“She’s a lovely child,” Banks said.
Sandra didn’t look at him. “Yes.”
“Well behaved.”
“Yes.” Sandra glanced over at her house. “Look, I’d better go,” she said. “It’s nearly Sinéad’s feeding time and…” She held her hand out. “I think it’s starting to rain.”
Banks nodded. “Good-bye, then.”
Sandra stood up. “Good bye,” she said. “And take care of yourself, Alan.”
Banks watched her push the pram down the path as it started to drizzle. She didn’t look back.
Chapter 13
“Well, Mark,” said Banks, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands behind his head. “Why did you run?”
“How was I to know they were plainclothes coppers? You told me I was in danger, to watch out. That’s what I did.”
“And what do you have to say about it all now?”
“Just the same as I told those bastards in Scarborough yesterday. The bloke attacked me. I defended myself. What was I supposed to do, let him put his hands all over me?”
Banks scratched the scar beside his right eye. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Mark,” he said. “What bloke is this? Who attacked you? Where?”
Mark stared at him. He’d been held overnight at Scarborough for resisting arrest and delivered to Western Area Headquarters that morning. The arresting officer had mentioned some gibberish about an attack and self-defense, but he had no idea what Mark was talking about, either. Nor did he want to know. Enough paperwork on his plate already without picking up Eastvale’s leftovers. One thing that did bother Banks was the black eye, split lip and bruising on Mark’s cheek. He wondered how “necessary” the force was that the two DCs who arrested him used. And had they announced that they were police officers first? Mark said not.
“You mean you don’t know?” Mark asked.
“Know what?”
“The bloke. The poofter. He didn’t report it?”
“Nobody reported anything, as far as I know. What are you talking about? Did you get into trouble hitching a lift?”
“Never mind,” said Mark. “That’s what I thought it was all about, when I found out they were coppers after me. It doesn’t matter now. What am I here for this time, then?”
“Know anything about a fire in Jennings Field last Saturday night? Caravan.”
“I don’t even know where Jennings Field is.”
“You’d have passed close by there on your way east from your friend’s house.”
“I still don’t know. Why are you asking me this?”
“Just seems too much of a coincidence, that’s all. Two fires, and you pretty much on the scene of both of them.”
“Look, you’ve already cleared me on the boat fire. Mandy told the truth about where I was, and your blokes tested my clothes. They didn’t find anything.”
“I know,” said Banks. And he also knew that they couldn’t test Mark’s clothes for traces of accelerant this time because they’d been given to him by Banks himself. Even if the bloody things were soaked in petrol, that wouldn’t make a scrap of difference to the Crown Prosecution Service. “But that doesn’t let you out of the Jennings Field fire. Or out of killing Thomas McMahon.”
“How do you work that out?”
“McMahon was unconscious before the fire. Maybe you drugged him. You certainly seem to be able to lay your hands on any drug you want.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he made a move on Tina. He was an artist. Maybe he offered to pay her for posing nude.”
“He didn’t.”
“Only your word.”
“He didn’t. And I didn’t touch him.”
“Okay. Did you see anything when you passed Jennings Field on Saturday?”
Mark looked away, watching the workmen on the scaffolding around the church. “I thought I saw a fire,” he said. “In the distance. But I wasn’t anywhere near it. And I had other things on my mind.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t remember. No watch.” He turned to face Banks again. “Look, I’d nothing to do with it. You know that. Why don’t you ask Dr. Patrick fucking Aspern where he was? Or is he beyond your reach? A doctor.”
“Don’t worry, Mark. We’ll ask whoever we want. Anyway, what reason do you have to think Dr. Aspern had anything to do with the Jennings Field fire?”
“I don’t know. But if you think it was the same person set both of them, then I’m saying you should have a good look at him, too.”
“We will. Don’t worry. Have you got any other suggestions?”
Mark shook his head and looked back out of the window. Banks wrote down a name, address and phone number on a sheet of paper and passed it to him.
“What’s this?” Mark asked.
Banks nodded toward the window. “Name of the person in charge of the restoration crew out there,” he said. “He’s a friend of mine. Drop by the office or give him a call. Tell him I sent you.”
Mark glanced back and forth from the men on the scaffolding to Banks. Finally, he folded the sheet of paper, and lacking a pocket in the red overalls he’d been issued, held on to it. “Thanks,” he said.
“No problem. And your pal Lenny says it’s all right to go back to his place, if you want.”
“You talked to Lenny?”
“Yes, I talked to him. His wife is really sorry. She doesn’t like surprises, that’s all. They’d be glad to have you.”
Banks could see doubt cloud Mark’s features. He didn’t blame the kid. He’d be suspicious himself. Things hadn’t worked out especially well for Mark so far this past week or so.
“Up to you,” he said. “One more thing.”
“What?”
Banks slid the photograph of Roland Gardiner that Annie had got from Alice Mowbray across the desk. “Recognize him?”
Mark studied the photo. “Dunno,” he said finally. “It could be one of the blokes I saw visit Tom. He’s got the right sort of nose. But…”
“Okay,” said Banks. He described Leslie Whitaker. “That sound anything like the other bloke?”
Mark shrugged. “Could be,” he said. “But again…”
“I know,” said Banks. “It’s vague.” He thought he should perhaps organize an identity parade, see if Mark could pick out Whitaker from a group of people who looked a bit like him.
“Can I go now?” Mark asked.
“As far as I’m concerned. Where will you be if I need you?”
“Need me? For what?”
“More questions. There’s still a chance you can help us find Tina’s killer.”
“I’ll be at Lenny’s,” Mark said.
“I take it you’re not pressing charges?”
“What?”
“Police brutality.”
Mark fingered his bruises and grinned. “The pavement was hard,” he said. “I fell.” He got up and walked to the door.
“There’s a constable outside,” said Banks. “He’ll take you back down to the custody suite and get you sorted.”
“Thanks.”
“And, Mark?”
“Yes?”
“When you were arrested you had over two hundred pounds in your pocket, but when you first left here you only had about ten. Where did you get the rest?”
“Found it,” said Mark, and nipped out of the door quickly.
There was more to it than that, Banks was convinced, but it didn’t concern him now. No doubt there had been a problem with someone who had given him a lift, and Mark had probably nicked his wallet in the scuffle. That the theft hadn’t been reported made Banks lean in favor of Mark’s garbled explanation that he’d been assaulted by the man, who needed police attention like he needed a hole in the head. Call the two hundred “damages,” then, and have done with it.
He watched the restorers at work for a few moments, thinking about the kind of life Mark had been living at home, in the squat and on the boat, and what the future might hold for him. It had to be better than the past. His phone rang.