McCready?”
Victor turned away. “I don’t know.”
“That’s better. Now I know for certain you’re lying. I like to know where I stand.” Banks read out the number of the car that had been found hidden off the moorland road. “That mean anything to you?”
“Yeah. It’s my car.”
“Good. I’m glad you didn’t try to deny that. Now we’re getting somewhere. What was it doing on the moors above Gratly?”
“I don’t even know where Gratly is.”
“That wasn’t my question. How did it get there? And don’t try to tell me it was stolen.”
“Okay, so I lent it to Jaff. I assume you already know that or you wouldn’t be here. So what? He’s a mate of mine. I didn’t know what sort of trouble he was in.”
“But you must have known he was in some trouble?”
“Well, sure. But like I said, he’s a mate. You help out a mate in trouble, don’t you?”
Banks thought of Juliet Doyle, who had turned her daughter in to the police when she found a handgun in her possession. Who was going to help them out of their trouble? “Let’s not get too philosophical about it, Victor. We don’t have time. What else did you ‘lend’ Jaff?”
“Nothing. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Was he with anyone?”
“There was a girl. She stayed outside in his car. I only saw her when they swapped cars and got into mine. He said her name was Francesca.”
“She just stayed outside in the car of her own accord?” Mallory frowned. “Of course. Why not?”
“She didn’t appear under duress or anything?”
“No, not that I could tell.”
Banks could feel Winsome’s gaze on him. He had to tread carefully, he knew, show no emotion. If he used Tracy’s true identity to browbeat Mallory, it could all backfire on him if it came to court. Gervaise had warned him he was on thin ice, and he was already beginning to feel it splintering under his feet. “Did Jaff tell you why he needed to borrow your car?”
“Not specifically, no. He just said he was in a spot of bother and he had to get away. It was only later, when I watched the news…heard about Erin…”
“You know Erin?”
“Met her a couple of times. Crazy bitch. I told him she was trouble.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“Just gave me that knowing smile of his and said he could handle it.”
“Why was she trouble?”
Mallory scratched his temple. “She was dead jealous. Impulsive, fiery. And obsessive, too possessive. It’s a dangerous combination.”
“Sounds like a young woman in love to me,” said Banks.
“But Jaff doesn’t like to be tied down. He likes his freedom. Likes to come and go as he pleases, with whom he wants.”
“So I gather. Did he tell you where he was going?”
Mallory sipped some Rémy and looked away. “Not specifically, no.”
“But he gave you a general idea?”
“Well, he said he needed to lie low for a while, ring a few people and get some business deals organized. He had some bonds he wanted to sell. He said he was going to London, that there was a bloke he knew there in Highgate, name of Justin Peverell. I remember him vaguely from uni, but I wasn’t part of their scene. He was a foreign student, I think. Somewhere in Eastern Europe. Anyway, this Justin can fix things like fake passports and that. I knew Jaff was in with some pretty shady people, but I wasn’t involved in any of that. I didn’t want to know about it.”
“What business deal was he talking about?” Banks asked. “What are these bonds he mentioned? Do you know anything more about this Justin Peverell other than that he lives in Highgate and deals in dodgy passports?”
“No. Honest. That’s all I know. I lent Jaff my car, and he said he was going to London to see Justin. He’d get it back to me somehow, he said, and in the meantime I could use his.”
“Where’s Jaff’s car?”
“In my garage. He asked me to keep it out of sight for a while.”
“Did you tell Ciaran and Darren about Justin?”
“Yes. I had to. They were going to cut me to pieces, man. But I didn’t tell them his last name. I just remembered it.”
So Fanthorpe had almost the same information and about five hours’ start, thought Banks. That didn’t bode well. Fanthorpe would also have the resources to find this Justin-the criminal network. In fact, it would probably be a damn sight easier for him than it would be for Banks if Justin hadn’t registered on the Met’s radar yet. And no doubt Ciaran and Darren were down in Highgate already awaiting instructions. Still, this sounded like the same Justin of whom Erin had spoken, and they not only had his last name, Peverell, but also the name of his girlfriend, Martina. It might just give them the edge they needed. They could check the electoral rolls, the phone book, even. Of course, if Peverell was from Eastern Europe he probably wasn’t using his real name, and if he wasn’t a British citizen or resident, that might make him difficult to track down.
But where the hell were Jaff and Tracy? Banks wondered. They could be in London themselves, by now. They’d certainly had enough time to get there. Victor’s car had been found on the moors only two or three miles from Banks’s cottage where Annie had been shot, and from there on they must have been on foot for a while. They could still be up there, wandering in circles. People had been lost for days on the moors, had died there. It didn’t even take a bad storm or a major snowfall. On the other hand, Tracy knew something of the lie of the land from their walks up there, and if they had got hold of another vehicle they could be anywhere. It was one thing to know where they were going, but it would be much better to know where they were. Especially as Tracy’s value to McCready declined with every mile they got closer to Justin Peverell. Jaff certainly wasn’t going to fork over for two passports. Did he even know who she was? Who her father was? And if he did, how would that affect his strategy?
“I want to know about the gun, Victor,” Banks said.
Mallory seemed nervous. “What gun? All I did was lend my car to a mate in trouble. I don’t know anything about any gun.”
“I don’t know if your last visitors asked you about it or not. They probably weren’t interested once you’d told them about Justin. But I am. Very interested. We don’t know if Jaff had a gun with him when he left his flat, but we think it’s very unlikely, partly because Erin Doyle had already run off with it and her mother had found it and handed it over to us. Which is the main reason why Jaff was running away in the first place. He was certain she’d name him and he didn’t want the police poring over his dodgy business deals. So if he didn’t have two guns at home to start with-and why would he?-then he must have got the second one from you. Stands to reason. As far as we know, this is the only place he stopped before he…” Banks was about to say “went to my house,” but he pulled himself up in time. “Before he went on the run. That gun was used to shoot a policewoman, Victor. The gun we think you gave him. A Baikal, in all likelihood.” And, he might have added, it is probably now being used to threaten my daughter into doing what he wants. “That makes you an accessory.”