A Dedicated Man (16 page)

The scrap of information Constable Weaver had been so eager to impart was that the barman of the Dog and Gun had told him Steadman had dropped in just after ten o’clock on Saturday night.
He hadn’t come forward earlier because he had been away fishing in Scotland and hadn’t even heard about the murder.

‘I can tell you the reason for that,’ Banks said, and proceeded to tell Hatchley about his interview with Major Cartwright. This took some of the wind out of the sergeant’s
sails, and he muttered a surly ‘No’ when Banks asked him if there had been any other developments.

Hatchley began to smile again, however, as soon as he sniffed the beer fumes and tobacco smoke in the Bridge. They sat at the same scarred table as they had on their previous visit, and soon had
two pints of Theakston’s bitter before them and two steak and mushroom pies on order.

‘Steadman could have gone back to the cottage though, couldn’t he?’ Hatchley said. ‘Maybe he came to the boil when he thought about how he’d let the major walk all
over him, so he went back to settle things. We can’t rule him out yet, or the girl.’

‘No, we can’t. Steadman could have waited for the coast to clear and gone back to finish what he and Penny had started before they were interrupted. The major’s certainly very
protective towards her.’

‘From what I hear,’ Hatchley said with relish, ‘she always was a bit of a wild ’un. Running off to London, hanging about with those freaks and musicians. There were
probably drugs involved, too, and I doubt she was very careful about who she hopped in and out of bed with. I think if she were a daughter of mine I’d keep her on a short leash after
that.’

‘But the woman’s twenty-six years old. Besides, Steadman was a safe enough companion, wasn’t he?’

Hatchley shrugged. ‘As far as we know he was. But there could be more to it.’

‘Oh, there’s more to it all right. There’s always more to things like this. As far as Penny Cartwright’s concerned, there are two points in her favour. First, the old
woman didn’t hear anyone else call at the cottage later, and she says Penny didn’t go out either; and second, I doubt that she was strong enough to drag the body to its hiding
place.’ Banks was about to add that he had also been convinced by Penny’s genuine display of affection for Steadman, but he knew it wasn’t the kind of evidence Sergeant Hatchley
would appreciate. Besides, the spell of her presence had worn off, and he was beginning to wonder if she was not just a consummate actress. ‘Still,’ he went on, ‘she could have
had help with the body; and there is a back door, so the old woman might not have heard if she was in the front room.’

‘Do you think the Cartwright girl really was having it off with Steadman, then?’ Hatchley asked.

‘I don’t know. You can never tell about things like that. Sometimes couples can be having affairs for years and nobody knows.’

‘Why else would he be hanging around her?’

‘There is such a thing as friendship, you know.’

‘In a pig’s eye,’ Hatchley muttered.

The pies came and the two men ate silently until their plates were empty.

‘Steadman had a lot of money,’ Banks said, reaching for his second pint. ‘And his wife stands to inherit. I’d say that was a pretty good motive, wouldn’t
you?’

‘But we know she couldn’t have done it,’ Hatchley objected. ‘I mean, why complicate something that’s difficult enough already?’

‘She could have hired someone.’

‘But Helmthorpe isn’t New York or London.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I once knew of a chap in Blackpool who had a price list – arms fifty quid, legs seventy-five and so on. Mind you, his rates have probably gone up a bit with
inflation now. It’s naïve to think that kind of thing is restricted to the south, and you should bloody well know that as well as anyone. Are you telling me there’s no one in
Eastvale would take a job like that? What about Eddie Cockley, for one? Or Jimmy Spinks? He’d slit his own mother’s throat for the price of a pint.’

‘Aye,’ said Hatchley, ‘but how would a woman like Mrs Steadman get mixed up with the likes of Cockley and Spinks?’

‘I admit it’s unlikely, but hardly more than anything else in this bloody business. Put it this way: we don’t know much about the Steadmans’ marriage. It seemed ordinary
enough on the surface, but what did she think about him and Penny Cartwright, for example? Maybe she was mad with jealousy. We just don’t know. And even if we ask them, they’ll lie. For
some reason, they’re all protecting one another.’

‘Perhaps they suspect each other.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

Hatchley guzzled his pint.

‘You know what the trouble with this case is, Sergeant?’ Banks went on. ‘Everyone except Major Cartwright seems to think the sun shone out of Steadman’s arse.’

