Aftermath (21 page)

‘Do you know if he went with other women?’ Jenny asked, as if reading Banks’s mind.

‘He never said.’

‘But did you suspect it?’

‘I thought he might have done, yes.’

‘Prostitutes?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t like to think about it.’

‘Did you ever find his behaviour bizarre?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did he ever shock you, make you wonder what he was up to?’

‘Not really. He had a terrible temper . . . you know . . . if he didn’t get his own way. And sometimes, during school holidays, I didn’t see him for days.’

‘You didn’t know where he was?’

‘No.’

‘And he never told you?’

‘No.’

‘Weren’t you curious?’

She seemed to shrink back into the bed. ‘Curiosity never did you any good with Terry. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he’d say, “and if you don’t shut up, it’ll kill you too.”‘ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine. It was just a normal life. Until I met Terry. Then everything started to fall apart. How could I be such a fool? I should have
known
.’

‘Known what, Lucy?’

‘What kind of person he was. What a monster he was.’

‘But you did know. You told me he hit you, humiliated you in public and in private. You did know. Are you trying to tell me you thought that was normal? Did you think that was how everybody lived?’

‘No, of course not. But it didn’t make him the sort of monster you think he is.’ Lucy looked away again.

‘What is it, Lucy?’ Jenny asked.

‘You must think I’m such a weak person to let him do all that. A terrible person. But I’m not. I’m a nice person. Everybody says I am. I was frightened. Talk to Maggie. She understands.’

Banks stepped in. ‘Maggie Forrest? Your neighbour?’

‘Yes.’ Lucy looked in his direction. ‘She sent me those flowers. We talked about it . . . you know . . . about men abusing their wives, and she tried to persuade me to leave Terry, but I was too frightened. Maybe in a while I might have found the courage. I don’t know. It’s too late now, isn’t it? Please, I’m tired. I don’t want to talk any more. I just want to go home and get on with my life.’

Banks wondered whether he should tell Lucy that she wouldn’t be going home for some time, that her
home
looked like the site of an archeological dig and would be in the police’s hands for weeks, perhaps months, to come. He decided not to bother. She would find out soon enough.

‘We’ll go now, then,’ said Jenny, standing up. ‘Take care, Lucy.’

‘Would you do me a favour?’ Lucy asked as they stood in the doorway.

‘What is it?’ Banks asked.

‘Back at the house, there’s a nice little jewellery box on the dressing-table in the bedroom. It’s a lacquered Japanese box, black with all kinds of beautiful flowers hand-painted on it. Anyway, it’s got all my favourite pieces in, earrings I bought on our honeymoon on Crete, a gold chain with a heart Terry bought me when we got engaged. They’re my things. Would you bring it to me, please? My jewellery box.’

Banks tried to hold in his frustration. ‘Lucy,’ he said as calmly as he could manage. ‘We believe that several young girls were sexually abused and murdered in the cellar of your house, and all you can think about is your jewellery?’

‘That’s not true,’ said Lucy, a hint of petulance in her tone. ‘I’m very sorry for what happened to those girls, of course I am, but it’s not
my
fault. I don’t see why it should stop me having my jewellery box. The only thing anyone’s let me have from there is my handbag and purse, and I could tell someone had even been searching through them first.’

Banks followed Jenny out into the corridor and they headed for the lifts. ‘Calm down, Alan,’ said Jenny. ‘Lucy’s dissociating. She doesn’t realize the emotional significance of what’s happened.’

‘Right,’ said Banks glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘That’s just bloody fine and dandy. Now I have to go and watch Dr Mackenzie do his next post mortem, but I’ll do my damnedest to remember that none of it is Lucy Payne’s fault and that she’s managing to dissociate herself from it all, thank you.’

Jenny put her hand on his arm. ‘I can understand why you’re frustrated, Alan, but it won’t do any good. You can’t push her. She won’t be pushed. Be patient.’

The lift came and they got in. ‘Trying to have a conversation with that woman is like trying to catch water in a sieve,’ Banks said.

‘She’s a weird one, all right.’

‘Is that your professional opinion?’

Jenny grinned. ‘Let me think about it. I’ll talk to you after I’ve talked to her co-worker and her parents. Bye.’ They arrived at the ground floor and she hurried off towards the car park. Banks took a deep breath and pressed the ‘down’ button.

