A Necessary End (43 page)

“That's when they were up talking all the time,” Mara said. “Is that what they were talking about?”

“Mostly, yes. Next, Seth went on to study the subject himself. I even saw two books on the human brain in his workshop, though I'd no idea what significance they had. One was called
The Tip of the Iceberg
. Seth just left them there; he never really tried to cover his tracks at all. And then there was PC Gill's number in his notebook. Liz said she wrote it down for him the last time she was here. He must have torn it out in anger after he'd heard Gill would be at the demo.”

“You said there were two reasons he didn't act straight away,” Mara said. “What's the other one?”

“Seth's character, really. You know he wasn't normally quick-tempered or impatient. Far from it, he needed lots of patience in his line of work. He wasn't the type to go out seeking immediate vengeance, either. And remember, he'd never really got over his grief and his guilt. I imagine he repressed his anger in the same way, and it all festered together, under the surface, and finally turned into hatred—hatred for the man who had robbed him of his wife and child. And it wasn't just a man, it was a policeman, an enemy of freedom.” He glanced at Rick, who was listening closely and sucking on a strand of his beard.

“But there was nothing he could do. It had happened so long ago, and there was no evidence—even if he had believed that the police would listen to his story. I don't think he really considered revenge, but when Osmond mentioned the number that afternoon, something gave. The whole business had been eating away at him for so long, and he felt so impotent.

“He snatched up the knife, expecting trouble. I shouldn't imagine he really believed he would kill Gill, but he wanted to be prepared. When he dropped the knife later and it got kicked away, he must have been surprised to find no blood on him. Most of Gill's bleeding was internal. So he kept quiet. There were over a hundred people at that demo. As far as Seth was concerned, that seemed to mean we hadn't a snowball in hell's chance of finding the killer. Besides, we'd
be after the politicos, and he wasn't especially active that way.” Banks paused and sipped some more tea. “If Paul hadn't taken the knife and thrown it away, we might never have known where it came from. None of you would ever have told us it was missing, that's for certain. Liz had described Gill to him as well—a big man with his teeth too close to his gums—and he was easy to spot up there on the steps. That's where the most light was, above the doors. And Seth was near the front of the crowd. When they got close in the scuffles, Seth saw the number on Gill's epaulette and—”

“My God!” Zoe said. “So that's it!”

“What?”

“When the police started to charge, I was next to Seth, right at the front, and the first thing that policeman did was lash out at a woman standing on my other side. She looked a bit like you, Mara.”

“What happened next?” Banks asked.

“I didn't really see. I was frightened. I got pushed away. But I looked up at Seth and I saw an expression on his face. It was . . . I can't really describe it, but he was pale and he looked so different . . . so full of hate.”

They all remained silent as they digested what Zoe had said. She couldn't have known at the time, but what Seth was seeing was a replay, an echo of what happened to Alison. Given that, Banks thought, what Seth had done was even more understandable. He had been pushed far beyond breaking point.

“Liz Dale told you all about his background?” said Mara finally. “Yes. Everything else made sense then: Seth's behaviour, the knife, the number, the books.”

“If . . .if you'd found her earlier, talked to her, would that have saved Seth?”

“I don't think so. It's not as easy as that. It was actually carrying out the crime that finished him. He'd spent all his hate and anger, and he felt empty. He might have committed suicide sooner if he hadn't been lucky and got away from the demo clean. I imagine he thought he could live with what he'd done at first, but as the investigation went on, he realized he couldn't. I don't think he could have faced prison, either, and he knew that we'd find him. All that talking to Liz Dale has done is put things in perspective and make the motive clear.

“And Liz is a difficult person. Her grasp on reality is pretty tenuous, for a start. She knew nothing of the demo or of Gill's murder. And I honestly don't think she'd have told me about Seth unless I'd told her he was dead. I probably wouldn't even have known the right questions to ask. I'm not making excuses, Mara. We make mistakes in this job, and usually someone suffers for them. But the rest of you lie, evade and treat us with hostility. There's good and bad on both sides. You can't look back and say how things might have been. That's no good.”

Mara nodded slowly. “Do you think Seth was right?”

“Right about what?”

“About Gill being responsible for Alison's death.”

“I think there's a good chance, yes. I've spoken to the police doctor about it, too, and he agrees. But we'll never know for sure. Liz Dale was wrong, though—Alison wasn't murdered. Gill might not have been a good policeman, but he didn't
intend
to kill her.

“But look at it from Seth's point of view. He'd lost everything he valued—in the most horrible way—and he'd lost it all to a man who abused the power the state gave him. Seth came of age in the late sixties and early seventies. He was anti-authoritarian, and he lost his wife and unborn child to a representative of what he saw as oppressive authority. It's no wonder he had to hit back eventually, especially considering what Zoe just told us, or go mad. That's why he made the will when he did, I think, because knowing what had happened to Alison—knowing the real cause of her death—changed things, and he wasn't sure he could be responsible for his actions any more. He wanted to make certain you got the house.”

Mara covered her face with both hands and started to cry. Zoe went over to comfort her and the children looked on, horror-stricken. Paul and Rick seemed rooted where they sat. Banks rose from the chair. He'd done his job, solved the crime, but it didn't end there for Mara. For her, this was only the beginning of the real pain.

“But why couldn't he be happy here?” she cried from behind her hands. “With me?”

Banks had no answer to that.

He opened the door and late-afternoon sunshine flooded in. At the car, he turned and saw Mara standing in the doorway watching
him, arms folded tightly across her chest, head tilted to one side. The sunlight caught the tears in her eyes and made them sparkle like jewels as they trickled down her cheeks.

All the way home through the wraiths of mist, Banks could hear the damn wind chimes ringing in his ears.

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Dead Right

Peter Robinson

On a rainy night in Eastvale, a teenager is found brutally beaten to death after what appears to be a pub brawl gone wrong. As Banks investigates, the case becomes more complex and more sinister, and solving the mystery becomes imperative as escalating racial tensions threaten more violence to come.

“This novel is Robinson at his best.”

The Gazette
(Montreal)

“Robinson continues to be one of the finest mystery novelists writing today.”

The Daily News
(Halifax)

Find out more about Peter Robinson mysteries at www.penguin.ca/mystery

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Cold Is the Grave

Peter Robinson

The daughter of Chief Constable Riddle has disappeared, and he calls upon Banks to employ his unorthodox methods to find her. Banks tracks her down, but discovers she doesn't want to be found. Drawn deeper and deeper into the young girl's life, he finds himself caught in a web of drugs and murder, police and politics, fathers and daughters.

“This is crime-fiction writing at its best.”

The Globe and Mail

“A satisfyingly complex story, freshened by psychological resonance and written in Robinson's usual elegant style.”

Toronto Star

Find out more about Peter Robinson mysteries at www.penguin.ca/mystery