5

Banham was pleased he was able to keep his weekly appointment with Joan Deamer. She asked him how his physical problem was progressing, and looked slightly amused when he mentioned Katie Faye as well as Alison Grainger.

“Katie’s so pretty,” he told her. “Any man would be attracted to her. And...” He looked down at his lap, and Joan said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“And?” she prompted when he didn’t.

“It’s... Her eyes. They’re so blue...”

He closed his eyes as the nightmare images of his wife and daughter began to fill his mind again. His heart began to pound, and he had to fight to slow his breathing.

From a distance Joan Deamer’s calm voice penetrated the rushing sound in his ears. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it seemed to soothe the panic all the same. He opened his eyes, and after a few moments the room stopped swaying, and he was able to look at Joan’s concerned face.

“Are you OK now?” she asked. “You had me worried for a minute there.”

Banham nodded, swallowing hard.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

As happened so often during these sessions, it took a minute or two to get started, but once he did, he found he couldn’t stop talking. Joan Deamer listened patiently as he told her again about the worst night of his life, when he arrived home to find his wife and baby daughter brutally murdered, their bludgeoned bodies on the floor of Elizabeth’s nursery. When the words stopped pouring out of him and he sat, breathless and drained, she covered his icy hand with her warm one and squeezed it gently, biting her lower lip.

Banham felt he’d been wrung dry. He was reminded of his first session with Joan, when the memory of that horrific night had come tumbling out for the first time. Slowly his heart rate calmed, and after a little while Joan spoke.

“What I don’t understand is how what happened today connects to... that night? There’s clearly something – some kind of trigger.”

“It’s...” Banham breathed deeply. “Katie Faye has... her eyes are so... so blue. Just like Diane’s.”

“Ah.” Joan Deamer nodded. “How does that make you feel, Paul?”

Banham struggled to find an answer. “Scared,” he admitted. “She’s a main witness in the case I’m on, and I’m probably going to see a lot of her in the next few days.”

“So you’re concerned you might not be able to handle it?”

“Partly, I suppose.”

“What else, then?”

“Well, I’m... She’s so...”

She helped him out. “You’re attracted to her?”

“Of course. But then there’s... Alison. But that’s different.”

Joan Deamer smiled. “Paul, all I’m getting here is that you’re a perfectly normal man, as least in the way you react to women. You have a problem, but you’ve come a long way since you first came to me. In fact, I’d say you’ve taken a second step forward.”

“What was the first?”

“Deciding to come for counselling in the first place. Now, where do we go from here? Do you think you’re ready to move forward with Alison?”

He shook his head. “I messed up big time there. I wouldn’t dare.”

“How did she react when you showed an interest in Katie Faye?”

“I don’t think she liked it, but...”

He was almost sure her small smile signalled genuine amusement. “What does that tell you?”

He made no reply. Joan tried again.

“How do you think she’d react if you asked Katie Faye out?”

“That’s a definite no-no. Katie’s a witness in a current enquiry; it’s out of the question.”

“And if she wasn’t?”

He gave her a rueful smile. Joan Deamer could read him like a book. She knew he wouldn’t have the courage. Why would the sexiest woman on television be interested in him?

He always left Joan’s office exhausted but oddly satisfied. After only eight sessions they had made a lot of progress. At least he’d begun to feel his life might eventually be more than work and loneliness, even if Katie Faye’s liquid blue eyes were way out of his league.

He felt a stab of sadness that he had blown his chance with Alison Grainger. As well as being attracted to her, he felt comfortable in her company, probably because they had work in common. At least they still had that. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and pressed her number.

“What news on Brian Finn?” he asked.

“We’re still outside his mother’s, guv. Crowther’s keeping me entertained.”

With his endless fund of stories about his conquests, Banham thought. “Good,” he replied. “Keep me informed.”

He walked to his car mulling things over. The results of the post mortem wouldn’t be in until tomorrow, and Katie Faye and Olivia Stone had agreed to come to the station in the morning to make their statement. Finn would be brought in for interview tonight, but until that happened he still had time on his hands. He decided to pay his sister Lottie another call. He’d be in good time to tell Madeleine the story about the princess and the pea-fairy. He turned it over quickly in his mind. The princess was pricked by a needle from a spinning wheel and put to sleep in an ivory tower, but the pea-fairy was on duty under the mattress, and summoned a handsome prince to climb the tower and wake her with a kiss so they could live happily ever after. He would tell her the prince had a white pony; she loved ponies almost as much as Banham loved her.

It was dark, and the cold had really set in as he turned into the small side road of Victorian semi-detached cottages where Lottie lived. His passenger seat was heaped with small chocolate bars for Maddy and Bobby, and a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers for Lottie. He liked giving his twin sister treats; life wasn’t great for her since her husband had upped and left.