•

Rapunzel was going much better today, Maggie decided as she stood back and examined her work, tip of her tongue between her small white teeth. She didn’t look as if one good yank on her hair would rip her head from her shoulders, and she didn’t look a bit like Claire Toth.

Claire hadn’t turned up as usual yesterday after school, and Maggie wondered why not. Perhaps it was only to be expected that she didn’t feel very sociable after what had happened. Maybe she just wanted to be alone to sort out her feelings. Maggie decided she would talk to her psychiatrist, Dr Simms, about Claire, see if there was something that ought to be done. She had an appointment tomorrow which, despite the events of the week, she was determined to keep.

Lorraine Temple’s story hadn’t turned up in the morning newspaper, as Maggie had expected it to, and she had felt disappointed when she had searched through every page and not found it. She assumed that the journalist needed more time to check her facts and put the story together. After all, it had only been yesterday when they talked. Perhaps it would be a long article focusing on the plight of abused women, a feature in the weekend paper.

She bent over the drawing-board and got back to work on the Rapunzel sketch. She had to turn her desk light on as the morning had turned overcast and muggy.

A couple of minutes later, her phone rang. Maggie put her pencil aside and answered it.

‘Maggie?’

She recognized the soft, husky voice. ‘Lucy? How are you?’

‘I’m feeling much better now, really.’

Maggie didn’t know what to say at first. She felt awkward. Despite her sending the flowers and defending Lucy to the police and with Lorraine Temple, she realized they didn’t know one another well and came from very different worlds. ‘It’s good to hear from you,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

‘I just wanted to thank you for the flowers,’ Lucy went on. ‘They’re lovely. They make all the difference. It was a nice thought.’

‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘You know, you’re the only person who’s bothered with me. Everyone else has written me off.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true, Lucy.’

‘Oh, but it is. Even my friends from work.’

Though Maggie could hardly bring herself to ask, it was only polite. ‘How’s Terry?’

‘They won’t even tell me that, but I think he’s very badly hurt. I think he’s going to die. I think the police are going to try to blame me.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Have they been to talk to you?’

‘Twice. Just now there were two of them. One was a psychologist. She asked me all sorts of questions.’

‘About what?’

‘About things Terry did to me. About our sex life. I felt like such a fool. Maggie, I just feel so frightened and alone.’

‘Look, Lucy, if I can help in any way . . .’

‘Thank you.’

‘Have you got a solicitor?’

‘No. I don’t even know any.’

‘Look, Lucy. If the police come bothering you again, don’t say
anything
to them. I know how they can twist your words, make something out of nothing. Will you at least let me try to get you someone? One of Ruth and Charles’s friends is a solicitor in town. Julia Ford. I’ve met her, and she seems nice enough. She’ll know what to do.’

‘But I don’t have that much money, Maggie.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out with her somehow. Will you let me call her for you?’

‘I suppose so. I mean, if you think it’s for the best.’

‘I do. I’ll call her right now and ask her to drop by and talk to you, shall I?’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?’

Maggie heard a defeated laugh over the line. ‘Pray for me, perhaps. I don’t know, Maggie. I don’t know what they’re going to do to me. For the moment, I’d just like to know there’s someone on
my
side.’

‘Count on it, Lucy, there is.’

‘Thank you. I’m tired. I have to go now.’

And Lucy hung up the phone.

•

After attending Dr Mackenzie’s post mortem on the sad pile of bones and decaying flesh that had once been a young and vibrant girl with hopes and dreams and secrets, Banks felt twenty years older but none the wiser. First on the slab was the freshest because Dr Mackenzie said it might tell him more, which seemed logical to Banks. Even so, the body had been partially buried under a thin layer of soil in Payne’s cellar for about three weeks, Dr Mackenzie estimated, which was why the skin, hair and nails were loose and easy to pull off. Insects had been at work, and much of the flesh was gone. Where skin remained, it had burst open in places, revealing the glistening muscle and fat beneath. Not much fat, because this was Melissa Horrocks, weighing just a little under seven stone, whose T-shirt bore symbols to ward off evil spirits.

