‘How did he react to that?’
‘Well, that’s it. That’s why I remember. He just grunted, put the items down on the nearest table and left. A bit rude, I thought, but it takes all sorts. He could at least have thanked me for trying. I understand he was disappointed, but it would only have been a matter of a day or two.’
No, thought Gerry, her excitement rising. It would have been a matter of him having to leave a name, address and telephone number. He needed to buy the two-for-one items at the same time in the same place. ‘He didn’t buy anything, then?’ she asked.
‘Not a thing.’
Gerry cursed under her breath. No chance of a credit-card transaction, then. And why hadn’t he bought the one set? Her guess was that he wanted to make sure both outfits were the same, and until he could do that, he wasn’t going to lay out cash on one of them. Either that or he was flustered and frustrated at not being able to succeed easily. ‘Can you give us any idea of what this man looked like?’
Paula took a deep breath. ‘It was a long time ago. I mean, I told you about the eyes, didn’t I?’
‘Yes. What colour were they?’
‘I don’t remember. I’m not even sure I noticed. But piercing, like. Maybe blue.’
‘Did he have a beard or moustache?’
‘His face hadn’t seen a razor in a week or two, but you get a lot like that these, days, don’t you? I don’t know why—’
‘Was he tall or short, fat or thin?’
‘Medium.’ She pointed at Doug, who was five foot ten. ‘About his height, give or take a couple of centimetres. And about the same shape. You know, slimmish. And he had bad skin, sort of rough and pock-marked, like he’d had acne or chicken pox when he was a boy.’ She blushed and looked at Doug Wilson. ‘Not that he resembled you in that, of course.’
Wilson nodded in acknowledgement. Gerry smiled to herself. The woman fancied Doug; she was sure of it.
‘Anything else, Paula? You’re doing very well. Your powers of recollection are really good.’
Paula wiggled with embarrassment. ‘Thank you.’
‘Any scars, moles, distinguishing features?’
‘He did have a tattoo. I could see the top of it where his shirt button was open. The hair, too.’
‘Hair?’
‘Chest hair. It came up almost to his throat.’
‘What kind of tattoo?’
‘I don’t know. You see so many these days, don’t you? If you knew how many young lasses around here have tattoos all down their arms or legs and God only knows where else. I mean, what will they do when they grow up and want a job?’
Gerry smiled to herself, imagining what AC Gervaise would think if she saw her tattoo. ‘You didn’t see what the tattoo depicted, what it was of?’
‘Not all of it.’
‘What, then?’
‘I only saw the top bit. Some red, blue whorls, like the tops of wings or something. Maybe a bird. Or a butterfly. I don’t know. All I can say is I had the sense it was part of a bigger one that went down his chest.’
‘OK, thanks, Paula,’ said Gerry. ‘That really is helpful. Would you be willing to spare the time to work with a police artist on trying to put together a sketch of this man?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know. I mean, I’ve got the shop to look after.’
‘It wouldn’t take long,’ Gerry said. ‘It would be a real help. And we can bring the artist here, to you. Or we can do it on the computer if you want.’
‘But what if I get it wrong? What if I can’t remember things?’
Gerry put her hand gently on Pat’s shoulder. ‘You mustn’t worry about that. You’ve done fine so far. Besides, people usually remember much more than they think they do when they start to see the beginnings of an image. The shape of the head, hairline, that sort of thing. It’s all important.’
‘He had short curly hair,’ Paula said. ‘Turning grey. Just like on his chest. I remember that.’
‘See,’ said Gerry, ‘you’re remembering already.’
Paula blushed. ‘Well, I suppose I can try, if you think it’s important. What did he do, this bloke?’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that. We don’t even know if he’s done anything, yet. But it might be very important to us, so thank you. There’s just a couple more things. Have you ever seen this man before or since? Do you have any idea who he is, where he lives at all?’
‘None at all. Never seen him before in my life.’
‘Did you see what kind of car he was driving?’
Paula laughed. ‘Even if I had, I wouldn’t be any use to you there, love. Can’t tell a Rolls-Royce from a Mini.’
‘Do you remember what he was wearing?’
‘That I do,’ said Paula, clearly pleased with herself. ‘If there’s one thing I know, it’s clothes. That’s my business, after all.’
‘What was it?’
‘A cheap grey windcheater.’
‘Any emblems on it?’
‘Emblems? You mean like badges and stuff.’
‘Yes. Decals, symbols, things like that.’
‘I don’t remember any, no.’
‘You mentioned a shirt.’
‘Yes. He kept his jacket zipped up most of the way, so I just saw the button-down collar like, when I noticed the tattoo. Pale blue. And jeans. I think he was wearing just ordinary blue jeans.’
‘Thank you, Paula,’ said Gerry. ‘See you remember far more already than you thought you could. We’d better go now, but we’ll be back with an artist as soon as possible.’
‘That’s all right, love,’ said Paula. ‘I’ll be here.’
As they hurried back to the car, Gerry wondered where the hell they were going to scrape up a police artist at such short notice. Doug was still sulking as the second half of his game ticked by, so she didn’t imagine she’d get much help out of him. Then she had an idea, took out her mobile and called Annie.
It was only a couple of hours drive to Filey, if that, Banks thought as he skirted the southern edge of the North York Moors, and drove through Malton. In the early darkness, the town centre was almost deserted and the roads had been quiet all the way so far. In season, he would probably be stuck in a traffic jam by now. Almost as quickly as they had appeared, the stars had been obscured by clouds, but the rain was still holding off.
He listened to Maria Muldaur’s Heart of Mine as he drove, probably his all-time favourite album of Dylan covers, mulling over the thought that had leapt unbidden into his mind in the snug with Jenny. He was glad he hadn’t spoken the words out loud. She would probably have taken them as a kind of begging pitch, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. Like her, he didn’t know what he wanted out of a relationship these days. ‘I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight’, which Maria Muldaur was singing at the time, seemed enough for now.
Naturally, he had thought before about growing old alone, as one does in the wee small hours with only the darkness and a tumbler of whisky for company. Some men, he knew, were so desperate for someone to care for them as they aged, that they deliberately sought out young and healthy women. ‘A Man Needs a Maid’, as Neil Young once put it. But that wasn’t what Banks wanted. However he ended up, it would be for love, not for comfort and convenience. Over the past few years, since he had moved to the more remote Newhope Cottage from what had been the family home in Eastvale, he had been content to shore up his loneliness with music, books and wine, an evening out now and then at the pub, especially on folk night, and the occasional concert at the Sage or Opera North performance in Leeds. He took his holidays alone, too, usually long weekends in interesting cities he loved to explore on foot — Berlin, Stockholm, Krakow, Barcelona, Paris. And he had girlfriends from time to time, though they never seemed to last. He was so used to his settled way of life that the stray thought had taken him unawares and unnerved him. He didn’t know where it was likely to take him, or even whether he wanted to go there. Maria Muldaur finished and he put on Luna Velvet for the last mile or two.