“How are you making a living now, Mr. Jelačić?” Banks asked.
“Dole.”
“Do you own a car?”
“Why?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Da. Is old Ford Fiesta.”
“Did you drive it to Eastvale yesterday?”
Jelačić looked at Blackstone. “Ne. I tell him already. I play cards. Vjeko tells you. And Stipe and Mile.”
Jelačić sat down on his sofa, taking up most of it, and lit a cigarette. The room quickly began to fill with smoke. Blackstone stood with his back against the door, and Banks and Susan sat on the wooden chairs. Banks soon noticed the way Jelačić was sliding his eyes over Susan’s body, and he could tell Susan noticed it too, the way she made sure her skirt was pulled down as far over her knees as it would go and the way she kept her knees pressed tight together. But still Jelačić ogled.
“The thing is,” Banks said, “that people will often lie to cover for their friends, if they think a friend is in trouble.”
Jelačić leaned forward aggressively, muscles bulging in his arms and shoulders. “You call my friends liars! Jebem ti mater! You tell that to their face. Fascist police. upak.”
Banks held out a photograph of Deborah Harrison. “Did you know this girl?”
Jelačić glared at Banks for a moment before glancing towards the photo. He shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
“Da.”
“She went to St. Mary’s, sang in the church choir, used to walk through the graveyard on her way home.”
He shook his head again.
“I think you’re lying, Mr. Jelačić. You see, she complained about you. She said you used to make lewd, sexual comments and gestures towards her. What do you think about that?”
“Is not true.”
“Father Charters said you were drunk most of the time, you didn’t do your job properly and you bothered the girls. Is that true?”
“Ne. He is liar. All St. Mary’s people lie, get Ive in trouble, make him lose job.”
“Did you ever enter the Inchcliffe Mausoleum.”
“Nikada. Is always locked.”
Banks looked at Ken Blackstone and rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Ive. We found your fingerprints all over the empty vodka bottles in there.”
“Vrag ti nosi!”
“We know you went down there. Why?”
Jelačić paused to sulk for a moment, then said, “All right. So I go down there sometime in summer when it get too hot. Just for cool, you understand? Maybe I have a little drink and smoke. Is not crime.”
“Did you ever take anyone else down there? Any girls?”
“Nikada.”
Banks waved the photograph. “And you swear you didn’t know this girl?”
Jelačić leaned back on the sofa. “Maybe I just see her, you know, if I am working and she walk past.”
“So you do admit you might have seen her?”
“Da. But that is all.”
“Mr. Jelačić, what were you wearing last night?”
Jelačić pointed towards a coat-hook by the door. A red windcheater hung on it.
“Shoes?”
Frowning, Jelačić got to his feet and picked up a pair of old trainers from the mat below the hook. Banks looked at the soles and thought he could see gravel trapped in the tread and, perhaps, bits of leaves. There was also mud on the sides.
“How did your shoes get in this state?” he asked.
“I walk back from Mile’s.”
“You didn’t drive?”
Jelačić shrugged. “Is not far.”
“We’d like to take your shoes and windcheater in for testing,” Banks said. “It would be easiest if you gave us permission. You’ll get a receipt.”
“If I do not?”
“Then we’ll get a court order.”
“Is okay. You take them. I have nothing to hide.”
“Were you standing on the Kendal Road bridge around six o’clock yesterday evening?”
“Ne. I go to Mile’s house. We play cards until late.”
“Did you have two pints of beer and a double whisky in the Nag’s Head, opposite St. Mary’s Park?”
“I tell you. I go to Mile’s and we play cards and drink.”
“Daniel Charters told us you’d been back to Eastvale to extort money from him. Is that true?”
“Vra je! I tell you, that man, he is Satan’s tool, an evil liar.”
“So it’s not true that you offered to withdraw the charges in exchange for money?”
“Is not true. Ne. And I have nothing more to say.” Jelačić looked at Susan again, letting his eyes travel slowly from her feet all the way up to her breasts, where they lingered. He didn’t exactly lick his lips, but he might as well have done. Banks saw Susan flush with embarrassment and rage.
“Well, let me just get clear what you have told us,” Banks said. “Last night, you were playing cards with friends who will vouch for you, right?”
Jelačić nodded.
“You didn’t know the girl in the photograph, though you might have seen her in passing.”
“Da.”
“But you certainly didn’t leer at her or make any suggestive gestures.”
“Ne.”
“And after you were unjustly fired you never went back to Eastvale and tried to extort money out of Father Daniel Charters.”
“Nikada.”
“Fine, then,” said Banks, standing up. “That’ll be all. We’ll be off now.”
Jelačić looked surprised. “You leave now?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of the clothing and get it back to you as soon as we’ve run our tests. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Jelačić. Good day.”
And they left him gaping after them.
“Biggest load of bollocks I’ve ever heard in my life,” said Ken Blackstone as they walked down the stairs. A dog went on pissing nonchalantly against the wall as they passed by.
Banks lit a cigarette. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? What do you think Susan?”
“Whether he did it or not,” Susan Gay said between gritted teeth, “I think the bastard should be hung over the balcony by his balls. Sir.”
Chapter 5
I
It was after six and Daniel still wasn’t back. Rebecca paced. She should make a start on dinner. At least it would take her mind off things. Had all this happened just a couple of days ago, she would have gone to see the angel, blabbed her fears and feelings out to its marble heaven-ward gaze, but the Inchcliffe Mausoleum was soured for her now by what she had seen there.
She put on her striped butcher’s apron-a birthday present from Daniel, when he still had his sense of humor-and searched in the fridge for the remains of the weekend’s roast. She would make shepherd’s pie. There was a bottle of Marks and Sparks Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge, lying on its side near the front. After a moment’s hesitation, Rebecca opened it and poured herself a generous glass before setting about grinding the leftover meat.
She was halfway through her second glass, and had just put the potatoes on, when she heard the door open. Daniel. Her legs turned to water. Suddenly she couldn’t face him, didn’t know what to say. He called out her name and she managed to tell him she was in the kitchen. Quickly, she knocked back the rest of the wine and poured herself another glass. Her hand was shaking so much she spilled some of it on the table. Sometimes you just couldn’t get drunk enough quick enough.
“What happened to the front window?” Daniel asked when he came through.
Rebecca stared down at the potatoes in the pan, waiting for the water to boil. “Someone chucked a brick through it,” she said. She didn’t tell him about the note.