Banks left before Dr Mackenzie had finished, not because it was too gruesome for him, but because these post mortems were going to go on for some time yet, and he had other business to attend to. It would be more than a day or two, Dr Mackenzie said, before he would be able to get down to a report, as the other two bodies were in an even worse state of decomposition. Someone from the team had to sit through the post mortems, but this was one job Banks was happy to delegate.

After the sights, sounds and smells of Mackenzie’s post mortem, the bland headmaster’s office at Silverhill Comprehensive came as a relief. There was nothing about the uncluttered and nondescript room that indicated it had anything to do with education, or anything else, for that matter; it was much the same as any anonymous office in any anonymous building, and it didn’t even smell of much except a faint whiff of lemon-scented furniture polish. The head was called John Knight: early forties, balding, stoop-shouldered, dandruff on his jacket collar.

After getting a few general details about Payne’s employment history, Banks asked Knight if there had been any problems with Payne.

‘There
have
been a few complaints, now that you mention it,’ Knight admitted.

Banks raised his eyebrows. ‘From pupils?’

Knight reddened. ‘Good Lord, no. Nothing like that. Have you any idea what happens at the merest
hint
of something like that these days?’

‘No,’ said Banks. ‘When I was at school the teachers used to thrash us with just about anything they could lay their hands on. Some of them enjoyed it, too.’

‘Well, those days are over, thank the Lord.’

‘Or the law.’

‘Not a believer?’

‘My job makes it difficult.’

‘Yes, I can understand that.’ Knight glanced towards the window. ‘Mine, too, sometimes. That’s one of the great challenges of faith, don’t you think?’

‘So what sort of problems were you having with Terence Payne?’

Knight brought himself back from a long way away and sighed. ‘Oh, just little things. Nothing important in themselves, but they all add up.’

‘For example?’

‘Tardiness. Too many days off without a valid reason. Teachers may get generous holidays, Superintendent, but they
are
expected to be here during term time, barring some serious illness, of course.’

‘I see. Anything else?’

‘Just a general sort of sloppiness. Exams not marked on time. Projects left unsupervised. Terry has a bit of a temper, and he can get quite stroppy if you call him up on anything.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘According to the head of science, only since the new year.’

‘And before that?’

‘No problems at all. Terence Payne is a good teacher – knows his stuff – and he seemed popular with the pupils. None of us can believe what’s happened. We’re stunned. Just absolutely stunned.’

‘Do you know his wife?’

‘I don’t know her. I met her once at the staff Christmas party. Charming woman. A little reserved, perhaps, but charming nonetheless.’

‘Does Terry have a colleague here called Geoff?’

‘Yes. Geoffrey Brighouse. He’s the chemistry teacher. The two of them seemed pretty thick. Went out for a jar or two together every now and again.’

‘What can you tell me about him?’

‘Geoff’s been with us six years now. Solid sort of fellow. No trouble at all.’

‘Can I talk to him?’

‘Of course.’ Knight looked at his watch. ‘He should be over in the chemistry lab right now, preparing for his next class. Follow me.’

They walked outside. The day was becoming more and more muggy as the clouds thickened, threatening rain. Nothing new. Apart from the past few days, it had been raining pretty much every day on and off since the beginning of April.

Silverhill Comprehensive was one of the few pre-war Gothic redbrick schools that hadn’t been sandblasted and converted into offices or luxury flats yet. Knots of adolescents lounged around the asphalt playground. They all seemed subdued, Banks thought, and a pall of gloom, fear and confusion hung about the place, palpable as a pea-souper. The groups weren’t mixed, Banks noticed; the girls stood in their own little conclaves, as if huddled together for comfort and security, staring down and scuffing their shoes on the asphalt as Banks and Knight walked by. The boys were a bit more animated; at least some of them were talking and there was a bit of the usual playful pushing and shoving. But the whole effect was eerie.

‘It’s been like this since we heard,’ said Knight, as if reading Banks’s mind. ‘People don’t realize how far-reaching and long-lasting the effects will be around this place. Some of the students may never get over it. It’ll blight their lives. It’s not just that we’ve lost a cherished pupil, but someone we put in a position of trust seems to be responsible for some abominable acts, if I’m not speaking out of turn.’