What upset her the most of all, and what refused to go away, was that she hadn’t known what she was doing. She had lost control. For some reason, she had been drunk enough that being fancied by a fit young lad when she’d just turned forty and was starting to feel ancient had appealed to her. Waking up with a blinding hangover and a stranger was never a good thing, in Annie’s experience, but in this case the fact that he was young enough to be her son only made it worse.
And she couldn’t even claim that she had been coerced or date-raped or anything. There had been no Rohypnol or GHB, only alcohol and a couple of joints, and the worst thing about it was that, pissed as she had been, she knew she had been a willing participant in whatever had gone on. She couldn’t remember the details of the sex, only hurried fumblings, graspings, rough grunts and a sense of everything being over very quickly, but she could remember her initial excitement and enthusiasm. In the end, she assumed that it had been as unsatisfactory for him as it had been for her.
Then there was the episode with Banks last night. Again, what on earth had she thought she was doing? Now things could never be the same; she’d never be able to face him with any self-respect again. And she had put both Banks and Winsome in an awkward position, driving in that state. She could have lost her license, got suspended from her job. And that seemed the least of her problems.
The colors of the sea changed as she drove down the winding hill, and soon she was beside the houses, stopping at traffic lights in the streets of the town center, busy with normal life. A herd of reporters had massed outside the station, waving microphones and tape recorders at anyone coming or going. Annie made her way through with the help of the uniformed officers on crowd control and went to the squad room, where she found the usual scene of controlled chaos. She had hardly got in when Ginger came up to her. “You all right, ma’am? You look at bit peaky.”
“I’m fine,” Annie growled. “Those bloody reporters are getting to me, that’s all. Anything new?”
“Got a message for you from an ex-DI called Les Ferris,” Ginger said.
“Who’s he when he’s at home?”
“Local. Used to work out of here, but he’s down in Scarborough now. Put out to pasture, officially, but they give him a cubbyhole and employ him as a civilian researcher. Pretty good at it, apparently.”
“And?”
“Just says he wants to see you, that’s all.”
“Aren’t I the popular one?”
“He says it’s about an old case, but he thinks it might be relevant to the Lucy Payne investigation.”
“Okay,” said Annie. “I’ll try to sneak out and fit him in later. Anything else come up while I’ve been away?”
“Nothing, ma’am. We’ve talked to the people at Mapston Hall again. Nothing new there. If someone did know that Karen Drew was Lucy Payne, they’re hiding it well.”
“We’re going to have to put a team on checking for leaks, dig a lot deeper,” Annie said. “We need to look very closely at everyone in Julia Ford’s practice, the Mapston Hall staff, the hospital, social services, the lot. See if you can get someone local to help down in Nottingham and divide the rest up among our best researchers. Tell them it’ll mean overtime.”
“Yes, Guv,” said Ginger.
“And I think we need to ask questions in other directions, too,” said Annie, taking the folders out of her briefcase. “We’re going to have to widen the base of our inquiry. Take this list of names and divide it up between yourself, DS Naylor and the rest of the team, will you? They’re all people who suffered one way or another at Lucy Payne’s hands six years ago, most of them in West Yorkshire. I’ve already liaised with the locals there, and they’ll give us as much help as they can. We need statements, alibis, the lot. I’ll pay a visit to Claire Toth myself tomorrow. She was close to the Paynes’ last victim, blamed herself for what happened. Any questions?”
“No, ma’am,” said Ginger, scanning the list. “But it certainly seems as if we’ve got our work cut out.”
“I’ve got more, specially for you, Ginger.”
“How nice, ma’am.”
“There was a young Canadian woman living on The Hill opposite the Paynes. She became quite close friends with Lucy, even after the arrest. Appeared on TV as her ‘champion,’ that sort of thing, thought Lucy was a poor victim.”
“I see,” said Ginger.
“She was also present when Lucy Payne had her ‘accident.’ Lucy was living in her house at the time. You can imagine the sense of betrayal she must have felt. Anyway, she has to be our chief suspect if she was anywhere near the scene. Her name’s Maggie, or Margaret, Forrest. She worked as an illustrator for children’s books, so the odds are that she’s still in the same line of work. You can check publishers, professional associations, what have you. You know the drill.” She passed a folder to Ginger. “The details are all in here.”
“You said she’s Canadian. What if she’s gone home?”
“Then she’s not our problem anymore, is she?”
“And if I find her?”
“Come straight to me,” said Annie. “That’s another interview I’d like to do myself.”
Jill Sutherland, part-time barmaid at the Fountain, was in the kitchen when Winsome called at her flat about a mile from the college. “I was just making a cup of tea,” Jill said. “I only got home about five minutes ago. Can I offer you some?”
“That’d be great,” said Winsome
Jill carried the pot and two cups, along with milk and sugar, on a tray, then sat cross-legged on the small sofa in front of the coffee table. Her living room was light and airy, with a distinct whiff of air freshener. Innocuous pop music played on the radio, occasionally interrupted by a cheery voice turned so low that Winsome thankfully couldn’t hear a word he said. She sat opposite Jill and took out her notebook.
Jill smiled. She was a pretty redhead with a button nose and a pale freckled complexion, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. All in all, she had an air of innocence that Winsome thought probably belied her experience. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“I don’t know, really,” Winsome began. “It’s about Saturday night in the Fountain. The girl who was killed, Hayley Daniels, had just been drinking there. We’re trying to gather as much information as we can.”
Jill’s expression changed. “Yes, that was terrible. The poor girl. I read about her in the paper. And to think I could have been working just around the corner. Or even walking through there myself.”
“You walk through the Maze alone?”
“Usually, if I’ve been working. It’s a shortcut. I park in the Castle car park, and it’s the fastest way. I never thought it was dangerous, really.”
“You should be more careful.”
Jill shrugged. “I never had any problems. There was never anyone else there.”
“Even so… Did you know Hayley?”
“I’d seen her around.”
“You’re a student at the college, too?”
“Yes. Forensic science.”
Winsome raised her eyebrows. “Forensic science? I didn’t even know they had a course in that.”
“It’s quite new. After two years you can get into analytical chemistry at the University of Leeds.”
“Is that where you met Hayley, at college?”
“Travel and Tourism’s just around the corner. We share a coffee shop. I’d seen her in town sometimes, too, shopping.”