Banks could make out the faint sounds of “White Room” coming from downstairs. A “best of” album, then, and not Disraeli Gears, as he had originally thought. The song was strangely appropriate, Banks thought, looking around the white room they were in. He wasn’t sure what he expected from this interview. Certainly not for Clough to confess. If anything, he wanted to go away with the certainty that he had the right man in his sights, a gut feeling, if that was the best he could come up with, then begin the slow painstaking grind toward finding enough evidence to prove it, knowing that was only the beginning of the struggle.
Between the Crown Prosecution Service’s reluctance to prosecute anyone, and the expensive barristers to whom Clough no doubt had access, there was every possibility that the man could get away with murder. Then what? Private vengeance? Would Riddle do it himself or try to hire Banks to kill Clough the way he had used him to find Emily? Christ, though, you had to draw the line somewhere, and Banks thought he drew his at murder, no matter how despicable the victim. He wasn’t too sure about Burgess, though; sometimes his cynical gray eyes took on the look of a stone-killer.
“What we’d expect you to say,” Banks went on, “but let’s back up a little, first. How did you feel when Emily left you?”
“What do you mean, left me? I threw her out.”
“Not what I heard.”
“You heard wrong.”
“Okay.” Banks held his hand up. “I can tell you’re sensitive about it, so let’s carry on. That final night, at the party, you pushed her into a room with Andrew Handley, right?”
“I pushed her nowhere. She was so stoned she could hardly walk. She stumbled in there herself.”
“But you don’t deny she ended up in a room with Handley?”
“Why should I?”
“And that he tried to rape her?”
“Rape’s a bit strong for what happened there.”
“Attempted rape, then? I don’t think so.”
“Call it what you will. It was nothing to do with me. If Andy wanted to try it on with the little slut, that was his business.”
“And Emily escaped, ran away?”
“When did she tell you all… wait a minute.” Clough put one hand to the side of his head and made an expression of mock thinking. “Wait a minute. I get it. After she left the party, she ran to you. Right? She knew where you were staying. She spent the night with you. That’s why you’re so upset. Tell me, Chief Inspector Banks, did you like it? Did you like that wet, scaly little tongue of hers licking your-”
Clough didn’t finish the sentence because as Banks struggled with the desire to lash out, Burgess beat him to it and gave Clough a backhander that sent him staggering toward the other wall. Typical Burgess, that; it was all right for him to tease Banks about sleeping with Emily, but not anyone else. Clough looked ready to fight back, muscles twitching, wiping a little thread of blood from the side of his mouth and giving Burgess one of those looks. But he regained his composure. And to give him his due, Banks thought, he didn’t make any noise about lawsuits or revenge.
He stuck his tongue out and licked the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, taking up his position against the wall again. “I got a little carried away then. Very rude of me to speak ill of the dead like that. I apologize.”
Banks relaxed and offered him a cigarette. “Apology accepted.”
Clough took it, and lit it with his own lighter. “Thanks. Forgot mine downstairs. I was in the kitchen enjoying a nice glass of Château Margaux when you two arrived.”
“We’ll make sure you get back to your wine before it turns to vinegar, Mr. Clough,” said Banks. “But no more flights of fancy, okay? Just answer the questions.”
“Yes, officer.” Clough smiled and cracked the crust of blood, sending another thin stream down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand and went on smoking, blood staining the filter of his cigarette.
“After Emily left, did you check up on her, find out who she was, where she lived?”
“Why would I do that? I’d finished with her. She wasn’t worth the effort.”
“So you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Did you know who she was?”
“Not until I read it in the papers. Sleeping with a chief constable’s daughter, eh?” He laughed. “Wonder what my associates would say.”
“Your associates being criminals?”
“Now that’s close to slander, that is.”
“Sue me.”
“Not worth the effort.”
“Not much is worth the effort with you, is it, Barry?”
“What can I say? Life goes on. Seize the moment. Live for the now.”
Banks looked at Burgess. “And I never used to believe it when they said drugs could do you permanent damage.”
Burgess laughed.
“Where’d you get the strychnine, Barry?” Banks asked.
“The what?”
“You heard.”
“Never touch the stuff. I’ve heard it’s bad for your health.”
Banks sighed. “Is Andrew Handley here tonight? I wouldn’t mind a word with him.”
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t. Unfortunately, no, he’s not. In fact, he’s no longer in my employ.”
“You fired him?”
“Let’s say we came to a parting of the ways.”
“Have you got his address?”
“We weren’t that close. It was only business.”
“Ever heard of PKF Computer Systems?”
“What?”
Was there just a slight flicker of recognition there? Clough off-guard for a moment, letting it through? Banks knew he could easily be imagining it, but he thought his internal antennae had detected something. It wasn’t as far-fetched as he had originally thought when Burgess told him about Clough’s business practices. Move into a business park, do whatever crooked little thing it is you do and then, before anyone twigs on to it, move somewhere else. Which is where the white van rented by PKF, which didn’t exist, was going when it was hijacked. The driver still in a coma. There were plenty of business parks and trading estates in the country, most of them fairly remote. They were good places to operate from. And Emily had said something about Clough visiting Eastvale. She had also thought she saw Jamie Gilbert there. Could there be a motive for killing her in that? Something she knew about Clough’s business operations? She had a photographic memory, like her mother, Banks remembered.
“PKF,” Banks repeated.
“No, never heard of it. Why, should I have?”
“Charlie Courage?”
“I’m sure I’d remember someone with a name like that.”
“But you don’t.”
“No.”
Banks could sense Burgess getting impatient across from him. Maybe he had a point; they seemed to be getting nowhere fast. “Where were you last Thursday afternoon?” he asked.
“Why? Is that when it happened?”
“Just answer the fucking question.” Burgess did his world-weary voice.
Clough didn’t even look at him. “I was out of the country.”
“All day?”
“All week, actually. In Spain.”
“Nice for you. Sure you didn’t nip up to Yorkshire for an hour or two?”
“Why would I want to do something like that? The weather’s far better in Spain.”
“Weekend in the country, perhaps? Get your own back on Emily? After all, you don’t like losing your prized possessions, do you?”
Clough laughed. “If she told you that, then she’s got a pretty inflated opinion of herself.”
“A little overproof coke, Barry? Make her suffer?”
“You’re mad.” Clough pushed himself away from the wall. “Look, I’ve been patient with you, but this is absurd. Time for you to go wherever coppers crawl after dark and time for me to get back to my fun and games. Any more talking and my lawyer will be present.”