“Aye.”
“What happened next?”
Judd went through a minor coughing fit and spat a ball of red-green phlegm on the earth beside him. “I packed up and went home. The wife needs a bit of help getting up the apples and pears to bed these days. She can’t walk as well as she used to.”
“Did you see Miss Jeffreys open the door and let the men in?”
“I can’t say I was watching that closely. One minute they were on the doorstep, next they were gone. But the car was still there.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No. Too far away.” He shrugged. “I thought nothing of it. Insurance men, most like. That’s what they looked like. Or maybe those religious folks, Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
“So you didn’t see them leave?”
“No. I’d gone home by then.”
“Where do you live?”
Judd pointed across the street. “Over there. Number fourteen.” It was five houses down from Pamela Jeffreys’s. “Been there forty years or more, now. A right dump it was when we first moved in. Damp walls, no indoor toilets, no bathroom. Had it done up over the years, though, bit by bit.”
Waltham paused and looked at Banks, who indicated he would like to ask one or two questions. Waltham, Banks noted, had been a patient interviewer, not pushy, rude and condescending toward the old, like some. Maybe it was because he had a DCI watching over his shoulder. And maybe that was being uncharitable.
“Did you know Miss Jeffreys at all?” Banks asked.
Judd shook his head. “Can’t say as I did.”
“But you knew her to say hello to?”
“Oh, aye. She was a right nice lass, if you ask me. And a bonny one, too.” He winked. “Always said hello if she passed me in the street. Always carrying that violin case. I used to ask her if she were in t’mafia and had a machine-gun in it, just joking, like.”
“But you never stopped and chatted?”
“Not apart from that and the odd comment about the weather. What would an old codger like me have to say to a young lass like her? Besides, people round here tend to keep themselves to themselves these days.” He coughed and spat again. “It didn’t used to be that way, tha knows. When Eunice and I first came here there used to be a community. We’d have bloody great big bonfires out in the street on Guy Fawkes night – it were still just cobbles, then, none of this tarmac – and everyone came out. Eunice would make parkin and treacle-toffee. We’d wrap taties in foil and put ’em in t’fire to bake. But it’s all changed. People died, moved away. See that there Sikh Temple?” He pointed down the street. “It used to be a Congregationalist Chapel. Everyone went there on a Sunday morning. They had Monday whist drives, too, and a youth club, Boys’ Brigade and Girl Guides for the young uns. Pantos at Christmas.
“Oh, aye, it’s all changed. People coming and going. We’ve got indoor toilets now, but nobody talks to anyone. Not that I’ve owt against Pakis, like. As I said, she was a nice lass. I saw them taking her out on that stretcher an hour or so back.” He shook his head slowly. “Nowadays you keep your door locked tight. Will she be all right?”
“We don’t know,” Banks said. “We’re keeping our fingers crossed. Did she have many visitors?”
“I didn’t keep a look out. I suppose you mean boyfriends?”
“Anyone. Male or female.”
“I never saw any women call, not by themselves. Her mum and dad came now and then. At least, I assumed it was her mum and dad. And there was one bloke used to visit quite regularly a few months back. Used to park outside our house sometimes. And don’t ask me what kind of car he drove. I can’t even remember the color. But he stopped coming. Hasn’t been anyone since, not that I’ve noticed.”
“What did this man look like?”
“Ordinary really. Fair hair, glasses, a bit taller than thee.”
Keith Rothwell – or Robert Calvert, Banks thought. “Anyone else?”
Judd shook his head then smiled. “Only you and that young woman, t’other day.”
Banks felt Waltham turn and stare at him. If Judd had seen Banks and Susan visit Pamela Jeffreys on Saturday, then he obviously didn’t miss much – morning, afternoon or evening. Banks thanked him.
“We’ll get someone to take a statement soon, Mr. Judd,” said Waltham.
“All right, son,” said the old man, turning back to his allotment. “I won’t be going anywhere except my final resting place, and that’ll be a few months off, God willing. I only wish I could have been more help.”
“You did fine,” said Banks.
“What the bloody hell was all that about, sir?” Waltham asked as they walked away. “You didn’t tell me you’d been here before.”
Banks noticed Ken Blackstone getting out of a dark blue Peugeot opposite the Sikh Temple. “Didn’t have time,” he said to Waltham, moving away. “Later, Sergeant. I’ll explain it all later.”
2
Banks and Blackstone sat in an Indian restaurant near Woodhouse Moor, a short drive across the Aire valley from Pamela Jeffreys’s house, drinking lager and nibbling at pakoras and onion bhaji as they waited for their main courses. Being close to the university, the place was full of students. The aroma was tantalizing – cumin, coriander, cloves, cinnamon, mingled with other spices Banks couldn’t put a name to. “Not exactly the Shabab,” Blackstone had said, “but not bad.” A Yorkshire compliment.
In the brief time they had been there, Banks had explained as succinctly as he could what the hell was going on – at least to the extent that he understood it himself.
“So why do you think they beat up the girl?” Blackstone asked.
“They must have thought she knew where Daniel Clegg was, or that she was hiding something for him. They ripped her place up pretty thoroughly.”
“And you think they’re working for Martin Churchill?”
“Burgess thinks so. It’s possible.”
“Do you think it was the same two who visited Clegg’s secretary and his ex-wife?”
“Yes. I’m certain of it.”
“But they didn’t beat up either of them, or search their places. Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they were getting desperate by the time they got to Pamela. Let’s face it, they’d found out nothing so far. They must have been frustrated. They felt they’d done enough pussyfooting around and it was time for business. Either that or they phoned their boss and he told them to push harder. They also probably thought she was lying or holding out on them for some reason, maybe something in her manner. I don’t know. Perhaps they’re just racists.”