“Drugs?”
She laughed. “Oh, yes. Of course. Always drugs.”
“Does Barry deal?”
“No. He just buys.”
“Go on.”
Emily paused. For all her bravado, Banks could tell she had difficulty talking about it. “Barry was weird all evening. I tried to just… you know… stay away from him until his mood had passed, keep my distance, talk to some of the guys in the bands and stuff, but he kept appearing, smiling in that cold way of his, putting his arm around me, touching me… sometimes even squeezing… hurting me…” She drank some of her Snowball, grimaced and said, “I don’t think I like this, after all. Would you get me a lager and lime or something like that? I’m thirsty.”
“I’m not buying you an alcoholic drink, Emily. You’re under age.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m already drinking one, aren’t I?”
“You’re right. I probably shouldn’t even be sitting with you. But I am. If you want me to get you a drink you’ll get a lemonade or a Coke.”
“I won’t tell you the rest of my story.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Bastard. And I thought you were supposed to be my friend.”
Banks said nothing. Emily sashayed to the bar, drawing all the male eyes again. Banks sipped some beer and lit his second cigarette. He was definitely going to make some inquiries into Mr. Barry Clough and his “business” activities over the next few days.
Emily came back with a pint of lager and lime and spilled some as she set it triumphantly on the table. For a while, she didn’t say anything, then she took a long swig, paused and said, “It was pretty late. I don’t know. Two or three in the morning. Everyone was really wasted. I was feeling weird, like someone had put something in my drink. It might have been one of those date-rape drugs I’ve read about, but I’d had so much other stuff I didn’t fall asleep. I just felt strange. Floating. Anyway, Barry took me aside and said there was something he wanted me to do for him.” As she spoke, she looked into her drink and the fingers of her right hand rubbed at the table’s surface. Banks noticed the chewed nails. “He took me upstairs toward one of the bedrooms. I thought he wanted a blow job or something. He sometimes did. I didn’t really want to, I was feeling so spaced out, but… if it would get him off my back for a while… Anyway, it wasn’t that. He opened the bedroom door and there was Andy inside. Anyway, he was stark naked and he… I mean, we’d all been taking V amp; E, so he was, you know, it was…”
“V and E?”
She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Viagra and Ecstasy. Anyway, like I said, he was… like he had a lamppost between his legs. Barry just gave me a push forward and told me to be nice to him, then I heard the door shut. Anyway, when Barry pushed me I fell on the bed and Andy started pulling at my clothes, rubbing against me. It was gross. I might have been stoned, and I’ll admit I’ve not always been a good girl, but this was seriously out of line. I mean, it ought to be my choice who I have sex with, not someone else’s, oughtn’t it? And it wasn’t even him so much. I mean, he was a pathetic creep, but the thought that Barry had given me to him as a sort of punishment for you coming and asking questions… I don’t know. It just made me sick, that’s all.”
She paused to drink some lager and lime. Banks felt his anger rise along with the guilt; it was his arrival that had caused the problems for Emily. He told himself that, no matter what, with someone like Clough she would have got to that point eventually anyway, but it didn’t help right then. He also remembered the night, not so long ago, in a London bistro, when Annie Cabbot had told him about her sexual humiliation at the hands of some CID colleagues. “Who was this Andy? Did you know him?”
“Like I said, I’d seen him around. He’s one of Barry’s gofers. At least I’ve heard Barry telling him off and ordering him to do stuff sometimes. Takes the piss out of him some-thing terrible, too. Andy has a stutter, see. I mean, that was one of the most humiliating things about it. Like, Barry had given me to one of his employees. To someone he thought was a bit of a joke. It made me feel worthless. Like shit.”
“What was his full name?”
“Andrew Handley. But everyone calls him Andy Pandy. Anyway, you know the rest. Or most of it.”
“How did you get away?”
“We struggled. He wasn’t really expecting any resistance, so I just kneed him in the balls and he hit me and let go. The door wasn’t locked. I ran out, downstairs and out of the house without looking back. I was only worried that Barry might be lurking around at the bottom of the stairs or something and that he’d stop me, but I didn’t see him. I was lucky. We were near Victoria Station, so I ran to the taxi rank and the only place I could think of to go was your hotel. And that’s it. The sad story of Barry and Emily. Or Barry and Louisa.”
“Did he ever mistreat you before that?”
“No. But I never gave him cause to.”
“What do you mean?”
Emily thought for a moment, then said, “With Craig, it was easy. He was jealous, maybe a bit too much, and it made him a bit crazy. With Barry, it’s different. He’s possessive, not jealous. He expects loyalty. You know that there are certain lines you’re not supposed to cross. I’m not a fool. I might not know exactly what he’s into, but I know it’s probably illegal. And I know he hurts people. I saw him hurt Craig.”
“Was that part of the appeal?”
“What? That he hurts people?”
“That he’s a criminal, whereas your father’s a policeman. After all, they’re about the same age.”
Emily snorted. “That sounds just like something my father would say. Do you all take the same course in pop psychology?”
“There is a kind of logic in it.”
“It’s not that at all. Barry’s appeal is that he’s exciting to be with, he gives great parties, has great drugs and people respect him.”
“Fear him, you mean.”
“Whatever. If fear’s the only way you can get respect, what’s wrong with that? Nobody disses Barry.”
“Why aren’t you still with him, then?”
She started rubbing at the table again. “I told you.”
A confused kid. Banks had to stop himself from leaning forward and putting his hand over hers. It would have simply been a paternal gesture on his part, though he was aware that neither Emily nor the others in the pub would view it that way. He also noted that in her entire list of Barry Clough’s attributes, Emily had not mentioned sex, that he was great in bed. Sex was probably a matter of power for Clough. Banks didn’t doubt for a moment that Clough used Emily sexually – she had already said as much – but to her, he guessed, it was more a matter of the price to be paid for the high life than a joy to be shared. And the fact that she priced herself so low was a matter for concern.
“Are you afraid of him, Emily?”
“Course not. It’s just…”
“What?”
She frowned. “He’s very possessive, like I said. Barry doesn’t like to lose his prized possessions.”
An hour later, Annie was wet and miserable and none the wiser. She had walked between each of the units on the estate, talked to managers and workers and discovered absolutely nothing. If anything dodgy had been going on at the Daleview Business Park, it had been kept a very close secret.
It was with a great sense of relief, then, that she approached the last but one listed business. Banks had called for a late-afternoon meeting to pool their findings, and after that Annie had visions of a long hot bath, some microwavable Marks and Sparks concoction, and an evening alone to do as much or as little as she wished.
The needlework center was warm and dry, smelling of scented candles, predominantly rose and lemon. It was the kind of place that seemed made of nooks and crannies, all filled with such essentials as pin boxes, thread, etuis, stitch-layers, needle threaders, working frames, stitch-count converters and a thousand other more esoteric items. Finished tapestries hung on the walls. More of a showroom than a shop, it had no counter, but there was a comfortable-looking three-piece suite where clients could sit and discuss their requirements.