Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) (48 page)

Joanna gave a sound halfway between a sniff and a snort. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, snapping the case and putting her mobile away. ‘It’s personal. Private.’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘None of your bloody business.’

‘Don’t you think we know each other well enough by now, even if no one could call us the best of friends? And if we’re working together, it is my business. It’s a distraction.’

Joanna raised her eyes, and Banks saw a vulnerability and pain in them that he had never noticed before. She must have realised because she quickly reasserted her usual ice-maiden manner. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Come on, Joanna.’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘My curious nature.’

‘So you can laugh at me, make fun of me?’

‘What? Why would I do that?’

‘You’ve been doing it right from the start.’

‘So what is it? Come on. Tell me. I promise I won’t make fun of you.’

Joanna toyed with her food, obviously trying to decide whether to tell him or not. In the end, she averted her eyes and said. ‘It’s my husband. I think he’s having an affair.’

‘So who keeps texting you?’

‘A colleague. I asked her if she’d keep an eye on him, see if anything unusual happened.’

‘And has it?’

She nodded. ‘The bastard.’

Banks could tell that she was welling up by the way she kept her eyes down on her food. He didn’t say anything for a while, but when he sensed she was in control again he rested his hand on her arm and said, ‘I’m sorry, Joanna. Really, I am.’

She looked at him then, and he thought she seemed surprised by his words and his tone. At least she didn’t jerk her arm away. ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘I should have seen it coming. He’s Italian. He’s always maintained that it’s perfectly OK for the husband to take a mistress. I feel such a fool. I always thought he was teasing, you know, but . . .’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve been trying to decide. I’ll have to have it out with him when I get back, of course, then I’m leaving him. We don’t have any children, so that’s one less thing to stand in my way. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear living like this. Some people might be able to put up with such behaviour, but I can’t do it. I’ve got a nice flat in Northallerton, I like it there, so I might as well just stay up north.’ She smiled. ‘I’d still like to work in some other unit. Maybe I’ll chase after your job.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Banks. ‘Do you still love him?’

‘What kind of a question is that?’ Joanna said nothing for a while, just stared down at the tablecloth. Then she spoke so softly that Banks could hardly hear her. ‘Yes.’

They ate on in silence, Joanna quaffing her wine rather quickly now, and needing a refill well before Banks. ‘So now you know everything about me,’ she said, when she was able to manage a cavalier, fuck-it-all tone in her voice.

‘I doubt that,’ said Banks. ‘But I am sorry to hear about your problems. I’ve been there. If you ever want—’

She waved her hand. ‘No, it’s fine, thanks. I don’t need to talk about it. I don’t suppose your wife was unfaithful to you, was she?’

‘As a matter of fact, she was. Knocked me for a six.’

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Well, well. Wonders never cease. And I’d have thought . . .’

‘That I’d be the one at fault?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not saying I wasn’t at fault.’

Joanna studied him for a moment. ‘For some reason,’ she said, ‘I find myself unusually hungry after this conversation. Have you got room for pudding?’

‘I think so,’ said Banks. ‘And I’ve got a little job I’d like you to help me with tomorrow.’

There was a grey Clio parked in front of the newish, detached house outside Eastvale, and the man who answered the door seemed very nervous indeed. When Annie and Winsome showed their identification, he kept the door on the chain while asking them what they wanted.

‘Mr Flinders?’ Annie asked. ‘Roderick Flinders of Rod’s Staff Ltd?’

‘What if I am?’

‘Mind if we come in for a moment?’

‘As a matter of fact, I’m busy. It’s not convenient.’

