His younger brother, Tommy, Banks remembered, was very different — long, thin, lugubrious, one milky eye from a badly thrown dart or an accident with a knitting needle, depending on whose version you believed, cropped dark hair and a gaunt, pockmarked face. They always made Banks think of Laurel and Hardy, though the resemblance was merely a matter of size and shape.
Though they looked to be a comic duo, and it was very tempting to laugh at them, you did so at some risk. They were smart businessmen, local celebrities in their way, and had bought up quite a bit of Eastvale over the years. They weren’t without political clout on the town council or in the planning offices. No wonder they had proved useful to Connor Clive Blaydon in his Elmet Centre development. If you wanted to develop anything around Eastvale, you could do a lot worse than have the Kerrigans on your side.
But behind the respectable facade, Banks knew, lay corruption, bribery, blackmail, intimidation. And it didn’t end there. Though there was no hard evidence, the Kerrigans were also suspected of having their hand in drugs and prostitution, and that, Banks thought, was where the strongest connection with Blaydon came in. And perhaps also the link with Gashi.
Kerrigan got to his feet again. ‘Pardon my manners. You just took me by surprise. Would you like a drink? Drop of single malt, perhaps?’
Banks saw the bottle of Scapa on the cocktail cabinet. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said.
Kerrigan poured them both a healthy measure and sat down again. Banks took a sip and sighed. ‘Lovely stuff,’ he said. ‘I’ll get to the point. I’m sure you’ve heard about the murder we had here a few days ago.’
‘That young lad found in the bin? Terrible business. I sometimes wonder what this town is coming to.’
‘And the suspicious death of Howard Stokes.’
‘Come again. I haven’t heard about that one.’
‘It wasn’t as big a headline. Old junkie. Died of an overdose.’
Kerrigan shrugged. ‘Must happen all the time.’
‘Thing is, he died in one of your houses.’
‘He did? Which one?’
‘Hollyfield Lane. Number twenty-six.’
‘But that whole area’s condemned. It’s been scheduled for redevelopment.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Banks. ‘But I’m sure you know too that there are still one or two people hanging on there, waiting for rehousing.’
‘Well, that’s terrible,’ said Kerrigan. ‘But I don’t see what it’s got to do with me? I’m not the bloody rent collector. Not any more. Anyone who’s left isn’t paying a penny. That’s the deal. Surely you can’t hold me responsible for the actions of my tenants?’
‘Not at all,’ said Banks. ‘I simply wondered if you knew about it.’
‘Well, no, I didn’t.’
Banks fished photos of Samir and Stokes from his briefcase and held them out to Kerrigan. ‘Recognise either of these faces?’
Kerrigan studied the photos one at a time and passed them back. ‘No, sorry.’
It was hard to tell with habitual liars like Kerrigan, but Banks got a feeling he wasn’t lying this time. ‘You were dining at Le Coq d’Or on Sunday evening with Connor Clive Blaydon, weren’t you?’
‘Yes. We had some business to discuss.’
‘The Elmet Centre?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. That was our main area of interest. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
‘Who is the Albanian?’
‘Who?’
‘The Albanian. I understand your brother referred to an Albanian at some point during the evening.’
Kerrigan frowned. His skin looked like pink plastic. ‘I didn’t hear anything like that.’
‘He had some bruising on his face. A cut.’
‘Oh, that. Minor disagreement at a business meeting. That’s Tommy all over. You might remember, he’s a bit of a hothead.’
‘An Elmet Centre meeting?’
‘I don’t recollect the exact circumstances. You’d have to ask him.’
‘And he’s out of town.’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it the Albanian he disagreed with? Gashi.’
‘It may have been an Albanian who thumped him. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Tommy’s a bit of a racist. I try to talk to him, but you know what it’s like with some people. Attitudes like that, they’re entrenched. We argue all the time. He’s a Leaver, and I’m a Remainer. How’s that for a divided household?’
Banks sipped some whisky. ‘It must give rise to some pretty lively arguments.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘Anyway, we think this boy Samir might have been connected with drugs, and as we know Mr Blaydon is connected with an Albanian drug lord called Leka Gashi, we wondered if you might have run into this fellow, too?’
‘Gashi? No. You mentioned him earlier. But then, I can’t say I know any Albanians. Or anything about drugs. As far as I know, Connor’s a property developer. Simple as that.’
‘Nothing’s quite as simple as that, Timmy. The Albanians are moving into the drugs trade here in a big way, taking over local supplies, county lines, the lot. They’ve got direct links to the Colombian cartels and the ’Ndrangheta, the Calabrian Mafia.’
‘I must say, you sound as if you know your stuff, Mr Banks. I can tell you’ve done your homework. Then, that’s your job. But this is all way outside my area of expertise.’
‘Which is?’
‘Why, club management, of course. And the video arcade business.’
‘And Tommy?’
‘The same. He also handles most of the rental properties.’
‘So he’s the one I should talk to about Howard Stokes?’
‘I honestly don’t think he would be able to tell you anything more than I can. As I said, we don’t keep tabs on our tenants. They’ve got the houses rent-free until they find alternative accommodation. I can’t say fairer than that.’
‘When do they have to be out?’
‘We don’t actually have a fixed starting date yet. Just waiting for the final details to fall into place. The sooner the better, though.’
‘About that video arcade — we’ve had one or two tips that some of the kids from Eastvale Comprehensive are buying drugs there.’
‘If that’s the case,’ said Kerrigan, ‘it’s being done behind my back. I’ll certainly have a word with my staff about the issue, though.’
‘Good. Appreciate it. How’s business?’
‘What business? Where?’
Banks looked around. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘The arcade. The properties. You know, in general.’
‘It’s difficult times we live in, Mr Banks. So much uncertainty. And uncertainty’s bad for stability, which is what we’d prefer in our markets. But you go with the flow, swings and roundabouts, slings and arrows. It all works out in the wash. We can ride out the storm. I’m optimistic.’
Banks tried to think when he had last heard a metaphor as mixed as that last speech, but he couldn’t. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘Just a couple more questions, then I’ll leave you to your evening. I understand Mr Blaydon received a phone call on his mobile in the restaurant at about ten o’clock last Sunday evening. Am I right?’
‘I believe so. Yes. Though I can’t say I made a note of the time.’
‘Can you tell me who it was from?’
Kerrigan made a steeple of his chubby fingers. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea. He simply answered the phone, listened for a moment and then excused himself.’
‘How long was he gone?’
‘Not long. Five minutes, perhaps.’
‘How did he seem? Did the phone call upset him, make him happy, unhappy, what?’
‘Neutral, really. He just said he had a small business matter to take care of, and he’d be back in a few minutes. We were finishing our sweets at the time.’
‘I understand Chef McGuigan does an excellent job there.’