‘Very wise. What did you and Martin Edgeworth talk about when you met up for lunch?’
‘Just things in general. Club gossip, politics, business, new products, that sort of thing.’
‘Is there much club gossip?’
‘Well, it’s only the sort that’s interesting if you know the members involved.’
‘Affairs, that sort of thing?’
‘Hardly. A few members do bring their wives for meals and functions and so forth, but we’re not the sort to go leaving our car keys in a dish by the door.’
‘Good lord, do people really do that?’
McLaren smiled. ‘I wouldn’t know. It’s just something I remember from an old movie.’
‘I think they have more sophisticated methods these days. Apps and the like.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ said McLaren. He was starting to shift in his chair and drum his fingers on the desk.
‘All right,’ Banks went on, ‘I realise that all this probably has nothing to do with your club at all, and believe me, though I’m no fan of firearms, I have no desire to cause any discomfort for those who are. But if Martin Edgeworth did take his AR15 rifle to Fortford on the day in question, if he did kill five people and wound four, then I’m sure you can understand that it would be in all our best interests to know why.’
‘Of course. But I’m afraid I don’t believe he did what you say.’
‘You don’t?’
‘Not at all. You didn’t know him. If you had done, you wouldn’t even be suggesting anything of the kind.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive, Mr McLaren. People found Ted Bundy charming.’
‘For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t like that. I’ve heard all about the charming and convincing psychopaths. We’ve had one or two people of that ilk attempting to join even during my time here. People I wouldn’t trust with a firearm as far as I could throw them. But not Martin. He was straight as a die.’
Banks had resigned himself for yet another eulogy on Martin Edgeworth, and maybe, he realised, he was simply visiting the club again for reassurance that he was right to believe in Edgeworth’s innocence himself, that he was pushing at people like McLaren to test the strength of his own belief. But there was still the matter of a point of contact between Edgeworth and the real killer, and the club seemed to fit the bill nicely for that. Here were plenty of people who both knew Edgeworth and knew their way around weapons. ‘I’d like their names, if possible,’ he said.
‘What names?’
‘These people you wouldn’t trust with a firearm as far as you could throw them.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, that was just an off-the-cuff comment.’
‘So there haven’t been any such applicants?’
‘I’m not saying we don’t turn people down, but there’s usually more to it than my personal feelings about them.’
‘If you have a record of the names of these people you’ve turned away, or if you remember any of them, I’d still very much appreciate a list, along with a list of your active members. Remember, I can get a court order if I need one.’
‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll see what I can do. I’m as concerned as you are that we get to the bottom of what happened that day.’
‘Thank you. Did Martin Edgeworth ever put forward any of these applicants you rejected?’
‘No.’
‘Did he ever recommend anyone for membership at all?’
‘Not that I recall.’
‘And you know most of your members personally?’
‘All of them. Not as well as I knew Martin but well enough. It’s not that large a membership.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Am I to take it that you’re thinking along the same lines as I am? That Martin is, in fact, innocent?’
‘The investigation is still ongoing,’ said Banks. ‘There are a number of issues we have to clear up for ourselves, seeing that Martin Edgeworth committed suicide and can’t explain his actions or motives to us. I can’t really say much more than that at this stage.’
‘Of course,’ said McLaren. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t help you. And I believe you know that I would if I could. If it would help Martin’s reputation in any way.’ He paused. ‘There was only one little thing that struck me as at all odd lately.’
‘Oh? What was that?’
‘I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up. It’s probably nothing. But once, over lunch, Martin asked me if it was possible for someone with a criminal record to get a firearms certificate and join the club, if he’d paid his debt to society and so on, and his crime hadn’t involved firearms or violence, of course.’
‘I’m not that well up on the law in this area,’ said Banks, ‘but I would assume that it isn’t. All right, that is.’
‘And you’d be correct. Though if the sentence was under three years and the police and doctors offer no objections, then it can be done. Which is what I told Martin. It’s not even a matter of the letter of the law. As a club, as a respectable organisation, we wouldn’t accept as a member anyone with a criminal record, and nor would we be required to.’
‘Do you have any idea who he was talking about?’
‘No. The subject was never mentioned again. I’m not sure he was referring to anyone in particular.’
‘Then why ask?’
‘I don’t know. Just wondering, I suppose.’
‘When was this?’
‘Not very long before... you know. Say, early last November.’
‘Where?’
‘Over lunch in the White Rose.’
‘Was he with anyone?’
‘There were only the two of us. I mean, there were others in the pub, of course, but no one else was a party to the conversation. And, as I said, he never mentioned the subject again. I’m sorry I can’t be any more helpful, but that really is all I can tell you.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ said Banks, standing to leave. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr McLaren.’
And, in a way, Banks thought as he made his way across the gravel to his car, he had. McLaren might not have been able to supply any useful practical information, but the simple fact that Edgeworth had been asking about a man with a criminal record joining the shooting club went a long way towards confirming that Edgeworth had probably been a victim rather than the perpetrator. It also implied that the killer might have been grooming him, befriending him and asking for his help. One sure way of gaining someone’s confidence, if you were charming and devious enough, was to be honest with him about something like a prison sentence.
DC Gerry Masterson parked her lime-green Corsa behind Banks’s Porsche and walked towards the front door. It was going on for ten o’clock, and the lights were still on inside Newhope Cottage, as well as the one over the front door, so she could see her way. She rang the bell, and a few seconds later Banks opened the door. He seemed surprised to see her.
‘Gerry,’ he said. ‘What brings you all the way out here?’
‘I need to talk to you, sir. And I thought it might be better to come in person.’
Banks stood aside. ‘Come in, then. Let me take your coat.’
Gerry handed him her coat, which he hung on the back of the door. They were in a small room, a sort of den or study, with a two-seater sofa and reading lamp, an iMac on a desk and a small bookcase overstuffed with books. The walls were cream with light blue trim. Banks was casually dressed in jeans and black crew-neck jumper. Gerry followed him through the kitchen, where she could smell the lingering remnants of a curry, and into the dimly lit conservatory. She didn’t recognise the music that was playing, a woman singing to piano accompaniment.