A Dedicated Man (25 page)

‘And has this background information given you any clues?’

‘None at all. Not yet. But there’s one more thing that’s been on my mind. Could Harold Steadman have been a homosexual?’

Barker almost choked on his coffee. ‘That takes the biscuit,’ he spluttered, wiping at the spilled liquid on his lap. ‘Where on earth did you get a wild idea like
that?’

Banks saw no reason to tell him that he had got the idea from Sergeant Hatchley, who had said in the Queen’s Arms, in his usual manner, ‘About this Steadman business, those weekend
trips to Ramsden’s place; do you think he was queer?’

Banks had admitted that it was an angle he had not considered; he had taken Steadman’s dedication to work at face value and presumed that the overnight visits took place for the reasons
Ramsden and Mrs Steadman had given him.

‘Even assuming you’re right,’ Banks had said, ‘it doesn’t really help us much, does it? His wife can’t have killed him out of disgust – she has an
alibi. And Ramsden would hardly have killed his lover, even if he could have.’

‘There’s blackmail, though,’ Hatchley had suggested. ‘Steadman was a rich man.’

‘Yes. It’s a possibility. Who do you think was blackmailing him?’

‘Could have been anyone he knew: Barker, the girl, Barnes, one of his old mates from Leeds.’

‘We’ll check it out, then,’ Banks had said. ‘Ask around about Ramsden, and I’ll ask some more questions in Helmthorpe. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope
though. It doesn’t feel right to me.’

How did you ask someone if a friend was homosexual, he wondered. Just come right out with it? How would they know? Penny would certainly assume Ramsden was straight if he had been ten years ago,
and there was still a chance that she knew more about Steadman’s sexual habits than she let on.

So now he sat in Barker’s study waiting for him to get over the shock and attempt an answer. When it came, it was disappointing. Barker simply denied the possibility and would only admit,
when pushed, that anything however outlandish was possible, but that didn’t mean it was true.

‘Look,’ Barker said, leaning forward. ‘I realize that I must be a suspect in this business. I’ve no alibi and I seem unable to convince you that I really had nothing
against Harry – I’m not gay either, just for the record – but I assure you that I did not kill him, and I’m perfectly willing to help in any way I can. I just don’t
know how I can help, and, if you don’t mind my saying so, some of the directions you’re pursuing seem to me to be quite silly.’

‘I can understand that,’ Banks said, ‘but it’s for me to decide what’s relevant and what isn’t.’

‘You pick up bits and pieces from everyone and put them together. Yes, I suppose that’s true. None of us gets to touch any more than a small area of the elephant, do we? But you get
to see the whole beast.’

Banks smiled at the analogy. ‘Eventually, yes,’ he said. ‘I hope so. What are you working on, or don’t you like to discuss work in progress?’

‘I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, you’ve just given me an idea. All that about putting the pieces together. I think I can use it. It’s another in the Kenny Gibson
series. Have you read any?’

Banks shook his head.

‘Of course not,’ Barker said. ‘I ought to know by now that few real policemen read detective novels. Anyway, Kenny Gibson is a private eye in the Los Angeles area. Period
stuff, the thirties. I get most of my background information from Raymond Chandler and the old
Black Mask
magazines, but don’t tell anyone! This time he’s working for a rich
society woman whose husband has disappeared. The plot’s taken care of; it’s the characters and atmosphere that are really hard to do.’

‘Sex and violence?’

‘Enough to sell a few thousand copies.’

‘Just out of interest,’ Banks asked as he got up to leave, ‘do you have it all planned out in advance – the plot, the solution?’

‘Good Lord, no,’ Barker answered, following him down the stairs. ‘The plot takes care of itself as I go along. At least I hope it does. If it’s going well, there are
fewer and fewer options at each turn until it’s perfectly clear who the criminal is. I’m never really sure where I’m going from one day to the next. It’d be boring any other
way, don’t you think?’

‘Perhaps,’ Banks answered, putting on his shoes and mac. ‘In writing, yes. In fiction. But in real life, I’m not so sure. It’d be a damn sight easier if I knew who
the criminal was without having to write the whole book and make all the mistakes along the way. Anyway, goodbye, and thanks for your time.’

‘My pleasure,’ said Barker.

And Banks ducked quickly through the rain to his car.

