the terms that we could stay. John Fletcher didn’t mind. He and Dad got on quite well.”
“So there was no ill feeling between your family and John Fletcher or the Colliers?”
“No. Not to speak of. But I didn’t think much of them.”
“Oh?”
She pulled harder at the handkerchief on her lap, and it began to tear along one edge. “I always thought they were a pair of right toffee-nosed gits, but I never said nowt. Stephen thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and that Nicholas is a bit doolally, if you ask me.”
“In what way?”
“Have you met him?”
“Yes.”
“He’s like a little kid, gets all over-excited. Especially when he’s had a drink or two. Practically slavers all over a person, he does. Especially women. He even tried it on with me once, but I sent him away with his tail between his legs.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how they put up with him at that there school, unless they’re all a bit that way.”
“What about Stephen?”
Esther shrugged. “Seems a pleasant enough gent on the outside.
Bit of a smoothie, really. Got a lot more class than his brother. Bit two-faced, though.”
“In what way?”
“You know. All friendly one minute, then cuts you dead next time he sees you. But they can afford to do that, can’t they?”
“Who can?”
“Rich folks. Don’t have to live like ordinary people, like you and me, do they?”
“I don’t imagine they have the same priorities, no,” Banks said, unsure whether he approved of being called an ordinary person. “Did he try it on too?”
“Mr Stephen? No. Oh, he liked the girls, all right, but he was too much of a gentleman, for all his faults.”
Mrs Haines seemed to have forgotten her grief for a few moments, so absorbed had she been in the past, but as soon as silence fell, her tears began to flow again and her husband put his arm around her. Inthe kitchen, something smashed, and the child ran wailing into the room and buried his jammy face in Esther Haines’s lap.
Banks stood up. “You’ve been very helpful,” he said. “I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news.”
Esther nodded, handkerchief pressed to her mouth, and Mr Haines showed him to the door. “What are we to do about . . . you know . . .”
“The remains?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll be in touch soon,” Banks said. “Don’t worry.”
Upstairs, a baby started crying.
The first thing Banks did was look for a phonebox to call Sandra and tell her when he’d be back. That didn’t prove as easy as it sounded. The first three he came across had been vandalized, and he had to drive almost two miles before he found one that worked.
It was a pleasant drive back to Eastvale through Harrogate and Ripon. In a quiet mood, he slipped in Delius’s North Country Sketches instead of the sixties pop he’d been listening to. As he drove, he tried to piece together all the information he’d got that day. Whichever way he looked at it, the trail led back to Swainshead, the Greenocks, the Colliers and John Fletcher.
FIVE
I
Only the cry of a distant curlew and the sound of water gurgling over rocks in the stream out back broke the silence.
Then Sam Greenock echoed the news: “Bernie? Dead? I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Banks said. It was the second time in two days that he had been the bearer of bad news, but this time it was easier. The investigation proper had begun, and he had more on his mind than Sam Greenock’s disbelief, real or feigned.
They sat in the living-room at the back of the house: the Greenocks, Banks, and Sergeant Hatchley taking notes. Katie gazed out of the window, or sometimes she stared at the huge, ugly wooden cross on the mantelpiece. She had said nothing, given no reaction at all.
“It’s true he was staying with you, then, is it?” Banks asked. Sam nodded.
“Why didn’t his name show up on the register? We went to a lot of trouble checking every place in Swainsdale.”
“It’s not my fault,” Sam
“So there was no ill feeling between your family and John Fletcher or the Colliers?”
“No. Not to speak of. But I didn’t think much of them.”
“Oh?”
She pulled harder at the handkerchief on her lap, and it began to tear along one edge. “I always thought they were a pair of right toffee-nosed gits, but I never said nowt. Stephen thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and that Nicholas is a bit doolally, if you ask me.”
“In what way?”
“Have you met him?”
“Yes.”
“He’s like a little kid, gets all over-excited. Especially when he’s had a drink or two. Practically slavers all over a person, he does. Especially women. He even tried it on with me once, but I sent him away with his tail between his legs.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how they put up with him at that there school, unless they’re all a bit that way.”
“What about Stephen?”
Esther shrugged. “Seems a pleasant enough gent on the outside.
Bit of a smoothie, really. Got a lot more class than his brother. Bit two-faced, though.”
“In what way?”
“You know. All friendly one minute, then cuts you dead next time he sees you. But they can afford to do that, can’t they?”
“Who can?”
“Rich folks. Don’t have to live like ordinary people, like you and me, do they?”
“I don’t imagine they have the same priorities, no,” Banks said, unsure whether he approved of being called an ordinary person. “Did he try it on too?”
“Mr Stephen? No. Oh, he liked the girls, all right, but he was too much of a gentleman, for all his faults.”
Mrs Haines seemed to have forgotten her grief for a few moments, so absorbed had she been in the past, but as soon as silence fell, her tears began to flow again and her husband put his arm around her. Inthe kitchen, something smashed, and the child ran wailing into the room and buried his jammy face in Esther Haines’s lap.
Banks stood up. “You’ve been very helpful,” he said. “I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news.”
Esther nodded, handkerchief pressed to her mouth, and Mr Haines showed him to the door. “What are we to do about . . . you know . . .”
“The remains?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll be in touch soon,” Banks said. “Don’t worry.”
Upstairs, a baby started crying.
The first thing Banks did was look for a phonebox to call Sandra and tell her when he’d be back. That didn’t prove as easy as it sounded. The first three he came across had been vandalized, and he had to drive almost two miles before he found one that worked.
It was a pleasant drive back to Eastvale through Harrogate and Ripon. In a quiet mood, he slipped in Delius’s North Country Sketches instead of the sixties pop he’d been listening to. As he drove, he tried to piece together all the information he’d got that day. Whichever way he looked at it, the trail led back to Swainshead, the Greenocks, the Colliers and John Fletcher.
FIVE
I
Only the cry of a distant curlew and the sound of water gurgling over rocks in the stream out back broke the silence.
Then Sam Greenock echoed the news: “Bernie? Dead? I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Banks said. It was the second time in two days that he had been the bearer of bad news, but this time it was easier. The investigation proper had begun, and he had more on his mind than Sam Greenock’s disbelief, real or feigned.
They sat in the living-room at the back of the house: the Greenocks, Banks, and Sergeant Hatchley taking notes. Katie gazed out of the window, or sometimes she stared at the huge, ugly wooden cross on the mantelpiece. She had said nothing, given no reaction at all.
“It’s true he was staying with you, then, is it?” Banks asked. Sam nodded.
“Why didn’t his name show up on the register? We went to a lot of trouble checking every place in Swainsdale.”
“It’s not my fault,” Sam
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