‘You said you thought Allen was unlucky at first,’ Hatchley said. ‘What about now?’
‘I think he was going to blackmail the Colliers. I’ve not had time to tell you much about Toronto, but I met a few people there who said that Bernard Allen really wanted to come home to Swainshead. His sister mentioned it too, but the others all played it down. He’d even let on to Katie Greenock that he’d send for her when he got back to Canada. That was because she wanted to escape Swains-dale and he wanted to get into her pants.
‘I wondered why I was getting so many conflicting pictures of Allen’s state of mind, so many contradictions. But that was his motive. He was blackmailing the Colliers to get himself home. A job at the school, money in the bank… I don’t know what he’d asked for, but I’m certain that was his reason. And it got him killed. I don’t doubt that whoever said “You can’t go home again” meant it as literally as that. Anyway, the Colliers decided they couldn’t live with the threat, so one or both of them waited for him in the hanging valley that morning. They knew he’d be there because he’d often talked about it and he was heading that way.’
‘And what happened to Stephen? Why would Nicholas kill him, if he did?’
‘Stephen was getting too jittery. Nicholas knew it was just a matter of time before his brother broke down completely, and he couldn’t allow him to remain alive when I got back from Toronto after talking to Anne Ralston. Stephen must have told his brother that he didn’t give anything away to Anne about the Oxford business, but that he’d made a serious mistake in hinting at his own involvement in Addison’s killing. Nicholas knew that what Anne had to tell me would give me enough grounds to bring Stephen in, and he couldn’t trust his brother to stand up under questioning. If we could discover the motive behind Addison’s murder, then we’d know everything. Nicholas couldn’t allow that.
‘What he did was risky, but there was a lot at stake: not just the family name now, but Nicholas’s own freedom, his home, his career. He had to kill his own brother to survive. And if he succeeded, it would look like the accidental death of a disturbed man or the suicide of a guilty one.’
It was dark when Banks negotiated the tricky connections on to the A1 east of Leeds. Cream were singing ‘Strange Brew’ on the tape and Hatchley had fallen silent.
Banks still didn’t understand it all. Stephen had killed to preserve what was important to him, but Nicholas Collier remained something of an enigma. In all likelihood he had drowned Cheryl Duggan, but what bothered Banks was why. Had he done it from pleasure, accident or desperation? And was he also responsible for the bruising and marks of sexual abuse found on her body? Dr Barber had said that Nicholas had been in trouble once or twice over consorting with prostitutes and offering Oxford factory girls money for sex. Banks wondered why. Nicholas had all the advantages. Why hadn’t he hung around with his own set, girls of his own social class?
‘Let’s call in at the station first,’ Banks said. ‘Something might have turned up.’ They were approaching the turn-off on to a minor road that would take them over the moors to Helmthorpe and the main valley road. ‘We can always drive to Swainshead later if there’s nothing new.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s not late, only nineish.’
Hatchley nodded and Banks drove past the exit ramp and on to the Eastvale road.
The station was quiet. There had been no serious crimes while Banks and Hatchley had been gone. There was, however, a message from John Fletcher timed at five o’clock that evening asking if they would call and see him as soon as possible. He said it was important — something to do with Stephen Collier’s death — and he would be at home all evening.
There was also a copy of Dr Glendenning’s preliminary post-mortem report on Stephen Collier. The doctor had found the equivalent of about five capsules of Nembutal in Collier’s system — not enough in itself to cause death but potentially lethal when mixed with alcohol. And his alcohol level had been far higher than the amount five or six pints would account for. It looked as if Banks was right and Collier had been slipped vodka in the pub and more drinks back at the house.
‘Should we go to see Fletcher tonight?’ Banks asked Hatchley. ‘Or leave it until tomorrow?’
Under normal circumstances he would have expected Hatchley to take any opportunity to get off work for a pint or a session on the sofa with Carol Ellis, but this time the sergeant was angry.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Maybe Fletcher’s got the answer. I wouldn’t want to leave it till he went and got himself killed, too. And I wouldn’t mind paying a call on Nicholas bloody Collier either.’
‘Go away!’ Katie said, rushing forward and trying to close the door.
But Nicholas had his foot wedged in. ‘Let me in, Katie,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about Stephen. He was very fond of you, you know.’
‘He’s dead,’ Katie said, still pushing at the door with her shoulder. But Nicholas was too strong for her and the door knocked her backwards against the kitchen table as he entered. He shut the door behind him and walked towards her.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said. ‘I know you were talking to Stephen the day before he died. I just wondered if he’d been saying anything silly. He wasn’t well, you know.’ He reached out and grabbed Katie’s arm as she tried to slip away. ‘There’s no need to be afraid of me,’ he said, relaxing his grip a little. ‘No need to run away. I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Katie said. ‘There was nothing wrong with Stephen.’
‘He was upset. He might have said things he didn’t mean.’
‘What things?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you, you stupid bitch,’ Nicholas shouted, then lowered his voice again. ‘Just tell me what you talked about. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’
‘I don’t have anything.’
‘Liar.’ Nicholas opened Sam’s drinks cabinet and poured himself a large gin. ‘I’ve been here before, remember? With Sam.’ He held out the glass. ‘Go on, have some. You like gin, don’t you?’
Katie shook her head. Nicholas hooked the back of her neck with one hand, put the glass to her closed lips and tipped it forward. The vile-smelling spirit spilled down Katie’s chin and on to the front of her dress. It burned her throat and made her gag.
‘Stop it!’ she cried, spluttering and pushing him away.
Nicholas laughed, showing his yellowed teeth, and put the glass down. He went back to the cabinet and poured himself some Scotch.
‘What did Stephen tell you?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ Katie coughed and rubbed at her lips with the back of her hand.
‘He must have said something. He was quite a one for confiding in the wrong people, Stephen was, especially women. And I saw you talking to that policeman. Where is he now? What’s he doing?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.’
‘What did he ask you? What did you say to him?’