They all laughed.
Stefan smiled. “I believe him.”
“Could it have been a contributing factor to the accident?”
“It could have been,” said Stefan. “If he’d been smoking it at the time of the crash, it could certainly have interfered with his motor functions and his reaction times. All it would have taken in the conditions at that time would have been a momentary distraction. But we have no way of knowing whether he smoked it in the cab. Of course, Dr. Glendenning will order a tox screen on the remains and that might show up something, though I doubt it.”
“But in a way, that doesn’t matter, does it?” said Banks. “I mean whether he was sober or stoned when he crashed. Maybe to the insurance companies, perhaps even to the other driver and to Caleb’s friends and acquaintances. But it doesn’t matter to us.”
“What do you mean, Alan?” said Gervaise.
“It’s no great sin that Caleb Ross smoked a bit of marijuana now and then. In fact I’d be surprised to hear that he didn’t. Apparently he was a big prog rock fan, and prog rock and marijuana use go together like fish and chips. I even remember seeing a few people smoking and listening to Tales from Topographic Oceans when I was a student. Of course, I never touched the stuff myself.”
“Of course not,” said Gervaise. The thin smile drew her Cupid’s bow lips tight. “Or at least, if you did, you didn’t inhale.”
“I mean prog rock,” said Banks, deadpan.
They all laughed again. Gerry played mother and refilled everyone’s coffee cups. The biscuits were all gone.
“What I mean,” Banks went on, “is that what might be interesting is where he got his dope, and whether his dealer had some kind of hold over him. Perhaps there were even other, more serious, drugs involved.”
“We had a couple of local DCs search his house,” said Winsome. “They didn’t find anything. No drugs, no stash of money. Nothing of interest.”
“I suppose it’s still possible that Ross was somehow blackmailed into helping the gang,” said Banks. “Or even willingly paid in marijuana. Maybe that was their way to make him do their bidding. If nothing else, he would certainly have lost his job had it come out that he was a habitual pot smoker.”
“So we try to find his source?” said Winsome.
“We’ll keep a lookout. And we might as well have a good look at Caleb Ross again. Winsome?”
“As far as I could gather from all his coworkers I talked to, no one had a bad word to say about him. Salt of the earth. Honest as the day is long. All the usual clichés. None of his colleagues could believe that he could possibly have been up to no good. ‘Caleb? No way’ was the general response.”
“Maybe they just didn’t want to be heard speaking ill of the dead?” Annie suggested.
“I’m sure there was a bit of that involved. I mean, even with this new information, we still can’t say he was connected with the theft or the murder, can we? As the DCI says, it’s hardly a major crime to smoke marijuana. Maybe he was a minor player? It’s amazing how easily people can avert their eyes from what they just see as a harmless little fiddle, like nicking pens and writing pads from the office stationery, like it’s something you’re entitled to.”
“Good point,” said Banks. “But I still can’t shake the feeling that Ross and Lane are involved at some level. Ross might not have known what was in the extra packages he accepted, and he might well have balked if he had, but if he knowingly accepted them, he knew that what he was doing was against regulations, and that it probably involved forging official documents. And finding the marijuana does cast a slightly different light on him. It seems he wasn’t quite as honest and law-abiding as everyone makes out. Look a bit deeper, Winsome. Maybe talk to some of the farmers he regularly picked up from, see what you can find out there.”
“Will do, sir. I’ll draw up a list from the one Vaughn’s gave us and make a few visits.”
Banks turned to Stefan Nowak again. “Thanks, Stefan,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Nothing to report, really. The accident lads will be there all night again, by the looks of it. They’ve found no traces of tampering and don’t expect to at this point, but they still have a lot of other ground to cover. My lads are about done and should be able to get away tomorrow. It’s bloody freezing out there.”
“Anything more from the hangar?”
“Some partial prints. We might be able to come up with some matches, but nothing that would stand up in court.”
Banks turned to Gerry Masterson. “Anything more on Beddoes’s finances?”
“Nothing dodgy at all as far as I can make out, sir. All in order. He’s not rich, but he gets by. He’s got plenty of investments, mostly low-risk—he’s no gambler—and the farm makes a small profit on paper. You ought to see the prices for some of those oils and pork chops!”
Banks laughed. “Maybe when this is all over, Beddoes can take us all out for dinner.”
“Only if we find his tractor, sir. I can do a more thorough check, if you like.”
“We’ll see how things go. You’re going to be busy tomorrow, Gerry. We need workups on Venture Properties, for a start. I’ve got a couple of lists to get you going there.”
“Yes, sir. By the way, I did manage a brief glance at Terry Gilchrist’s military record and it’s without blemish. Quite the opposite, really. Most distinguished.”
“Thanks, Gerry,” said Banks. He looked at Winsome, who had her head down and her pen in her hand.
“Perhaps most important of all is this,” Banks went on. He turned to the whiteboard and pointed to the image of the bolt gun. “I know it looks like one of those ray guns aliens use in old science-fiction movies, but it’s not. It’s what’s called a captive bolt pistol, or gun, and it’s used for stunning animals in abattoirs. There are essentially three versions. The first is nonpenetrating, in which a retractable bolt is fired either by compressed air or by a blank round. This bolt hits the animal’s skull but doesn’t penetrate it, causing unconsciousness. The second type is a penetrating bolt gun, in which the bolt is pointed and penetrates the skull, destroying brain tissue. There’s also a noncaptive free bolt type, in which the bolt is actually fired like a bullet. In this case, we’re dealing with the penetrating bolt gun. If it had been free bolt there would have been much deeper internal damage, and we would have found the bolt somewhere, unless the killers took it with them. Dr. Glendenning assures me that was not the case, and the wound indicates a typical penetrating bolt gun.”
“Would the blow have been enough to kill Spencer?” asked Gervaise.
“Probably,” said Banks. “We can’t be a hundred percent certain, but such a blow is usually fatal to humans. The only thing that makes the bolt pistol a rather awkward weapon, and perhaps why it isn’t used so often, is that you have to be close up to the victim to use it. You can’t shoot from a distance because the bolt never actually leaves the gun. Which explains why someone had to hold Spencer’s arms. He’d hardly be likely to just stand still and take it.”
“How do you get hold of one?”
“Like many such things,” said Banks, “you order it over the Internet.”
“Don’t you need a license?” Annie asked.
“No,” said Gerry. “I checked. At least you don’t need a firearms license. You’d need a slaughterman’s license, though.”
“And how do you get that?” Annie asked.
“Pass the course. The slaughterman course.”
“Sick,” said Annie.
“Penetrating bolt pistols are very much discouraged these days,” Gerry went on. “Not because they’re inhumane, but because by initiating contact with the animal’s brain, they could become a conduit for disease. Mad cow, that is, for the most part. Free bolts are rare, only used in an emergency if you can’t restrain the animal.”