On High Street, Banks glimpsed Penny Cartwright nipping into the Bridge. Consulting his watch and his stomach, he decided it was well past lunch time, and he could do with a
pie and a pint if the landlord had any food left.

Penny was at the bar shaking her umbrella when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Banks enter.

‘Can’t a lady indulge her alcoholic cravings without the police turning up?’ she asked sharply.

‘Of course,’ Banks replied. ‘As a matter of fact, I’d be honoured if you’d join me for a late lunch.’

Penny looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Business or pleasure, Inspector?’

‘Just a chat.’

‘For “chat” read “interrogation”, I’ll bet. Go on then. I must be a fool. You’re buying.’

They were lucky enough to get two steak and mushroom pies and Penny asked for a double Scotch. Carrying the drinks, Banks followed her into the lounge.

‘Why don’t they do something with this place?’ he asked, looking around and turning his nose up.

‘Why should they? I wouldn’t have taken you for one of these horse-brass and bedpan types.’ Penny stood her umbrella by the fireplace and sat down, shaking her hair.

Banks laughed. ‘I always thought they were bed-warmers. And no, I’m not, not at all. Give me spittoons and sawdust any day. I was simply thinking that the owner might see renovations
as a way to do more business in the long run.’

‘Oh, Inspector Banks! I can see you’re not a true Yorkshireman yet. We don’t care about a speck or two of dirt in these parts. It’s the company and the ale that count,
and this is one place the locals can count on for both.’

Banks grinned and accepted the criticism with a humble sigh.

‘So what is it you want to know this time?’ Penny asked, lighting a cigarette and leaning back in her chair.

‘I enjoyed your performance last night. I liked the songs, and you’ve got a beautiful voice.’

Did she blush just a little? Banks couldn’t be sure, the lighting in the room was so dim. But she faltered over accepting the compliment and was clearly embarrassed.

The pies arrived and they each took a few bites in silence before Banks opened the conversation again.

‘I’m stuck. I’m not getting anywhere. And now there’s a girl gone missing.’

Penny frowned. ‘Yes. I’ve heard.’

‘Do you know her? What do you think might have happened?’

‘I know Sally a little, yes. She always wanted to know about the big wide world out there. I think she was secretly a bit disappointed with me for leaving it behind and coming home. But
she struck me as a sensible girl. I can’t really picture her running off like that. And she was born and raised in these parts, like me. She knows the countryside around here like the back of
her hand, so she wasn’t likely to get lost either.’

‘Which leaves?’

‘I don’t like to think about it. You hear of young girls going missing so often in the cities. But here . . .’ Penny shuddered. ‘I suppose it could mean we’ve got a
maniac in our midst. What are the police doing, apart from buying me lunch?’

It was the second time Banks had been asked that, and he found it just as depressing to have so little to say in reply again. But Penny understood about the weather; she knew how dangerous it
made Swainsdale, and she showed a surprising amount of sympathy for Banks’s obvious frustration.

They sat in silence again and returned to their food. When they had finished, Banks put his knife and fork down and faced Penny.

‘Tell me about your father,’ he said.

‘You sound like a bloody psychiatrist. What about him?’

‘You must know better than anyone else what a hothead he is?’

‘I probably gave him reason enough.’

‘You mean the city, the wild life?’

She nodded. ‘But honestly, you make it sound much worse than it was. What would you do in that position? Everything was new. I had money, people I thought were my friends. It was exciting
then, people were trying new things just for the hell of it. My father didn’t speak to me for a long time after I left. I couldn’t explain; it was just too claustrophobic at home. But
when I came back he was kind to me and helped me to get set up in the cottage. He takes it upon himself to act as my protector, I know. And yes, he has a temper. But he’s harmless. You
can’t seriously suspect him of harming Harry, can you?’

Banks shook his head. ‘Not any more, no. I think it was too well planned to be his kind of crime. I just wanted to know how you saw things. Tell me more about Michael Ramsden.’

Flustered, Penny reached for another cigarette. ‘What about him?’

‘You used to go out with him, didn’t you? Can I have one of those?’

‘Sure.’ Penny gave him a Silk Cut. ‘You know I used to go out with him. So what? It was years ago. Another lifetime.’

‘Were you in love?’

