Bad Boy (26 page)

“Except home,” said Erin. “Except home.”

B
ANKS LEANED BACK IN HIS SEAT AND CLOSED HIS EYES
as the car slowed to a crawl at the roadworks on the A1 just north of Wetherby. Winsome had offered to drive him to Leeds. Normally he would have preferred to go alone and drive himself, but this time he had accepted her offer. He didn’t trust himself behind the wheel; he was too wired and too anxious. They hadn’t spoken much on the way down, but he was glad of her company and that she had tuned the radio to Radio 3. Vaughan Williams’s “Variation on a Theme by Thomas Tallis” was playing at the moment.

Banks had never felt so weary. Lights danced behind his eyelids. He felt as if he could see the electrical pulses jumping around in his brain projected there, flashing, arcing, short-circuiting. There was simply too much to take in, too much to comprehend, and it was getting more and more difficult for him to focus. Every moment spent tracking down nuggets of valuable information meant more time in fear and danger for Tracy.

But it had to be this way. The real problems might only begin once they had located Jaff and Tracy, and he needed to go into that situation with as much information as he could get. It was his only weapon, his only armor. After all, Jaff had a gun and a hostage.

It was the tail end of rush hour, and the traffic on the Leeds Ringroad slowed them down. Luckily they didn’t have far to go.
Victor Mallory’s house turned out to be between West Park and Moortown Golf Club. It was seven o’clock when Winsome pulled up outside the rambling detached house with its cream stucco facade, large garden, gables and mullioned bay windows.

“Not bad,” said Winsome. “Not bad at all for a thirty something.”

“Maybe we’re in the wrong business?” Banks suggested.

“Or maybe his business is
wrong.
”

“More like it,” Banks agreed. “If he’s a mate of McCready’s. There’s a lot you can do with a Cambridge degree in chemistry, and it doesn’t all involve teaching or working for pharmaceutical companies. But that’s for the locals to worry about.” Banks gestured to the silver Skoda parked down the street. “They’ve been keeping a discreet eye on him.”

“Hard to appear inconspicuous in a Skoda in a neighborhood like this,” said Winsome.

They got out and walked over to the parked car. The window was open and Banks caught a whiff of fresh cigarette smoke. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, the way it used to be. “Anything?” he asked, flashing his warrant card as discreetly as possible.

“Nor a sausage,” replied the driver. “Waste of bloody time, if you ask me.”

“Anyone come or go?”

“No.”

“He in there?”

“No idea.”

“Right. You can get off to the pub now.”

“We go when our guv says to go.”

Banks rolled his eyes and looked at Winsome, who shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.

“Anyone would think they enjoyed sitting there doing nothing,” said Winsome as they walked toward the house.

“Don’t assume everyone shares your work ethic, Winsome. Besides, they’re sitting on their brains, so maybe that cramps their thinking style. I suppose we got what we asked for, though—a watching brief. I mean, we didn’t ask for politeness or intelligence, did we?”

Winsome laughed. “I’ll make a note of it next time. Maybe a better model of car, too.” They walked up Victor Mallory’s flagstone path
and rang the doorbell. No sound came from inside. “Curtains are closed. Maybe they’ve been watching an empty house?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Banks. He pressed the doorbell again. Still nothing happened, but he thought he heard a stifled groan or a muffled call from somewhere inside the house. He glanced at Winsome, who frowned and nodded to indicate that she had heard it, too. The door seemed formidable, but when Banks turned the handle and pushed, it opened. He checked the lock, which was a dead bolt, and saw that it hadn’t been secured. There was also a strong chain and an alarm system, too, but the latter wasn’t activated. With the door closed behind them, there was only enough light in the hallway to make out the dim shape of a chair and the outline of a broad staircase leading upstairs.

Banks’s eyes adjusted, and he saw three doors leading off the hall. When he heard the sound again, he realized it was coming from the first door on his left, the front room. The heavy door was already ajar, and when he pushed, it opened slowly. The room was even darker than the hall, so he walked over and opened the thick velour curtains. Early evening light flooded in and illuminated the floor-to-ceiling bookcases against one wall, framed contemporary prints and an expensive Bang & Olufsen stereo system on another, and the figure lying on the floor at the center of the room, gagged and bound to a hard-backed chair.

