“Yes, sir.”
Templeton left the viewing room. Banks took the remote control and rewound the surveillance tape. He pressed “play” again and watched Hayley Daniels argue with her friends and head down Taylor’s Yard. He couldn’t read her lips; the tape was of too poor a quality. There was also an annoying, flickering strip of light, as you get on old film prints, behind the group, beside Taylor’s Yard. It disappeared. When Hayley stretched her arms out for balance, she could touch both sides of the alley easily. The glitter on the cheap plastic belt around her waist caught the headlights of a passing car.
After she had disappeared into the darkness, Banks rewound and watched the tape one more time. They might be able to isolate and enhance the license plate of that car, he thought, reasoning that if the driver had seen a pretty girl walking into the Maze alone, he might have zipped around the back and entered from the car park, where there were no CCTV cameras, and seized his opportunity. It was a long shot, but in the absence of anything else, it was worth a try. Banks called DC Wilson down from the squad room.
THERE WAS no point in going all the way back to Whitby first, Annie realized, as she aimed the car toward Leeds on the M1. Not when she could ring DI Ken Blackstone at Millgarth and find out exactly where on Park Square Constance Wells practiced law.
“Annie,” said Blackstone. “How nice to hear from you. How’s things?”
“Fine, Ken.”
“And Alan?”
Blackstone sometimes spoke as if Banks and Annie were still an item, or as if he wished they were, but it didn’t bother her. “Haven’t seen him for a while,” she said. “I’m on loan to Eastern Area. Look, maybe you can help me?”
“Of course, if I can.”
“Should be easy enough. I’m trying to track down a Park Square solicitor name of Constance Wells. Ring any bells?”
“No, but give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”
They passed close by the massive cooling towers near Sheffield, and around the bend Annie saw the sprawl of Meadowhall, the popular shopping mall, to her left, cars parked everywhere.
Annie’s mobile rang and she answered immediately. “Ken?”
“Ken?” said the voice. “Who’s that? Do I have a rival? Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s me. Eric.”
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to check if you were still going to join me for lunch on Thursday.”
“I’m expecting an important call. I can’t talk now,” Annie said.
“See you Thursday, then. Black Horse.”
Annie pressed “end.” She felt her face flush as Ginger gave her a sideways look. “Boyfriend trouble?” she asked.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Ginger held her hands up. “Sorry.”
Annie glanced at her, then laughed. “Some blokes just won’t take no for an answer, right?” she said.
“Tell me about it.”
It wasn’t an invitation, or Annie might have relented. As it was, the mobile saved her. Ken Blackstone this time.
“Yes?” Annie said.
“Constance Wells does indeed work in Park Square,” he said. “Conveyancing.”
“Makes sense,” said Annie.
“Anyway, she’s with the firm of Ford, Reeves and Mitchell.” Blackstone gave an address on Park Square. “That help?”
“Very much,” said Annie. “It even sounds familiar. Would that be Julia Ford’s practice?”
“Indeed it would,” said Blackstone.
Julia Ford was a hotshot solicitor who specialized in high-profile criminal cases. Annie had seen her name and picture in the papers from time to time, though they had never met. “Thanks, Ken,” she said.
“My pleasure. And don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
“Say hello to Alan from me, and ask him to give me a ring when he has time.”
“I’ll do that,” said Annie, not at all sure as to when she would get the chance. “Bye.” She ended the call and concentrated on the road. They were coming to the eastern edge of Leeds, where the tangle of roads and motorways merging and splitting almost rivaled Birmingham’s Spaghetti Junction. Annie followed the signs to the city center as best she could and, with Ginger’s help, ended up completely lost. Eventually, they found a car park near the back of City Station and, with only some vague idea of where they were, left the Astra there and walked the rest of the way. It was easy enough when they got to City Square, with its old post office turned into a restaurant, the statue of the Black Prince and torch-bearing nymphs, and a pedestrian area where people sat at tables eating and drinking when the weather was good. Even today, one or two brave souls had ventured out into the open.
They walked along Wellington Street for a short distance, then turned up King Street and made their way over to Park Square. The buildings were mostly Georgian, and the solicitors’ offices hadn’t been modernized that much inside. A receptionist sat clicking away at her computer in the high-ceilinged entrance hall and asked them what they wanted.
“We’d like to see Constance Wells, please,” Annie said, showing her warrant card.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m afraid not.”
She picked up her telephone. “Let me see if Ms. Wells is available right now. Please take a seat.” She gestured toward the L-shaped sofa with the table of magazines. Annie and Ginger looked at each other, then sat. Annie picked up Hello and Ginger went for Practical Mechanics. They hadn’t got very far when the receptionist called out. “She says she can see you in ten minutes, if you’d care to wait?”
“Of course,” said Annie. “Thank you.”
“Probably just sitting twiddling her thumbs making us wait,” said Ginger.
“Or twiddling something else,” Annie added.
Ginger laughed, a deep guffaw. The receptionist glared at her, then went back to her computer. The time passed quickly enough, and Annie was just about to find out the secrets of the latest megastar divorce settlement when the receptionist’s phone buzzed and she directed them toward the first office at the top of the stairs.
Constance Wells appeared lost behind the huge desk. She was a petite woman with wispy dark curls, probably somewhere in her mid-thirties, Annie guessed. Filing cabinets and bookcases rested against the walls, and her window looked out over the square. A framed illustration of a scene from Hansel and Gretel hung on one wall. Annie admired the delicate colors and fluid lines. It was quality work. A couple of hard-backed chairs had been placed before the desk. “Please,” she said, gesturing. “Sit down. How can I help you?”
“Karen Drew,” Annie said.
Constance Wells blinked once. “Yes?”
“She’s dead.”
“Oh, I…”
“I’m sorry to be so abrupt,” said Annie, “but it’s why we’re here. Karen Drew’s death. Murder, rather. It raises a few questions.”
Constance put her hand to her chest. “I do apologize,” she said. “You took me quite by surprise. I’m not used to such things. Murder, you said?”
“Yes. Karen was murdered yesterday morning on the coast not far from Mapston Hall. Someone took her for a walk and didn’t bring her back.”
“But… who?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Annie. “So far we’re not having a lot of luck.”
“Well, I don’t see how I can help you.”
Annie turned to Ginger. “That’s what everyone says, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ginger. “Quite frankly, I’m getting sick of it, myself.”
“I can’t help that,” said Constance Wells. “It happens to be true.”