“Confirmed cause of death?” he asked.
“It’s what we thought.”
Rosalind put her hand to her throat. “Strychnine. I’ve read about that.”
Banks glanced at Riddle. “You’ve told her…?”
“Ros understands she’s to talk to no one about the cause of death. I don’t suppose it’ll be a secret for long, though?”
“I doubt it,” said Banks. “Not now the postmortem’s over. Glendenning’s sound as a bell, but there’s always someone there who lets the cat out of the bag. Mrs. Riddle,” he said, perching at the edge of his armchair, “I need to ask you some questions. I’ll try to make it as painless for you as possible.”
“I understand. Jerry explained it to me.”
“Good. Emily had been back from London about a month. During that time, had she given you any cause for concern?”
“No,” said Rosalind. “In fact, she’d been extremely well-behaved. For Emily.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, Chief Inspector, that if she wanted to stay out all night at a rave, she would. Emily always was a willful child, as I’m sure you’re aware, difficult to control. But I saw no evidence of drug use, and she was generally polite and good-natured in her dealings with me.”
“I gather that wasn’t always the case?”
“It was not.”
“Had she been out a lot since her return?”
“Not much. Last night was only the second or third time.”
“When was the last time?”
“The night before. Wednesday. She went to the pictures with some friends. That new cinema complex in Eastvale, and a week or so ago she went to a friend’s birthday party in Richmond. She was home shortly after midnight both times.”
“What did she do with her time?”
“Believe it or not, she stayed in and read a lot. Watched videos. She also made inquiries about getting into a sixth-form college. I think she was finally deciding to take life a bit more seriously.”
“Did she ever confide in you about any problems she might be having? Boys, or anything like that?”
“That wasn’t Emily’s way,” said Rosalind. “She was always secretive, even when she was little. She liked a sense of mystery.”
“What about boyfriends?”
“I don’t think there was anyone special. She hung around with a group of people.”
“It must have been difficult for her to make friends locally, with being off at school down south so much of the time.”
“It was. And you probably know yourself, the locals aren’t always that welcoming of southerners, even these days. But when she was home for the holidays she’d meet people. I don’t know. She didn’t seem to have any real trouble making friends. She was outgoing enough. And of course, she still knew people from when she was at Saint Mary’s School here. That was only two years ago.”
“What about Darren Hirst? Did she ever mention him?”
“Yes. In fact, it was his birthday party she went to last week. But he wasn’t her boyfriend; he was just part of the group she hung out with. The lad with the car. They came to the house to pick her up on Wednesday – Darren and a girl, Nina or Tina or something – and they certainly seemed pleasant enough, although I didn’t approve of her hanging around with people who were, for the most part, three or four years older than she was. I knew she went to pubs and could get served easily enough, and I didn’t like it. I told her often enough, but she just accused me of going on at her, and in the end I gave up.”
“Did she ever mention someone called Andrew Handley?”
“No.”
“Andy Pandy?”
“Is this some sort of joke? Who’s he?”
“It’s not a joke. That’s his nickname. He’s a colleague of the man Emily was living with in London.”
“Never heard of him,” said Rosalind. She reached forward, grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and sniffled into it. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Please excuse me.”
Riddle moved over to her and touched her shoulder hesitantly, without much warmth, it seemed. In response, Rosalind’s body stiffened, and she turned away. Banks thought he glimpsed something in her eyes as she turned – fear or confusion, perhaps. Did she suspect her husband of being involved in Emily’s death? Or was he protecting her? Whatever it was, there was something desperately out of kilter with the Riddle family.
“Did Emily speak to you of her plans for the future, Mrs. Riddle?” Banks asked, switching the direction of the interview to something he thought might be a little easier for her to deal with.
“Only that she wanted to do her A-Levels and go to university,” said Rosalind, still dabbing her eyes with the tissue. “Preferably in America. I think she wanted to get as far away from here and from us as she could.”
Out of sight, out of mind, thought Banks. And less likely to damage Riddle’s fledgling political career, if that wasn’t already damaged beyond repair. He remembered on his first visit, when the Riddles asked him to go to London and find Emily, how he had got the impression that Rosalind hadn’t particularly wanted her to come back home. He got the same impression now. “And you approved?”
“Of course I did. It’s better than her running off to London and living with some… I don’t know… some drug dealer.”
“We don’t know that he was a drug dealer,” said Banks. “In fact, Emily swore he wasn’t, and I’m inclined to believe her.”
“Well, Emily always could twist men around her little finger.”
“Not Clough. She met her match there.”
“Do you really think he could be responsible?” asked Riddle.
“Oh, yes. The impression I got is that he’s a dangerous man and he doesn’t like to be crossed.”
“But why would he want to harm her? He had no real motive.”
“I don’t know,” said Banks. “All I can say is that I’ve met him and I’m convinced he’s into something. Perhaps he did it out of sheer maliciousness, because he didn’t like to be crossed. Or perhaps he thought she knew too much about his business interests. Did she ever talk about him to you?”
“No. What are you doing about him?” Riddle asked.
“I’m going to London first thing tomorrow. Before that, I just want to find out if there are any more leads I should be following up here.” Banks paused. “Look, I had lunch with Emily the day she died and-”
“You did what?”
“She phoned and asked me to lunch, said she’d be in Eastvale. She wanted to thank me.”
“She never told us,” said Riddle, looking at Rosalind, who frowned.
“Well, your wife did say she was secretive. And given that, my next question is probably a waste of time, but when she left, she said she was going to meet someone else. Did she say anything to either of you about meeting someone in Eastvale that afternoon?”
They both shook their heads. “What did she say to you?” Rosalind asked. “Did she tell you anything?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Anything that might help explain what happened.”
“Only that she thought she’d seen one of Clough’s men in Eastvale. I gather she didn’t mention that to you?”
“No,” said Rosalind.
“When did you last see her yesterday?”
“We didn’t,” Riddle answered. “Both Ros and I had gone to work long before she got up that morning, and when we got back she was out.”
“So the last time you saw her was Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“Did she phone anyone or get any phone calls?”
“Not that I know of,” said Riddle. “Ros?”
Rosalind shook her head.
“Did she spend much time on the telephone while she was up here?”
“Not a lot, no.”
“Do I have your permission to ask British Telecom for a record of your telephone calls since Emily came home?”
“Of course,” said Riddle. “I’ll see to it myself.”
“That’s all right, sir. I’ll put DC Templeton on it. Did she have any visitors from London, make any trips back down there?”