‘Never.’
‘Have you ever seen him with anyone he shouldn’t have been with?’
‘How would I know who he should or shouldn’t be with?’
‘You know what I’m talking about. Anyone shady. Anyone you recognised, with your skills. From the past, perhaps, or from one of the many photographs you’ve seen.’
‘No,’ said Zelda, feeling her nose itch again.
‘You said you worked in the field on occasion. I understand you visited airports and train terminals to scan the crowds?’ Danvers said.
‘Sometimes. If we had information that a person of interest might be coming in, someone from Special Branch or MI5 would come and take me off for the day. But it didn’t happen often. My area of expertise is relatively narrow, and very specialised.’
‘I think what we’re getting at is whether you ever saw Mr Hawkins with any of these people you might have spotted at airports or railway stations?’
‘No.’
‘And what is your role exactly? How do you work?’
‘You already know that.’
‘Clarify it for us,’ said Deborah.
Zelda swallowed. She never liked this bit. ‘Faces,’ she replied. ‘I told you. I don’t forget them.’
‘Why should that be of value to this department?’
‘You know as well as I do that we’re concerned with identifying and, with any luck, eventually catching, anyone involved in the illegal traffic of young women for the purposes of sex.’
‘And your own experience as a sex worker would make you an expert on this?’ Deborah asked. ‘You see, this experience is very unclear in your file. Almost so unclear as to be non-existent.’
Zelda looked at Deborah. She was enjoying this, she thought. Enjoying humiliating her. Or trying to. She sighed. ‘I have never been a “sex worker”, and I resent your use of the term. “Sex worker” implies I was a willing participant. I wasn’t. Not ever. As you said, I have a “personal acquaintance with the area under investigation”. That’s because it happened to me. It is not something I like to broadcast, but I was abducted at the age of seventeen and spent the next ten years either on my back or on my knees servicing clients. That’s when I wasn’t being beaten, tortured or raped. And if either of you believe that I might possibly be working on the side of the bastards who did those things to me, then you’re more fucking stupid than I think you are.’ Zelda noticed Deborah redden and felt a little jolt of pleasure at her reaction to the outburst.
Danvers coughed, put his pen down again and glanced sideways at Deborah. ‘Well, I think that’s just about all for now. Unless you have any more questions, Deborah?’
Deborah shook her head and scribbled something on her notepad before smoothing her skirt. She avoided looking at Zelda.
Danvers stood up and gave a slightly mocking bow. ‘Then we’ll trouble you no more, Ms Melnic.’
‘What now? What about work? The office?’
‘Naturally, a replacement will be found for Mr Hawkins, perhaps on a temporary basis at first. But certainly for the next few days the office will be closed, and the work of the department suspended until we conclude our investigation.’
‘So I can go home?’
Danvers frowned. ‘We would prefer it if you stayed in London for the time being, Ms Melnic,’ he said. ‘Just until we’ve wrapped up our inquiries, you understand. We may need to talk to you again. You can let Deborah know the name and location of your hotel before you leave. And don’t forget to give her your mobile number, too.’
And that was it. Danvers resumed his seat and turned his attention back to the file folder. Zelda was dismissed. She wondered if they had been quite so thorough with everyone else, or had her past, her origins and her special role singled her out for suspicion?
‘I like your new hairstyle,’ Banks said to DI Joanna MacDonald. ‘Or does that qualify as a #MeToo remark?’
Joanna smiled and touched her shaggy cap of blonde hair self-consciously. ‘Depends,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s more of a Time’s Up sort of thing. Especially as you’re not my boss. But thank you, anyway.’
‘So what brings you all the way from the bright lights of Northallerton to a sleepy little outpost like Eastvale? Your phone message said it was work-related.’
Joanna raised an eyebrow. ‘So what else would it be?’
‘I don’t know. The pleasure of my company?’ Banks liked the contrast between her blonde hair and dark eyebrows, though he knew that it meant highlights. His ex-wife, Sandra, had the same combination, but in her case, it had been a quirk of nature. ‘It’s just that we don’t see you out here very often. Only in those dull meetings back at County HQ.’
‘My job’s not always dull.’
‘The meetings are. Seriously, though, have you never thought of applying for Homicide and Major Crimes? I’m sure you’d be in with a chance. I’d put in a word.’
Joanna laughed, then took a sip of coffee. They were in the Queen’s Arms on Eastvale market square that Monday evening. The storms had passed, and the weather was mild, the evening imbued with muted spring sunlight casting shadows over the rain-darkened cobblestones. Cyril, the landlord, had even optimistically risked putting some tables outside after the rain. It was a bit too soon for that, Banks thought, as there could easily be another shower, though one or two smokers clearly begged to disagree. Inside was as dead as usual for a Monday evening. Just the regulars who had been there most of the afternoon propping up the bar and chatting up Cyril’s latest barmaid, Louise, a petite Scouse lass with an accent to match. Cyril also had one of his early sixties’ playlists going. At the moment, The Shadows were playing ‘The Frightened City’.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Joanna answered, ‘the thought actually crossed my mind briefly once, when things seemed a bit too quiet.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Well, you already have three women working under your command: DS Jackman, DC Masterson and DI Cabbot. You also have a female boss, Area Commander Gervaise. I just felt you were sort of trapped between women. I didn’t think you were up to handling another. It didn’t seem fair to add to your burdens.’
‘So you let me off the hook? That’s very considerate of you,’ said Banks. ‘And you’re absolutely right. I’m looking for a big, strapping Neanderthal knuckle-dragger to stick by my side when the going gets tough.’
Joanna laughed.
‘Now tell me your real reason,’ Banks said before taking a long refreshing slug of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord.
‘Simple, really. You don’t need another DI. You’ve already got Annie Cabbot. You need another DC. Besides, I’m told my prospects of promotion before too long are pretty good exactly where I am.’
‘Congratulations. I’m glad for you. Really. And I suppose you’re right, we do need a new DC, especially now Doug Wilson’s left us.’ Banks took a sip of beer. ‘So what is it you want to see me about?’
‘You’re investigating the suspicious death of a young Middle Eastern boy, right?’
‘You’re pretty quick off the mark,’ Banks said.
‘Hardly need to be. It was all over the six o’clock news.’
Banks drank some more beer. The Shadows had given way to The Temperance Seven singing ‘Pasadena’. Banks had never liked The Temperance Seven. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The reporters are already pouring off the London trains. Our media liaison officer Adrian Moss is under siege. But it’s only to be expected. Our victim is very young. About twelve or thirteen, we think. And, as you say, Middle Eastern, which is pretty unusual around these parts. Victim of knife crime in a small northern town. Found dead in a wheelie bin in an alley at the back of Malden Terrace, on the East Side Estate, with nothing on him but a small quantity of cocaine in his pocket. Dr Burns said at the scene that the lad was stabbed four times in the chest and abdomen. There are no defensive wounds. It doesn’t resemble a fight gone wrong or anything like that. We don’t even know the victim’s identity yet. We’ve got a computer-generated likeness, based on a photograph, out all over the place: newspapers, TV, government agencies, asylum seekers’ hostels, Islamic groups, immigrant communities and organisations. But we don’t even know that he was an immigrant or asylum seeker. Or a Muslim. And perhaps he was born here. Anyway, why are you interested? Can you help us?’