‘That’s a pretty cynical view of the north-east,’ said Banks.
‘But true, nonetheless.’
‘When you were at Le Coq d’Or on the Sunday evening Samir was murdered, you received a call on your mobile at about ten o’clock. Who was it from?’
‘I don’t remember any phone call.’
‘Think back. You went outside to take it.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Blaydon. ‘Now I remember. That would have been Oliver. My son.’
‘What did Oliver have to say?’
‘I honestly don’t remember. It wasn’t anything important, anyway. Just some minor business matter. Why?’
‘And for that you needed to go outside?’
‘Don’t you know it’s rude to talk on the phone at the dinner table?’
‘What’s your business with the Kerrigans?’
‘It’s none of yours, but as you already know, they own a fair bit of the Hollyfield Estate, and that’s going to be an essential part of the new Elmet Centre and housing complex. We have interests in common. It makes sense to work together.’
‘What about The Vaults?’
‘Hardly my scene. Some demented DJ and a night of trance or drill music? And, by the way, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. What have you been saying to Frankie?’
‘Nothing much. We interviewed him briefly, after we talked to you last time. That’s all. Why?’
‘Poisoned him against me, more like. He’s quit on me.’
‘Quit?’
‘Yes. I’m going to have to find another driver now. It’s a bloody inconvenience.’
‘I’d apologise if I thought I were responsible,’ said Banks. ‘What reason did he give?’
‘He didn’t. Just said it was time to retire. Simple as that. I wouldn’t mind but he’s only about fifty. Got a good few years left in him yet.’
‘Early retirement? Maybe that’s all it was about?’
‘Maybe.’ But he didn’t sound as if he believed it.
Banks stood up. ‘How about showing me around the palace now I’m here?’
‘What, now?’
‘No time like the present. Who knows if, or when, I’ll be back again?’
Blaydon gazed at Banks, seeming to consider his words for a moment. Banks wondered whether he was trying to remember if there was any evidence of drugs or drug use. Finally, he said, ‘OK. Why not? Follow me.’
Banks followed. Apart from one of the bedrooms being used by a threesome in the throes of sexual passion, nothing interesting appeared to be going on in the rest of the house. But the place was definitely palatial. Blaydon could, if he wanted, accommodate a whole centre-full of asylum seekers and still have room to spare. It seemed amazing to Banks that one man had this all to himself. He sometimes felt that his own cottage was too big for him, and he should move to a flat if he wasn’t planning on getting married or living with someone, which he wasn’t. But this was true excess. No doubt, along with Roberts and Frankie, there were other servants to keep the place clean, and perhaps even to cook for Blaydon and his guests. A Michelin star chef, perhaps? McGuigan himself? Banks doubted it.
Finally, they came to the pool at the back. Not exactly Olympic-size, but not far off, complete with two-level diving board. It was all indoors, under glass or thick Perspex, which gave it the appearance of an outdoor pool, and on a day like today, with blue skies and sunshine, it looked perfect, rippling like a pool in a Hockney painting.
Banks had seen one or two people drifting about the house on his tour, but there were more here, mostly in loungers dozing or reading, and a number of well-endowed women in bikinis, or bikini bottoms, at any rate. Banks checked surreptitiously, but he didn’t see any bowls full of cocaine. Fleetwood Mac played on quietly from hidden speakers. The naked girl sat on the edge of the pool swirling her stilettos in the water. A man swam leisurely lengths. Another naked woman stood by the edge of the pool swaying to the music, oblivious to everyone else. At the far end, near the diving board, two thickset men wearing dark suits and sunglasses sat up to attention when Banks entered the pool area. Blaydon gave them some sort of a sign, and they relaxed back into their loungers.
‘Minders?’ Banks asked.
‘You can never be too careful.’
‘Where’s Jeeves today?’
‘I gave Roberts the weekend off. He’s not much of a party animal.’
The pool was clearly the end of the guided tour. ‘How about the grounds, too?’ Banks asked.
‘Another time. I’ve got business to attend to.’ Blaydon started heading back towards the front door, and Banks followed.
‘Some nice cars out front,’ Banks remarked. ‘Jag, Rolls, Merc, a Beemer.’
‘I know some wealthy people. It happens in my line of business.’
‘Drugs, prostitutes?’
‘Very fucking droll, Banks. And now perhaps if you’ve got what you came for, you can get off my property and leave us in peace?’
‘My pleasure,’ said Banks, smiling and doffing his non-existent cap in the doorway. It was all show, as he happened to see that one of the suits and sunglasses was watching them from across the hall. Surely it could do no harm to lead them to think Blaydon was friendly with the police? And the suit only saw Banks smile as he tapped Blaydon gently on the shoulder and said goodbye. He couldn’t see Blaydon frown and flinch, as Banks did.
Before Banks could leave the property, his mobile went off. Thinking it might be Zelda replying to the messages he had left that morning on her landline and mobile, he pulled over on the gravel drive and answered. But it was Annie calling from the station. Everyone was working today, it seemed.
‘Yes?’ he answered. ‘Anything new?’
‘Where are you?’
Banks explained about his visit to Blaydon.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘A couple of PCs have been viewing CCTV footage for the last two days, and I think they’ve finally come up with something.’
‘What is it?’
‘The Hollyfield area. You were right in that there’s not very much available, but it seems The Oak has installed CCTV recently, since the assault just outside their car park a month ago.’
‘Lisa Bartlett?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And...’
‘There’s a car. A black Mercedes S Series.’ She read out the number plate. ‘It’s Blaydon’s. The one Frankie Wallace was driving on the night Samir was killed.’
‘What time?’
‘Five past ten.’
‘In The Oak’s car park, on the Sunday of the murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s just across the road from Hollyfield Lane.’
‘So what are we going to do about it?’
‘I’m not so far away from Frankie Wallace’s house right now. Want to meet there?’
‘Give me half an hour.’
‘Will do,’ said Banks, and set off under the arch of trees.
It was light well before six o’clock. Zelda showered again, dried her hair, dressed and packed what few things she had.
The taxi seemed to float through almost empty backstreets and main thoroughfares to King’s Cross. There were very few commuters or business travellers around, but the place was buzzing with groups of tourists enticed out by the fine weather.
Zelda used her credit card to buy a first-class ticket on the next train that stopped at York. Northallerton was closer, but that was too much to hope for on a Sunday morning without a change. She didn’t have long to wait. The 8.48 would get her there by 11.04.