‘Nay, I’m older than I look,’ Fletcher said, and grinned. ‘Like I said, we’d pass the time of day in the White Rose now and then. Him and his girlfriend were in there often enough.’
‘Girlfriend? Who was that, Mr Fletcher?’
‘The one who disappeared. Anne Ralston, her name was.’
Banks felt a tremor of excitement. ‘She was Bernard Allen’s girlfriend?’
‘Aye. Childhood sweethearts. They grew up together. I don’t think it was owt serious later, like, or he wouldn’t have gone off to Canada and left her. But they were thick as thieves, them two — more like brother and sister, maybe, as they got older.’
‘And after he’d gone, she took up with Stephen Collier?’
‘Aye. Got a job at Collier Foods and, well… Stephen’s got a way with the women.’
‘Did Bernard Allen ever say anything about this?’
‘Not in my hearing he didn’t. You’re thinking maybe he was jealous?’
‘Could be.’
‘Then the wrong one got himself killed, didn’t he?’
Banks sighed. ‘It always seems to look that way in this case. But if Allen thought Stephen Collier had harmed her, he might have been out for revenge.’
‘Waited long enough, didn’t he?’ Fletcher said.
‘I’ll be frank with you, Mr Fletcher,’ Banks said. ‘We’ve no idea why Bernard Allen was murdered, none at all. At the moment I’m gathering as much information as I can. Most of it will probably turn out to be useless. It usually does. But right now there’s no way of telling what’s of value and what isn’t. Can you think of any reason why someone in Swainshead would want him out of the way?’
Fletcher paused to think for a few moments, his dark eyebrows knitting together. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘It’s nothing to do with the farming business, I’m sure of that. There’s not enough money in it to make murder worthwhile. And there was no animosity between myself and the Allens. Like I said, I don’t think there was bad feeling between Bernard and the Colliers, but I couldn’t swear to it. I know he bated them a bit about being capitalist oppressors, but I don’t think anyone took that seriously enough to kill for.’
‘What was your impression of Bernard Allen?’
‘I liked him. As I said, I didn’t know him well, and I can’t say I agreed with his politics — with him on one side and Nicholas on the other, it was hardly my idea of a peaceful evening’s drinking. But he was bright, thoughtful, and he loved the land. He knew he wasn’t cut out to be a farmer — few are — but he loved The Head.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘The evening before he left. We were all in the White Rose. He was getting quite maudlin about coming home. Said if only he could get a job, however little it paid, or maybe a private income, then he’d be back like a shot. Of course, Nicholas jumped on that one — a socialist wanting a private income!’
‘Were there any serious arguments?’
‘No. It was all playful. The only serious bit was Bernard’s sentimentality. He really seemed to convince himself that he was coming back here to live. But he’d had a few too many, of course. Sam had to help him back to the house. I’m sorry I can’t be more useful, Mr Banks. I’d like to, but I don’t know anything. I had no reason to harm Bernard and, as far as I know, nor did any of the others. If there are motives, they’re hidden from me.’
‘Did he mention his divorce at all?’
‘Oh aye,’ Fletcher said grimly. ‘I could sympathize with him over that.’
‘Did he seem upset about it?’
‘Of course. His wife had run off with another man. Wouldn’t you be upset? I think that’s what set him thinking about coming back home to stay. You get like that when you lose whatever it is that keeps you away.’
‘Did Mr Allen know your wife?’
Fletcher’s face hardened. ‘What do you mean “know”? “Know” in the biblical sense? Are you suggesting there was something between them and I killed him in a fit of jealousy?’
‘No,’ said Banks, ‘I’m simply trying to get a grasp on the web of relationships.’
Fletcher continued to eye him suspiciously. ‘She didn’t know him,’ he said. ‘Oh, I’m not saying their paths never crossed, that they wouldn’t say hello if they passed one another in the street, but that’s all.’
‘Where is your wife?’
Fletcher looked at the picture. ‘In Paris,’ he said, his voice shaking with grief and anger. ‘In Paris with that bastard she ran off with.’
The silence that followed weighed on them all. Finally, Banks gestured to Hatchley and they stood up to leave. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t intentional, believe me, but sometimes in a murder investigation…’
Fletcher sighed. ‘Aye, I know. You’ve got to ask. It’s your job. No offence taken.’ And he held out his square callused hand.
Driving down the fell side, Banks and Hatchley said very little. Banks had been impressed by Fletcher’s solidity; he seemed a man with great integrity and strong foundations. But such a man, he knew, could kill when pushed too far. It was easier to push an earnest man too far than it was a more frivolous one. Although he was inclined to believe Fletcher, he nonetheless made a mental note of his reservations.
‘Ideal place, isn’t it?’ Hatchley said, looking back at Fletcher’s farm as they crossed the bridge.
‘In a way,’ Banks answered. ‘A bit dour and spartan for my tastes, though.’
‘I didn’t mean that, sir.’ Hatchley looked puzzled. ‘I meant it’s an ideal location for approaching the hanging valley unseen.’
Banks slowed down on the narrow road as Sam Greenock’s Land Rover passed them going in the other direction. Sam waved half-heartedly as he drove by.
‘Yes,’ Banks said absently. ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I’d just like to stop off at the Greenocks’ before we go back to Eastvale. There’s something I’d like to do. You use the radio and get on to Richmond. See if anything’s come up.’
Katie flinched and backed towards the wall when she saw Banks appear in the doorway of the room she was cleaning.
‘It’s all right, Katie,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. We’ve got to have a little talk, that’s all.’
‘Sam’s out,’ Katie said, clutching the yellow duster tightly over her breast.
‘I know he is. I saw him drive off. It’s you I want to talk to. Come on, Katie, stop playing games. You’ve been trying to avoid us ever since we got here. What is it? What are you afraid of?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Banks sighed. ‘Yes, you do.’ He sat down on the corner of the bed. ‘And I’m prepared to wait until you tell me.’
Now, as she stood cringing by the window, Banks realized who she reminded him of: Hardy’s Tess Durbeyfield. Physically, she resembled Nastassja Kinski, who had played Tess in the film version, but the similarity went deeper than that. Banks had a sense of Tess as a child in a woman’s body, not fully aware of her own beauty and sexuality, or of the effect she might have on men. It wasn’t entirely innocence, but it was close — a kind of innocent sensuality. He made a note to look up the description of Tess in the book when he got home.
‘Look,’ he went on, ‘we can either talk here, or we can go to police headquarters in Eastvale. It’s up to you. I don’t really mind at all.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Katie said, thrusting out her bottom lip. ‘You can’t just take a person away like that. I haven’t done anything. I’ve got my work to finish.’
‘So have I. You’re withholding evidence, Katie. It’s a crime.’
‘I’m not withholding anything.’