“Not that we know of, no,” said Riddle.
“Are you both sure there’s no one else you can think of who I should be looking closely at for this?”
“No,” said Riddle, after a moment’s pause for thought. “Not up here. As Ros said, she hung around with a group. They were probably with her at the club. You can talk to them and ascertain whether you think any of them had anything to do with it.”
“We’ve already talked to them, but we’ll follow up on that. I must say, on first impressions I don’t think any of them are responsible. Do you know where she got her drugs?”
It was Rosalind who answered. “I told you that I don’t think she was taking drugs since she came back.”
“Are you certain?”
“Not completely. But… I…” She glanced at her husband and blushed before she went on. “I searched her room once. And once or twice, I looked in her handbag. I found nothing.”
“Well, she was definitely taking cocaine the night she died,” said Banks.
“Maybe it was her first time since London?”
“When you searched her handbag, Mrs. Riddle, did you come across a driving license and an age-verification card?”
Rosalind looked puzzled. “A driving license? Good Lord, no. Emily was too young to drive. Besides, I didn’t look in her purse.”
“I’m not saying she did actually drive a car, but when she was found, the officer at the scene found a driving license in her handbag and thought it was hers. He also found one of those cards the clubs issue as proof of age, though they’re nothing of the kind. That’s why there was some confusion over the identity at first.”
“It doesn’t mean anything to me,” said Rosalind. “I don’t understand.”
“What about the name Ruth Walker?”
Banks saw a strange look flash in across Rosalind’s eyes, perhaps the surprise of recognition, but it was gone so fast that he didn’t trust his own judgment. She pressed her lips tight together. “No.”
“She was another friend of Emily’s in London. Apparently this Ruth met her in the street and took her in when she first arrived. You didn’t know about that?”
“No.”
“What about Craig Newton? Ring any bells?”
“Who was he?”
“Her first boyfriend in London. There was a bit of trouble between him and Clough. He seemed a decent enough lad when I talked to him, but he might have been jealous, and he might have held a grudge against Emily for ditching him. She told me he’d been following her around and pestering her.” Banks stood up. “Clearly I’m going to find more answers down there. For the moment, though, are you certain neither of you can think of anyone who would want to harm Emily?”
They both shook their heads.
Banks looked at Riddle. “You’re a policeman, sir,” he said. “Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?”
“Oh, come on, Banks. You know I’ve hardly been fighting in the trenches for years. That’s not a chief constable’s job.”
“Even so…?”
“No, I can’t think of anyone offhand.”
“Would you check through your previous arrests, no matter how old? Just for form’s sake.”
“Of course.” Riddle saw Banks to the door. “You’ll keep in touch, won’t you?” he said, grasping Banks’s arm tightly. “I’ve been advised to stay away from the office for the time being, so I’m taking a leave of absence. But I’m sure I could be more effective there. Anyway, the moment you know, I want to know. Understand? The moment.”
Banks nodded and Riddle released his grip.
Back at the incident room, Banks discovered that Darren Hirst had been and gone. DC Jackman had interviewed him and said he had been unable to shed any light on the couple who had left the Bar None at ten forty-seven. He hadn’t even remembered seeing them in the first place. Now it was a matter of getting the rather blurred and grainy image that Ned Parker had pulled from the CCTV video copied up and shown around. It was possible that someone might have remembered seeing them in the pubs around the market square. It would probably come to nothing, but then most police work did.
He also found out that three people who had been in the Black Bull yesterday at lunchtime had phoned in and said they had seen the victim with an older man. One person had positively identified the man as “that detective who was on telly about that there reservoir business in t’summer.” Just as well he’d told the ACC and the Riddles.
Banks walked into the detectives’ office. Down the corridor, it sounded as if someone was going at the floor with a pneumatic drill. He shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall. Hatchley and Annie Cabbot were at their desks. Annie gave him a dirty look, and Hatchley said he had been out investigating an alien abduction.
Banks smiled. “Come again? Since when have you been working on the ‘X Files,’ Jim?”
“It’s true,” said Hatchley. “Honest to God.” He chuckled; it sounded as if he was coughing up a big one. “Toy shop down on Elmet Street,” he went on. “They put out an inflatable little green man to advertise a new line of toys and somebody nicked it. Some kid, probably. Still, it’s an alien abduction.”
Banks laughed. “There’s one for the books. Ever hear of a fellow called Jonathan Fearn?” he asked.
“Rings a bell.” Hatchley scratched his ear. “If I’m thinking of the right one, he’s an unemployed yobbo, not above a bit dodgy dealing every now and then. We’ve had our eyes on him as driver on a couple of warehouse robberies over the years.”
“But he’s got no form?”
Hatchley shrugged. “Just lucky. Some are. It won’t last.”
“His luck’s already run out. He’s in hospital in Newcastle, in a coma.”
Hatchley whistled. “Bloody hell. What happened?”
Banks told him as much as he knew. “Do you know of any connection between this Fearn character and Charlie Courage?”
“Could be,” Hatchley said. “I mean, they hung out in the same pubs and neither of them was beyond a bit of thievery every now and then. Sound like two peas from the same pod to me.”
“Thanks, Jim,” said Banks. “Poke around a bit, will you? See if you can find a connection.”
Hatchley, always happy to be sent off to do his work in pubs, beamed. “My pleasure.”
“There’s a DI Dalton around the place somewhere. Down from Northumbria, staying at the Fox and Hounds. He might be able to help. Liaise with him on this one.”
“Will do.”
Annie followed Banks out of the office and caught up with him in the corridor. “A word?”
“Of course,” said Banks. “Not here, though. This noise is driving me crazy. Queen’s Arms?”
“Fine with me.”
Banks and Annie walked across Market Street to the Queen’s Arms.
“I want to know just what the hell you think you’ve been playing at,” Annie said when they had got drinks and sat down in a quiet corner. She spoke softly, but there was anger in her voice, and she sat stiffly in the chair.
“What do you mean?”
“You know damn well what I mean. What went on between you and the victim?”
“Emily Riddle?”
“Who else?”
Banks sighed. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did, Annie, sorry if I embarrassed you in any way. I would have told you, honestly. I just hadn’t found the right time.”
“You could have told me last night at the scene.”
“No, I couldn’t. There was too much else going on, too much to do, too much to organize. And I was bloody upset by what I saw – all right?”
“No, it’s not all right. You made me feel like a complete idiot this morning. I’ve been working on the case as long as you had, and here are you coming up with a suspect I’ve never even heard of. Not to mention having lunch with the victim on the day she died.”
“Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. What else can I say?”