“Victor Mallory, I presume?” said Banks.

All he got by way of a reply was muffled growling and cursing.

“Winsome,” he said, “could you see if you can find some scissors or a sharp kitchen knife?”

Winsome headed back out into the hall. Banks heard doors opening and closing, and moments later she came back with a pair of scissors.

“Excellent,” Banks said. He bent over Mallory. He smelled the sharp animal stink of urine and noticed a wet patch down the front of the man’s trousers. “First of all, Victor,” he said, “it’s important that you know we’re police officers and we’re not going to hurt you, so when I cut you free and take off that gag, you don’t start screaming and try to make a run for it. Got that?”

Mallory nodded and made more grumbling sounds.

“You’d never make it, anyway,” Banks went on. “Winsome here is
our star rugby player. Flying tackles and dropkicks are her specialty.” Banks heard Winsome mutter something under her breath. “I didn’t catch that,” he said.

“Nothing,” said Winsome with a sigh.

Banks then showed Mallory his warrant card and began to cut him free. He left the gag until last, loosening one of the edges and then ripping it fast.

Mallory screamed and put his hands to his mouth. If the police outside heard him, they certainly didn’t come rushing in to put an end to the police brutality.

“You’ve ripped my lips off,” Mallory moaned. There was a small amount of blood on the carpet where he had been lying, and a patch of his hair on the left side was matted.

“Don’t be a baby,” said Banks. “You okay otherwise? Do you need an ambulance? A doctor?”

“No. No, I don’t need an ambulance or a doctor. I…I just banged my head when the chair tipped over. I don’t think I have concussion. I didn’t lose consciousness or anything.” Mallory rubbed his wrists and ankles. “I could do with some water, though.”

Winsome went and brought him a pint glass filled to the brim. Some of it dribbled down Mallory’s front as he slurped it greedily, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Banks gave him a while to get his circulation flowing again, and to compose himself.

Mallory avoided Winsome’s eye. “Er, look here,” he said to Banks when he had finished the water. “I…er…I had a small accident…do you think I might possibly have a quick shower and change before we talk?” He spoke with an educated accent, public school, a little too posh and plummy for Banks’s liking.

“We don’t have time for that,” Banks said. “But I—”

“Look, why don’t we compromise? You can dry yourself down and have a quick change, but I’ll have to stay with you. Best I can offer. Okay?”

“It’ll have to do, won’t it?”

“I’ll make some tea while you’re gone,” Winsome volunteered.

“Excellent,” said Banks. “You’re lucky,” he said to Mallory. “She doesn’t usually do tea.” He followed Mallory into the hall and up the stairs. “Nice house you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

“Too much.”

“No, come on. Quarter? Half? A mill?”

“Four hundred K. A bargain at the time.”

Banks whistled. He followed Mallory into a nondescript white bedroom with an en suite bathroom and walk-in cupboards and waited while he undressed and threw his clothes in a laundry basket, then rubbed himself down with a green fluffy towel, which joined his clothes, and pulled on a navy blue tracksuit. When Mallory was ready, Banks gestured for him to head back downstairs.

Winsome was waiting on the sofa, a pot of tea, milk, sugar and three mugs on the table in front of her. “I’ll play mother, then, shall I?” she said, pouring.

“Victor,” Banks said, settling down opposite Mallory, who sat in the winged armchair by the fireplace. “Tell us what happened?”

“Two men came,” Victor said. “They…they trussed me up, the way you saw, with sticky tape, then they just left me. I could have starved or choked to death if you hadn’t come.”

“We’ll cheerfully accept the praise for saving your life,” Banks said, “but I’d say you’re exaggerating just a wee bit. How long have you been like that?”

“I don’t know. I lost track of time. They came just after lunch.”

“Maybe five or six hours, then,” said Banks, with a glance at Winsome, who had started to take notes.

“Something like that. I tried to struggle free, but all I succeeded in doing was making the tape tighter. Then I rocked the chair so hard trying to pull away, it fell over. I was helpless, like a tortoise flipped on its back.”

“So we saw.”

“Look, do you mind if I get myself a drop of brandy. This tea’s very nice and all, but I’ve really had quite a shock, you know.”