Hatchley grinned. They drained their glasses and set off to see Hackett.

Teddy Hackett sat in his office, part of an old mill that looked out on the River Swain behind the garage. The window was open and scents of flowers floated in with the sound
of water rushing over pebbles. Occasionally a bee strayed from the clematis that clung to the stone wall, buzzed into the room and, finding nothing of interest in human affairs, meandered out
again.

Hackett was nervous and sweaty right from the start. He sat behind the defence of his cluttered desk, back to the window, and toyed with a letter opener as Banks faced him from a chair. Hatchley
leaned against the wall by the window. Banks filled his pipe, got it going, then brought up the subject of Hackett’s false alibi.

‘From what we’ve been able to discover, you arrived at the KitKat Klub alone and after one o’clock, a little later than you said.’

Hackett squirmed. ‘I’m not very good at times. Always late for appointments, that’s me.’

Banks smiled. ‘That’s not a very good habit for a businessman, is it? Still, that’s no concern of mine. What I want to know is what you were doing before then.’

‘I told you,’ Hackett said, slapping his palm with the letter opener. ‘I went to a pub and had a couple of drinks.’

‘But closing time on Saturday is eleven o’clock, Mr Hackett. Even on the most liberal of premises you’d be out in the street by eleven thirty. What did you do between eleven
thirty and one o’clock?’

Hackett shifted his weight from cheek to cheek and rubbed his chin. ‘Look, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. Know what I mean? But when you get pally with the bar staff you
can sometimes get in an extra drink or two. Especially when the local copper’s there, too.’ He winked. ‘I mean, if young Weaver ever wanted to—’

‘I don’t want to hear about Constable Weaver,’ Banks cut in. ‘I want to hear about you, and I’m getting impatient. What you’re saying is that the publican
broke the licensing laws by serving you after hours, as late as one o’clock. Is that what happened?’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. It was more in the nature of a drink or two together. Privacy of his own home, like. There’s no law says a man can’t have a mate in
for a drink whenever he wants, is there?’

‘No, not at all,’ Banks answered. ‘Let’s say you weren’t breaking any laws, then. If you were so pally with the manager you’ll remember the name of the pub,
won’t you?’

‘I thought I told you already. Didn’t I?’

Banks shook his head.

‘I thought I did. I meant to. It was the Cock and Bull on Arthur Street, near the club.’ Hackett put down his letter opener and lit a cigarette, taking deep noisy drags.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Banks. ‘It wasn’t the Cock and Bull on Arthur Street. The manager says he knows you, right enough, and that you’d been in on Friday, but
not Saturday. Where were you, Mr Hackett?’

Hackett looked crestfallen. ‘He must have been mistaken. Got a bad memory, old Joey. I’m sure if you ask him again, jog his memory a bit, he’ll remember. He’ll tell you
it’s true. I was there.’

‘Come off it, man, tell us where you were!’ Hatchley’s loud voice boomed out from behind Hackett, unnerving him completely. During the preliminary part of the interrogation,
the sergeant had remained so quiet that Hackett must have forgotten he was in the room. Now he half-turned and looked terrified to find a new, more aggressive adversary towering over him. He got to
his feet but Hackett still had the advantage of height.

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at—’

‘We’re not getting at anything,’ Hatchley said. ‘We’re telling you loud and clear. You never went to the Cock and Bull, did you? That was just a cock and bull
story, wasn’t it? You never went to any pub in Darlington. You waited for Steadman outside the Bridge, followed him to Penny Cartwright’s, waited there, then followed him to the Dog and
Gun and back to the car park. There, where it was dark and quiet, you hit him on the head and hid him in the boot of your car. Later, when the whole village was asleep, you dumped him in the field
on your way over the dale to Darlington, didn’t you? The timing’s just right, Hackett, we’ve checked. What with all the lies you’ve told us and the traces we’ll find
in the boot of your car, we’ve got you by the short and curlies, mate.’

Hackett turned to Banks for sympathy and support. ‘You can’t let him bully me, accuse me like this,’ he spluttered. ‘It’s not . . .’

‘Not cricket?’ said Banks. ‘But you must admit, Mr Hackett, it is a possibility, isn’t it? A very strong possibility.’

