‘No, I can’t,’ said Banks.
‘Before that realisation came to me, I never would have said a thing, no matter what I suspected about Gavin’s death. That’s the irony, Mr Banks. If Tony hadn’t tried to kill me, he could have still kept everything he wanted. I would have kept his secret, even if it destroyed my sanity. Now... what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘A detailed forensic examination of your car should be able to link it with the car that nudged you off the road, and tell us whether it was Anthony Litton’s. That’s not enough evidence in itself, though. A good lawyer could argue that you’d been in the same place together all evening, that you could have easily bumped into his car on your way out, for example. And it’s certainly not enough evidence to convict him of Gavin Miller’s murder.’ Even taking into consideration the height of the bridge’s side, Banks thought, this same good lawyer could still make a strong case for accidental death, manslaughter at the most. But if any of that happened, as Lady Chalmers had said, there was every chance that Oliver Litton’s promising future would be ruined, through no fault of his own. Litton was a rare politician in that he was popular with the people and most of his peers. He stood a little to the right of his party, and even the police welcomed some of the reforms he had promised to bring in if he was given the job.
‘Will I go to jail?’
Banks looked out over Eastvale, its beauty spread out below him under the grey sky, his mind working furiously. A cool breeze shook the tops of the trees, and the crows flew off noisily. ‘What for?’ he said. ‘I’d be a liar if I promised I could predict how this is all going to turn out in court, if it ever gets there.’ Then he turned to Lady Chalmers. ‘There is one thing I can promise you, though. I will do my best to see that you don’t go to prison.’ Banks thought of his visit to Kyle McClusky and the sound of heavy doors being locked, weighed it against Veronica’s deceptions and prevarications. ‘I certainly don’t want to see you there. I don’t think you could have foreseen Gavin’s murder. You foolishly protected your brother-in-law, even after you came to suspect him of murder, but that would also be very hard to prove in court. Even if it could be proven, there would no doubt be a great deal of jury sympathy for you. I don’t have anything to arrest you for. Maybe we could make a case out for obstructing the police in their inquiries, wasting police time, failing to register the birth of a child, even aiding and abetting, which is a lot more serious, but then, Anthony and Oliver Litton have powerful friends. You and Sir Jeremy have powerful friends. Who knows what sort of influence could be brought to bear? As a politician, I’m sure that Oliver is also bound to have enemies and rivals, even in his own party, who will be sniffing around for anything that can be used against him. I can’t promise to keep this from the press or the courts, but it’s not my intention to make it public.’
‘But do you have to tell anyone?’
‘I have to tell my boss. She’ll determine what’s to be done then. And what I want you to do is to tell your husband and your children. Oriana, too. They deserve to know. It won’t be easy, but they’re your family. You told me you’d do anything to protect them, and it may seem like this would do just the opposite, but believe me, it won’t. They’ll stand by you. In the end, it will bring you closer and make you stronger.’
‘And Tony? What about him?’
‘I think you’d better leave Mr Litton to me,’ said Banks.
Chapter 14
It was well after dark that Thursday evening, and the fog was thickening fast when Banks arrived at Anthony Litton’s Derbyshire manor house, which was as out of the way as it could be, in that strange no-man’s-land between Buxton and Macclesfield. Though certainly as large and impressive as Brierley, and surrounded by a high wall, the house was older and altogether more heavy and gloomy in its aspect, the dark stone, the brooding gables and squat solidity of its symmetry. Lights were showing in two of the downstairs windows, which meant Banks was probably in luck. He wasn’t entirely certain how to approach Litton, though he had been trying to work out a strategy on the drive down, amply aided by Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony playing loudly on the Porsche’s music system.
Banks pulled up where the drive ended, in front of the door. There was another car parked to his right, a dark Mercedes, in front of the closed garage doors. When he got out and examined it, he noticed that there were deep scratches and a dent on the passenger side. Was Litton so arrogant that he couldn’t even be bothered to put it in the garage, out of sight? Did he have that much confidence in Lady Chalmers’ silence?
Banks rang the bell and waited, surprised when Litton himself answered. He had been expecting a butler or a maid in a house like that. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Litton welcomed him. ‘That detective who was browbeating Ronnie up at Brierley the other day. What are you doing here? What do you want now?’
‘I’d like to talk to you,’ Banks said.
Litton glowered and stood his ground, a stocky, angry figure, then he seemed to relent. He looked over Banks’s shoulder, then right and left. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought you lot always travelled in packs.’
‘Only when we’re hunting dangerous animals.’ Banks had considered bringing Annie or Winsome with him, but had decided he needed discretion more than company at this point.
‘I suppose that ought to reassure me. Come in. You’ve got ten minutes.’ He led Banks into a sitting room that probably had a beautiful view of the surrounding hills in daylight. Now the large picture windows were covered by heavy red velvet curtains. A log fire blazed in the large hearth, though it wasn’t a particularly cold evening, and its flames glinted on the oil paintings that hung on the walls, outlining their relief. Litton sat on a sofa, perching at the edge like a man with little time to spare, and offered nothing in the way of refreshments. That suited Banks just fine. ‘Out with it, man,’ Litton urged.
Banks determined not to be goaded or wound up by Litton’s demeanour. He had the upper hand here, he kept reminding himself. ‘I notice your car has some damage on the passenger side,’ he began.
‘Some of those bloody drystone walls bulge out way too far,’ Litton answered. ‘You know what it’s like. You must have the same problem up in North Yorkshire.’
‘I also know that Lady Veronica Chalmers was forced off the road shortly after she left here in the rain the other night.’
‘Forced? As I understood it, no other car was involved.’
‘That’s not exactly true,’ Banks said. ‘There’s also damage to the driver’s side of her car.’
‘And you think I’m responsible?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be too difficult to match the paint chips.’
‘You’ve got a nerve. And what if you did? Ronnie bumped my car on her way out. I distinctly remember it. She was in a hurry because of the worsening weather. There you are. And where’s your motive?’
‘You killed Gavin Miller, and Lady Chalmers knew about it. You thought you’d convinced her it was an accident, but she still harboured some doubts. After what happened the other night, she has none at all.’
‘Who? That old drunk who fell off the bridge? The one you were harassing Ronnie about?’
‘He wasn’t old. And if he was drunk, you’re the only one who knows it.’
‘Don’t come your clever tricks with me. Why on earth would I kill someone I didn’t even know?’
‘It’s complicated,’ Banks said. ‘But Lady Chalmers now feels certain you did, and that it was you who tried to kill her. That was your mistake, Mr Litton. You went too far.’