Banks was beginning to see what Jack had meant.
‘Bernie was just the same,’ Ian said. ‘You should have heard him going on about Yorkshire. It was bloody Dales this and bloody Dales that. You’d think he was talking about paradise. You’ll never catch me going back to live over there. Canada’s a great place as far as I’m concerned.’
‘That’s because you’re in real estate,’ Glen said. ‘You’re making a bloody fortune. Is that all you care about — the material things? What about your soul, your roots?’
‘Oh, shut up, Glen. You’re getting tiresome.’
‘If he could have got a job over there,’ Banks asked, ‘do you think he would have gone back?’
‘Like a shot,’ Ian answered. The others agreed.
‘Did he ever mention anything about a job?’
‘He did say there was a chance of getting back to stay,’ Glen said. ‘Lucky bastard. But I didn’t know whether to believe him or not.’
‘What was this chance?’
‘He didn’t say. Very hush-hush, apparently.’
‘Why?’
Glen scratched his shoulder and tried to unstick the shirt from his armpit. ‘Dunno. It was just one of those nights when you’ve had a few too many, if you know what I mean. Bernie said something about a plan he had to get himself back home.’
‘But he gave you no details?’
‘No. Said he’d let us know after he got back.’
‘Was it a job he mentioned?’
‘Not specifically, no. Just a chance to get back. I assumed it must have been some possible job offer. How else would he be able to live?’
‘How attached was he to teaching?’
‘He liked it up to a point,’ Glen answered. ‘It was something he was good at. He should have been teaching at university. He was good enough, but there aren’t any jobs. Like most of us though, he hated the conditions he had to work in and he despised the students’ wilful ignorance. They don’t know anything and they don’t want to know — unless it’s in a ballpark or on video. They expect you to spoon-feed them knowledge, then ask them to regurgitate it in a test. For that they expect to be given an A-plus, no matter how bad their writing or how inaccurate their answers. I could go on—’
‘You usually do, Glen,’ Barry cut in, ‘but I don’t think Mr Banks wants to hear it.’
Banks smiled. ‘Actually, I am running out of time,’ he said. ‘I need to find Julie as quickly as possible. Do you know where she lives?’
‘No,’ said Ian. ‘She just comes in on a Friday after work for a couple of drinks.’
‘It’s somewhere near here, I think,’ Barry added. ‘She mentioned sunbathing in Kew Gardens once.’
‘Have you any idea what surname she’s using?’
‘It’s Culver, isn’t it?’ Barry said. ‘Or Cleaver, Carver, something like that.’
None of the others could improve on Barry’s contribution.
‘Do you know where she works?’
‘In one of those towers near King and Bay,’ Ian answered. ‘The TD Centre or First Canadian Place. She complained that the elevators made her ears go funny.’
‘That’s a lot of help,’ Glen said. ‘Do you know how many businesses operate from those places?’
Ian shrugged. ‘Well, that’s all I know. What about you?’
Glen and Barry both shook their heads.
‘She should be in here at about six tomorrow though,’ Barry said. ‘She hasn’t missed a week yet.’
‘Fine. Look, would you do me a favour? If she turns up early or if I’m late, please don’t tell her I want to see her. It might scare her off. You know how some people react to the police.’
‘Are you sure you’re not after her for something?’ Glen asked suspiciously.
‘Information. That’s all.’
‘All right,’ Glen agreed. ‘If it’s going to help catch Bernie’s killer, we’ll do whatever you want.’ He paused to pick up his pint glass and raise it for a toast. ‘There is one good thing in all this, you know. At least Bernie died in the place he wanted to live.’
‘Yes,’ Banks said. ‘There is that.’
And they all drank to dying where they wanted to live.
11
‘John told me about Nick’s behaviour at the party the other night,’ Stephen Collier said. ‘I’m sorry. I warned you to stay away from him.’
Katie looked down at the stony path and blushed. ‘I didn’t go seeking him,’ she said. ‘He’s an animal, a filthy animal.’
‘But he is my brother, Katie. He’s the only family I’ve got left. I know he acts outrageously sometimes, but… I promise it won’t happen again.’
Katie remembered a phrase from the Bible: ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ Could Stephen keep Nicholas like an animal in a zoo? He looked strained, she thought. He poked at the stones and sods with his ashplant stick as they walked; his face was pale and the tic in his eye was getting worse.
It was fine walking weather: warm but not hot, with a few high white clouds and no sign of rain. Sam was in Eastvale for the day — not that Katie’s walking out with Stephen would have mattered to him, she thought; he practically threw her at the Colliers as if she were his membership ticket to some exclusive club.
They took the diagonal path up the side of Swainshead Fell, heading for the source of the river. The air was clear, and after a few minutes’ walking even Stephen’s pallid cheeks began to glow like embers.
At last they reached their destination. The source of the River Swain was an unspectacular wet patch on the side of Swainshead Fell. All around it, the grass was greener and grew more abundantly than anywhere else. Only yards away was the source of another river, the Gaiel, which, when it reached the valley below, perversely turned north towards Cumbria.
Stephen had brought a flask of coffee and some dark chocolate. They sat down to eat on the dry grass above the source and looked back on Swainshead. A lapwing went into his extended ‘pee-wit’ song as he wove through the air, plummeted and levelled out just before hitting the ground. His wings beat like sheets flapping in a gale.
‘He must be trying to attract a mate,’ Stephen said.
‘Or scare us away.’
‘Perhaps. Coffee? Chocolate?’
Katie accepted the plastic cup of black coffee. She usually liked hers with plenty of milk and a spoonful of sugar, but she took it as it came without complaint. The dark bitter chocolate puckered her taste buds.
‘I shouldn’t be here, you know,’ she said, pushing back a stray wisp of fair hair behind her ear.
‘Relax,’ Stephen said. ‘Sam’s in Eastvale.’
‘I know. But that’s not the point. People will talk.’
‘Why should they? There’s nothing to talk about. Everybody knows we’re all friends. You’re so old-fashioned, Katie.’
Katie flushed. ‘I can’t help it. I wish I could,’ she added in a whisper.
‘Look,’ Stephen went on in a soothing voice, ‘we’ve just gone for a short walk up the fell side, as many people do. Where’s the harm in that? We’re not hiding from anyone, we’re not sneaking off. You act as if we’re guilty of something terrible.’
‘It just feels wrong,’ Katie said, managing a brief smile. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m trying, I really am. I’m just not very good with people.’
‘Don’t you feel comfortable with me?’
Katie fidgeted with the silver paper from the chocolate wrapper, folding it into a neat shiny square. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel afraid.’
Stephen laughed. ‘At least that’s a start. But seriously, Katie, sometimes it’s necessary to talk. I told you the other night I’ve got nobody. Nick’s hardly the type to make a good listener, and the people at work are just that: employees, colleagues, not friends.’