‘In love? Inspector, it’s easy to be in love when you’re sixteen, especially when everybody wants you to be. Michael was the bright boy of the village, and I was the talented
lass. It was one match my father didn’t oppose, and he’s always held it against me that we didn’t marry.’

‘Did you think of marrying?’

‘We were talking about getting engaged, like kids do. That’s as far as it went. Look, I was young and innocent. Michael was just a boy. That’s all there is to it.’ Penny
shifted in her seat and pushed her hair back over her shoulders.

‘Was it a sexual relationship?’

‘None of your bloody business.’

‘Did he ditch you?’

‘We just drifted apart.’

‘Is that all?’

‘It’s all you’re getting.’ Penny stood up to leave, but Banks reached out and grabbed her arm. She stared at him angrily, and he let go as if he had received an electric
shock. She rubbed the muscle.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Please sit down again. I haven’t finished yet. Look, you might think I’m just prying into your personal life for the fun of it, but
I’m not. I don’t give a damn who you’ve slept with and who you haven’t slept with, what drugs you’ve taken and what you haven’t taken, unless it relates to
Harold Steadman’s murder. Is that clear? I don’t even care how much hash you smoke now.’

Penny eyed Banks shrewdly. Finally she nodded.

‘So why did you split up?’ Banks asked.

‘Buy me another drink and I’ll tell you.’

‘Same again?’ Banks got up to go to the bar.

Penny nodded. ‘I can’t promise it’ll be interesting, though,’ she called after him.

‘There was nothing mature about our relationship,’ she said as Banks sat down with a pint and a double Scotch. ‘Neither of us really knew anything different until something
else came along.’

‘Another man?’

‘No. Not until later. Much later.’

‘You mean university for Michael and a singing career for you?’

‘Yes, partly. But it wasn’t as simple as that.’

‘What do you mean?’

Penny frowned as if she had just thought of something, or tried to grasp the shadow of a memory. ‘I don’t know. We just drifted apart, that’s all there is to it. It was summer,
ten years ago. Every bit as hot as this one. I told you it wasn’t exciting.’

‘But there must have been a reason.’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Because I think the answer to Steadman’s death lies in the past, and I want to know as much about it as possible.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘I’m asking the questions. Did he dump you because you wouldn’t have sex with him?’

Penny blew out a stream of smoke. ‘All right, so I wouldn’t let him fuck me. Is that what you want to hear?’ The word was clearly meant to shock Banks.

‘You tell me.’

‘Oh, this is bloody insufferable. Here.’ She tossed him another cigarette. ‘Maybe sex was part of it. He was certainly getting persistent. Perhaps I should have let him. I
don’t know . . . I’m sure I was ready. But then he seemed different. He got more withdrawn and distant. Things just felt strange. I was changing, too. I was singing in the village pubs
and Michael was studying to go to university. Harry and Emma were up for quite a while and it was hot, very hot. Emma would hardly go outside because her skin burned so easily. Harry and I spent
quite a bit of time at the Roman site near Fortford. It was just being excavated then. We went for walks as well, long walks in the sun.’

‘Did Michael go with you?’

‘Sometimes. But he wasn’t very interested in that kind of thing then. He’d just discovered the joys of English Literature. It was all Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth and D. H.
Lawrence for him. He spent most of the time with his nose stuck in a book of poems, whether he was with us or not. That’s when he wasn’t trying to stick his hands up my
skirt.’

‘Must have been Lawrence’s influence.’

Penny’s lips twitched in a brief smile. She put her hand to her forehead and swept back her hair. ‘Maybe.’

‘And Mrs Steadman?’

‘As I said, she didn’t like the sun. Sometimes she’d come if we went in the car and sit under a makeshift parasol by the side of the road while we had a picnic like characters
from a Jane Austen novel. But she wasn’t really interested in the Romans or folk traditions, either. Maybe it wasn’t the best of marriages, I don’t know. Lord knows, they
didn’t have much in common. But they put up with it, and I don’t think they treated each other unkindly. Harry shouldn’t have married, really. He was far too dedicated to his
work. Mostly I just remember him and me tramping over the moors and naming wild flowers.’

Steadman must have been in his early thirties then, Banks calculated, and Penny was sixteen. That wasn’t such an age difference to make attraction impossible. Quite the contrary: he was
exactly the age a girl of sixteen might be attracted to, and Steadman had certainly been handsome, in a scholarly kind of way, right up to the end.