Annie gave him the scathing look she reserved for the most obvious liars, and after a thirty-second staring match, during which she could swear she saw sweat break out on his brow, Flinders shut the door, fiddled with the chain, and opened it to let them in, ushering them towards the living room at the front. The furniture was all slightly old-fashioned, as if it had been bought at auctions. The large plasma TV was probably worth a small fortune. Flinders himself was not quite what she had expected of the sleazy exploiter of unskilled labour, but an overweight, red-faced, balding man in his early fifties, wearing a chunky-knit cardigan, who looked as if he would be more at home behind a desk in an insurance office than shepherding poor migrant workers around from factory to factory. His skin was baby smooth and had the sheen of wet plastic. Still, Annie realised, he didn’t do much of the shepherding himself; he had minions and gangmasters to work for him.

‘What is it?’ he said, turning to face them. ‘As I said, I’m very busy.’

‘With what?’ Annie asked.

‘Pardon?’

Annie glanced around the room. ‘What are you so busy with?’ she asked. ‘I don’t see anything in here to occupy your time.’

‘A business matter. In my home office.’

‘Ah, I see. Then we’ll get straight to the point. Winsome?’

Winsome consulted her notebook. ‘We’re investigating a series of infringements of the law under the Asylum and Immigration Act, and the Anti-Slavery Act,’ said Winsome. There was no Anti-Slavery Act, but it sounded more dramatic than Coroners and Justice Bill, under which such matters came.

‘What are you talking about?’ Flinders cried. ‘I’m a legitimate businessmen. Everyone who goes through my company is closely vetted. We have no truck with asylum seekers or illegal immigrants.’

‘They don’t need to be illegal, sir,’ Winsome went on. ‘All we need to prove is that violence, intimidation or deception were used to bring a migrant worker into the country.’

‘And, of course,’ Annie added, ‘moving people around the country without their consent is also a form of trafficking under the law, and is therefore prosecutable under the Act. Sentences can be rather excessive, as many judges take a dim view of these activities. In other words, mate, you could get banged up for a long time.’

‘But I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Do you know a man called Warren Corrigan?’

Flinders averted his eyes. ‘I’ve met him.’

‘Perhaps you’ve heard he was shot on Friday evening?’

‘I . . . yes . . . I . . . on the news. It’s terrible. Just terrible.’

‘Indeed it is,’ said Annie. ‘A real tragedy. Do you know the circumstances under which he was shot?’

‘No. I don’t know who did it, either. I was here at home. It was nothing to do with me.’

‘We know that, sir. But we understand that you met with Mr Corrigan on a number of occasions?’

‘We did some business together, yes.’

‘What sort of business would that be?’

‘Business of a financial nature. Warren was a financier.’

‘That’s a nice name for it, isn’t it?’ said Annie. Winsome nodded.

‘For what?’ Flinders demanded.

‘Loan shark.’

Flinders did his best to appear indignant, but succeeded only in looking more scared. ‘I know nothing about that. As far as I was concerned, Warren Corrigan was a legitimate businessman, like myself.’

‘“Like me”,’ corrected Annie. ‘What about Mihkel Lepikson?’

‘Who?’

‘The Estonian journalist found murdered at Garskill Farm.’

‘I know nothing about that.’

‘But you know Garskill Farm, don’t you?’

‘Yes. The company used it as temporary accommodation for some of our workers.’

‘The “company” being you?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘I’m glad to hear it was only temporary,’ Annie said, ‘though it turned out to be a bit more permanent for Mihkel Lepikson.’

‘I told you, I don’t know him.’

‘Did you visit Garskill Farm the other Wednesday morning?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘I’m not sure if I believe you,’ said Annie. ‘Still, we’ll leave that for the moment. Mind if we have a look around?’

‘Have you got a search warrant?’

‘No, But I’d be happy to wait here with you while Winsome goes and gets one.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must remind you, though, it’s Sunday, and magistrates can be awfully hard to find on a Sunday. It’s unlikely we’d be able to get hold of one until tomorrow morning, at the earliest. In the meantime, we might as well take you to the station, and you can spend a night in the cells. Don’t worry. It’s not as terrible as it sounds. It might not be as comfortable as this place, but you get three square meals a day, there’s a working toilet and the showers are hot.’

