‘That’s not down to me! You can’t blame me for you lot not doing your jobs properly.’
Banks took several deep breaths. He was beginning to wish he’d ordered a real drink, driving or not. ‘Just a couple more points before I go,’ he said, as calmly as he could.
‘Anything.’
‘Where’s Billy Dowson these days?’
‘He’s dead,’ said Charlton. ‘Ten years or more. Drug overdose.’
So Billy Dowson could hardly be involved in the wedding shootings, Banks thought, mentally scratching his name off the list. But could one of them — Ricky, Mark, Tommy, even Charlton himself — for some reason he didn’t yet know? ‘And his sister, Cilla?’
‘Who knows. Probably dead, too, the state she was in back then. Went off to London, didn’t she? And before you ask, Billy’s father’s dead, too.’
‘Shot? Stabbed?’
‘Natural causes. He had a massive stroke.’
‘Hallelujah. So there is divine justice, after all. How about Wendy’s brother, Mark Vincent?’
‘I’ve bumped into him one or twice over the years. He joined the army. Paras, I think.’
‘When did you last see him?’
Charlton broke eye contact.
‘You’d better tell me the truth, Mick.’
‘It was a while ago. We didn’t keep in touch.’
‘How long ago?’
‘March last year.’
‘Around the time Frank Dowson died in prison?’
‘Just after.’
‘Why did you meet him then?’
‘He just happened to be in town. Passing through. He dropped by the office, asked about the others, suggested we could all maybe get together one evening for a few bevvies, like.’
‘And?’
‘Well, it sounded like a good idea to me. I was in touch with Ricky Bramble and Tommy Jackson, so I suggested to them and they were both keen, too.’
‘Where did this get together of yours take place?’
‘Pub in town. Whitelock’s. In the—’
‘I know where it is. How did the evening turn out?’
‘Fine. Mostly.’
‘You all still got along?’
‘Well, people change, you know. Mark was sort of different. He’d seen action overseas. It changes you, that sort of thing.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s hard to explain. You get harder, maybe, less caring. The way he talked about the people in those countries he fought in, as if they were subhuman. To be quite honest he looked as if he’d just come out of prison.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Pale, scruffy, down on his luck. It’s kind of an aura. I’ve had plenty of ex-cons applying for jobs, and I’ve even employed some of them. You get to know the signs.’
‘Did Mark Vincent want a job?’
‘As a matter of fact, he did, but I didn’t have any openings. And he didn’t have the qualifications. He hadn’t learned a trade in the army, either, certainly no electrical stuff.’
‘So you turned him down?’
‘Gently.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘A shrug and a sneer, like he was letting me know he knew I was saying no because he was down on his luck, because he seemed like a desperate bum.’
‘What did you talk about that night?’
‘The past, mostly. See, Mark was always devoted to his big sister. To Wendy. He came from a tough family, his parents were always at each other’s throats, and his, and she was like some sort of guardian angel to him. Protected him when his father got pissed and violent. Fed him when their mother spent the grocery money on ciggies and gin. That sort of thing. Stood up for him against bullies. She was a fairly strong lass, fine hockey player. He was devastated when it happened, young as he was. Never really got over it, if you ask me.’
‘That why he joined the Paras?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know. We weren’t in touch a lot by then. His parents split up not long after Wendy’s death and farmed him out to some aunt and uncle or other out Castleford way. What I heard was he kept on getting in trouble with the police and it was either jail or the army. He was sixteen when he joined up.’
‘Anything interesting happen that night?’
‘As a matter of fact, it did. Mostly we were talking about old times. Mark was asking about people we’d all known back then, what they were doing now. We mentioned Maureen, and Ricky happened to know she’d got married to some banker and changed her name to Tindall. And that her daughter was Laura Tindall, the model. Ricky’s sister Susan still keeps in touch with Maureen on and off.’
‘You told Mark Vincent this?’
‘It came up in conversation, that’s all.’
‘Did you talk about Laura’s forthcoming wedding?’
‘No. We didn’t know about it then. At least, it hadn’t been announced, and Susan hadn’t mentioned anything.’
‘Go on.’
‘Anyway, we got on to talking about Wendy taking the short cut through the woods and all, and Ricky Bramble said Susan told him she saw Wendy waiting at a bus stop. She asked her where she was going, and Wendy said she was supposed to be going in town shopping with Maureen Grainger, but Maureen hadn’t shown up. She said not to tell anyone because she wasn’t supposed to hang out with Wendy, but this was years later, like, so Susan didn’t think secrecy mattered any more. Anyway, Susan just walked on, heard the bus come and go, turned and saw Wendy hadn’t got on it. Instead, she was crossing the road to the lane that led to the woods. That was all.’
‘Was this the first time you’d heard that story?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlton. ‘Ricky said his sister had thought it was best not to tell the police. You know how kids can be about keeping secrets. It all seems so important. The cops talked to all of us, like. Susan didn’t want to tell them she was probably the last person to see Wendy alive, did she? You didn’t get involved with the law. It was that kind of estate. We took care of our own.’
‘You didn’t do a very good job with Frank Dowson, did you?’
Charlton stared into his glass.
‘How did Mark Vincent react?’
‘He left. Just like that. Turned very pale, even paler than before, drained his pint, plonked his glass down on the table almost hard enough to break it, and left without so much as a goodbye, lads, nice to see you again.’
‘And did you have any idea why he did that?’
‘Course. I might be a bit thick, but I’m not stupid. It must have been a hell of a shock to his system, like, finding out that maybe if Maureen Grainger had turned up to meet Wendy like she said she would, they’d have gone into town to shop, and none of the rest would have happened. Wendy would have still been alive and his life wouldn’t have been ruined.’
Banks could do nothing but shake his head slowly at what he was hearing. ‘ “A hell of a shock”,’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I suppose it must have been. Do you know where Mark Vincent lives now?’
‘No idea. Probably living rough somewhere.’
Banks took a copy of the sketch Ray had done out of his briefcase. ‘Could this be him?’
Charlton studied it then handed it back. ‘Could be, I suppose. The hair’s right. Short and curly. Nose and eyes, too. Yeah, it could be Mark, all right.’
‘Do you know if Mark Vincent had a tattoo?’
‘Yeah. On his chest. He had it done in the army. He showed us it in Whitelock’s. Wings with a parachute superimposed. Really cool.’
In itself, Banks thought, the story was nothing much. A young girl went off snogging with her boyfriend instead of turning up to meet her friend. But that friend got killed, and her brother, who had seen Maureen with a boy, was devoted to his sister. What happened brought his whole life crashing down. His parents split up, he was sent to live with relatives and he became a troubled young man before joining the army at an early age. If Mark Vincent had enough psychological damage to begin with, he could have had a motive for the shooting. The triggers were all there: the new attention given to his sister’s murder in the media, the conviction and death of Frank Dowson, the revelation that Maureen had been supposed to meet Wendy, and the publicity surrounding the forthcoming Tindall — Kemp wedding. He already knew Maureen’s married name, and the odds were pretty good that if he saw a photo of her in the paper, it wouldn’t take him long to put two and two together. There were also ways of checking.