“Not at all.”

“Can I get…I mean, would either of you like anything?”

“No, thank you,” said Banks, holding up his mug. “Tea will do fine for me.”

Winsome nodded in agreement.

“Okay.” Mallory went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of Rémy into a crystal glass. “That’s better,” he said after the first sip.

“I suppose you already know that we’ll probably want the same information your previous visitors wanted.”

“I’d guessed that already. But you’re not going to tie me up and threaten me with surgical instruments, are you?”

“Is that what they did?”

Mallory gave a theatrical shudder. On second thought, Banks realized, perhaps it wasn’t so theatrical. “One of them did. A real psychopath.”

“Ciaran. One of his persuasion techniques.”

Mallory almost choked on his Remy. “You know who they are?”

“I can make a pretty good guess,” said Banks. “Winsome?”

Winsome took Rose’s sketches from her briefcase and passed them to Mallory. “Good God,” he said. “Yes. That’s them.” He passed them back to Winsome.

“Then you’re a lucky man,” said Banks. “You still have all your organs intact.” He put his mug down on the table, leaned forward and cracked his knuckles. “The thing is, Victor, we don’t have a lot of time to beat about the bush. They’ve already got five hours or more start on us, and there’s a lot at stake. A lot more than you can imagine.”

“But who are they? Why me? Are you going to arrest them?”

“That’s a lot of questions, and I’m the one supposed to be doing the asking. Did you know that your friend Jaff McCready works for a man called Fanthorpe, better known as The Farmer?”

“Fanthorpe? No. Who’s he?”

“All you need to know is that he’s also the employer of Ciaran and Darren, the men who just paid you a visit. And they may have sup-planted Jaff in Fanthorpe’s favor in recent days.”

Mallory swallowed. Banks could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “They wanted to know where Jaff is. That’s all.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No, I don’t. Honest, I don’t.”

“But you must have some idea. The Ciaran and Darren I know wouldn’t believe that at face value. They’d have cut at least a little finger off, or sharpened it like a pencil, just to make sure, and they don’t really seem to have harmed a hair on your head. All the damage that was done, you did to yourself.”

“They terrorized me! Tortured me. In my own home.”

“My guess is,” Banks went on, “that you talked, and that you talked very quickly indeed. So we’d like you to do the same with us. You owe us that courtesy, at least. I mean, they only tied you up and threatened you with mutilation. We set you free, let you change your wet clothes, gave you a cup of tea and a glass of brandy. You owe us something, Victor. You must see that.”

“You sound just like them.”

“Don’t be silly. Where’s Jaff McCready?”

Victor turned away. “I don’t know.”

“That’s better. Now I know for certain you’re lying. I like to know where I stand.” Banks read out the number of the car that had been found hidden off the moorland road. “That mean anything to you?”

“Yeah. It’s my car.”

“Good. I’m glad you didn’t try to deny that. Now we’re getting somewhere. What was it doing on the moors above Gratly?”

“I don’t even know where Gratly is.”

“That wasn’t my question. How did it get there? And don’t try to tell me it was stolen.”

“Okay, so I lent it to Jaff. I assume you already know that or you wouldn’t be here. So what? He’s a mate of mine. I didn’t know what sort of trouble he was in.”

“But you must have known he was in
some
trouble?”

“Well, sure. But like I said, he’s a mate. You help out a mate in trouble, don’t you?”

Banks thought of Juliet Doyle, who had turned her daughter in to the police when she found a handgun in her possession. Who was going to help them out of their trouble? “Let’s not get too philosophical about it, Victor. We don’t have time. What else did you ‘lend’ Jaff?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“There was a girl. She stayed outside in his car. I only saw her when
they swapped cars and got into mine. He said her name was Francesca.”

“She just stayed outside in the car of her own accord?” Mallory frowned. “Of course. Why not?”

“She didn’t appear under duress or anything?”

“No, not that I could tell.”

Banks could feel Winsome’s gaze on him. He had to tread carefully, he knew, show no emotion. If he used Tracy’s true identity to browbeat Mallory, it could all backfire on him if it came to court. Gervaise had warned him he was on thin ice, and he was already beginning to feel it splintering under his feet. “Did Jaff tell you why he needed to borrow your car?”