‘All right. Get on with it then.’

‘Like to give us the guided tour?’

Flinders led them around the house – his office, first, with the filing cabinets and computer, which would definitely be worth a search warrant in itself – then a large well-equipped kitchen complete with island and pots and pans hanging from a ceiling fixture, too spick and span to have been used recently, a cloakroom, plenty of cupboard space, dining room with heavy dark wood table and overstuffed chairs. Upstairs were four bedrooms, two of which were empty, and one of which was set up for guests.

‘Do you live here all alone?’ Annie asked.

‘My wife and I have separated,’ said Flinders. ‘I’ve been thinking of selling the place and moving somewhere smaller, but the market is poor.’

‘Oh. Sorry to hear that. About your wife, I mean.’

The final room was Flinders’ bedroom. He seemed reluctant to open the door, but he clearly sensed that he wasn’t in much of a position to refuse. Two suitcases lay open on the four-poster bed, half filled with clothes and toiletries.

Annie glanced at Winsome and raised her eyebrows. ‘Going somewhere, Mr Flinders?’

‘If you must know, I was planning on taking a short holiday. It’s been a stressful time at work lately. My heart . . . angina, you see.’

‘Somewhere nice, I hope?’

‘Acapulco.’

‘Very nice. All alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about the business?’

‘It can run itself for a little while. I have helpers. One needs to recharge one’s batteries every now and then. Even a police detective should know that.’

Annie laughed. ‘I’ve been recharging mine for the past few months. They’re in pretty good shape by now. Right, Winsome?’

‘Right,’ said Winsome, smiling.

Flinders’ chin started to wobble. ‘You can’t possibly read anything into this,’ he said. ‘It’s a coincidence, that’s all.’

‘What’s a coincidence?’

‘Well, you know . . .’

‘No. Tell me.’

‘You coming here just before I was about to leave. I know it might appear bad, but . . .’

‘And here’s me thinking you meant us coming here after Warren Corrigan was shot, and after Mihkel Lepikson was murdered by a hired killer called Robert Tamm, in your presence.’

‘I wasn’t there, I tell you!’

‘We think you were.’ Annie actually doubted that Flinders had the bottle to watch Robert Tamm torture and drown Mihkel Lepikson, but she was aiming for maximum discomfort. People seemed to think the police fitted people up all the time, so why not let Flinders believe that he was going to get fitted up for conspiracy to murder.

Flinders licked his lips. ‘I should go. I have to get to the airport. I have a flight to catch.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ said Annie. ‘You might as well relax and get used to the idea. I hope you took out some cancellation insurance.’

‘But you can’t . . . I mean, I have freedom of movement. I—’

‘Like your workers?’

‘I resent that.’

‘Shut up, Mr Flinders I’m sick of your whining. Where’s Krystyna?’

‘Who?’

‘Krystyna? The girl you picked up this morning at the yeast factory where some of your migrant crew used to work.’

‘I don’t know wh—’

‘You were seen. Your car was seen. Your man in the gatehouse told me everything. Didn’t seem to think he’d done anything wrong. We know that nobody showed up for their shift yesterday morning, the morning after Corrigan was killed. We think you’re running scared because you’re worried that what happened to him might happen to you. You cut the crew loose, but the guard on the gate phoned you when he saw Krystyna hanging around the gates. She was looking for her friend Ewa. Krystyna had been gone for over a week, since the day Mihkel Lepikson was killed, in fact. You were worried she knew something. What have you done with her?’

Flinders was very red. He flopped into an armchair beside the bed and his head sank to his chest. His breathing sounded laboured. Annie glanced at Winsome, a little alarmed, worried that he’d had a heart attack or something. He fumbled in his pocket, brought out a little cylinder, then opened his mouth and sprayed lightly under his tongue. ‘Nitro-glycerin,’ he said, patting his chest.