Hackett flopped back down into the chair behind his desk and Hatchley walked over to stand in front of him. ‘Look, sir,’ the sergeant began softly, ‘we know you didn’t
arrive at the club until after one o’clock, and that gives you plenty of time to dump Steadman’s body and get there. Don’t you think it would be easier all round if you told us
what happened? Perhaps it was manslaughter? Perhaps you had an argument and came to blows; you didn’t mean to kill him. Is that how it happened?’

Hackett stared at him, wary of his apparent friendliness. Banks got up and walked over to the window, through which he appeared to be gazing at the river.

‘I walked around,’ Hackett said. ‘That’s all. I set off for Darlington as soon as I’d left the Bridge and got changed, then I stopped on the way. It was a lovely
evening. I didn’t feel like a drink just then, so I went for a walk. I wanted to be alone.’

‘You and bloody Greta Garbo,’ Banks snarled from behind him, turning quickly from the window and knocking his pipe out in the thick glass ashtray. ‘I’m fast losing
patience with you,’ he rushed on, raising his voice and glaring. It was a measure of Hackett’s terror and confusion that he now looked to the huge Hatchley as a benign presence.

‘But I—’

‘Shut up,’ Banks ordered him. ‘I don’t want to hear any more lies from you, Hackett. Get it? If I’m not satisfied your next story’s true I’ll have you
in Eastvale nick before your feet touch the ground. Understand?’

Hatchley, enjoying himself tremendously, played the role of kindly uncle. ‘Best do as the chief inspector asks, sir,’ he advised the pale Hackett. ‘I’m sure it
can’t do any harm if you’ve nothing to hide.’

Hackett stared at Hatchley for a good half-minute, then came that visible relaxation of tension, the moment that signalled the truth. Banks could feel it in his veins; he recognized it well from
years of experience. Hackett was still so mixed up that he glowered at Hatchley and directed his statement toward Banks, who smiled and nodded at various points with benevolent understanding.

All in all, it was a great disappointment, but it did get one red herring out of the way. After leaving the Bridge, Hackett had gone home to shower and change, then he had driven to Darlington,
where he first spent about two hours of uninhibited carnal bliss with a young married woman whose husband worked the night shift at the local colliery. After that, he had gone on to the KitKat Klub
alone because he didn’t want to be seen with her locally. People would talk. Banks finally extracted her name and address from him, along with pleas and warnings about not letting her
muscle-bound husband find out.

‘Please,’ he begged, ‘if you must talk to Betty, do it after ten at night. I’ll get her to come in. That’ll be even better, won’t it?’

‘If you don’t mind, Mr Hackett,’ Banks replied, ‘we’ll do it our way.’

‘Have a heart, Chief Inspector. Haven’t you ever had a bit on the side?’

The muscles in Banks’s jaw tightened. ‘No,’ he answered sharply. ‘And even if I had it wouldn’t make a jot of difference to your situation.’ He put his hands
on the desk and leaned forward so that his face was only inches from Hackett’s. ‘What you don’t seem to realize is that this is a murder investigation. A friend of yours has been
murdered, or don’t you remember, and all you’re concerned with is some bloody tart you’ve been poking in Darlington.’

‘She’s not a tart. And there’s no reason to ruin a perfectly good marriage, is there? That’s what you’ll be doing, you know.’

‘No. That’s what you’ve done. It’s what she’s done too. If I thought for a moment that you cared more about the marriage than about your own skin, I might just
consider doing things differently.’

Banks nodded to Hatchley and the two of them left Hackett biting his fingernails and cursing the day he met nubile little Betty Fields in the Cock and Bull.

‘Fancy a trip to Darlington, Sergeant?’ Banks asked when they reached High Street. ‘Best if you check it out yourself.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Hatchley replied, grinning.

‘Right then. After ten o’clock tonight, if you can make it.’

‘What? But . . .’

‘If you don’t mind.’

‘It’s not that I mind. I’ve got a couple of mates up there I’ve not seen in a while. But what about Hackett?’

‘Simple really. Hackett’s right; I don’t see any point putting unnecessary strain on a marriage, even one as flimsy as Betty Fields’s. But he doesn’t know that,
does he? By the next time he hears from his young lady he’ll be a gibbering wreck. Some of these miners are big chaps, so I’ve heard.’ He smiled as comprehension dawned on
Hatchley. ‘You have to balance your cruelty with compassion, Sergeant. Come on, just one more visit to make then home. And by the way . . .’

‘Yes, sir?’