Bobby was playing football against the outside wall. The boy ran to meet Banham as he drew up in his new dark blue Ford Mondeo.

“Hey, Uncle Paul, that’s a new motor. Can I get a ride?”

Banham scooped up the gifts from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. What was Bobby doing in the street on such a cold night, playing on his own? He held out a hand to his small nephew and pointed the key at the car. “I’ll have to clear that with your mum,” he said. “If it’s OK with her we’ll bring Madeleine too.”

The front door of the tiny cottage opened into the lounge. As he pushed it, Bobby slid down his back, and Lottie looked up. She was sitting by the table talking on the phone, and brought the call to a swift end when she saw her brother and son. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying.

An appetising aroma wafted through from her tiny kitchen. “What’s for supper?” he asked cheerfully. “Is there enough for an overworked policeman?”

Bobby was jumping up and down beside him, trying to relieve him of the chocolate in his hand. “Have you had your tea?” Banham asked the boy.

“Yep.”

Banham released his grip on the sweets, then put the flowers and the wine on the table beside his sister.

“Pork chops, creamed swede and fried potatoes.” Lottie picked up the flowers and carried them through to the kitchen, looking everywhere but directly at her brother. “And yes, there’s loads, especially the swede. The kids won’t touch it. Give me a few minutes.”

“You won’t get your chocolate next time if I hear you didn’t eat your swede,” Banham warned Bobby, who was kneeling on the floor rummaging through the assortment of sweets. He looked up at his uncle with a mischievous grin, which Banham found himself returning. Both he and Madeleine could wrap him round their little fingers, and they knew it.

He called to Lottie, “Take as long as you like. I’ll take Bobby and Madeleine for a spin around the block in the new motor, then I’ll put them to bed if you like.”

One bedtime story turned into three. At the end of each one, Madeleine asked if she was pretty enough to be a princess, and each time Banham told her she was. Finally she fell asleep, thumb in her mouth and arm around her white unicorn. Banham tucked her Barbie blanket around her and crept down the narrow staircase to join his sister.

“Drink, Paul?” Lottie held up the bottle of wine he had brought.

“Better not. I’m working tonight.” He sat down at the table, where she had laid a place for him. “The swede smells great, the kids don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Cinnamon and butter, with a touch of black pepper.” She put the plate in front of him.

“What’s on your mind, Lot?” he asked, picking up his fork.

“Nothing.”

The answer came too quickly. He starting cutting his pork into very fine slices. “I’m always ready to listen,” he said, “and always at the other end of a phone.”

Lottie pulled her mouth into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. You don’t need to worry about me. It’s all sorted now.”

He put a forkful of swede in his mouth and chewed slowly, turning his head to look at her. This time she didn’t look away.

Brian Finn was only in his mid-forties, but the mass of dark curly hair from his youth had faded and thinned. He was still a big man, though the muscled physique from his earlier fighting days had turned to fat, and he looked like a middle-aged man who lived on junk food.

His shabby navy tracksuit looked as if it had been retrieved from a charity shop, and his trainers were grey with age and thick with mud. He was sweating heavily and breathing noisily as he jogged slowly toward the flats.

“He’s coming,” Alison said, cutting Crowther off in mid-sentence.

Crowther opened the car door, ID his hand. Finn spotted him, froze momentarily, then made a dash for the graffiti-clad staircase that led to his mother’s council flat.

“Brian Finn! Stop! Police!” Alison hit the pavement at a run.

But Brian had disappeared up the stairs.

Alison hotfooted her way up the stairs and caught Finn before he reached the third flight. He tried to resist, but she held fast to his arm and pushed him against the wall. Crowther was right behind her, verbalising his disgust at the smell of stale urine.

Finn wrestled like a cornered wild animal. It took two of them to cuff his hands behind his back, and as they led the big man down the stairs windows and doors all over the estate opened and curious heads popped out. A few kids leaned over a concrete balcony strewn with clothes. Alison looked up, momentarily distracted by a particularly inventive term of abuse, and Brian suddenly kicked out.

“This is a set-up,” he yelled. “What the fuck am I supposed to have done?”

Crowther held on to him and hustled him into the back of Alison’s car.

“We can start with resisting arrest,” she said calmly. “If you carry on like this, we’ll be adding assaulting a police officer.” She slid into the seat beside him. “And then there’s a small matter of blackmail.”

A stone came hurtling through the air and landed on the bonnet of her beloved car. “And accessory to criminal damage,” she added.

Her famous temper was about to erupt. “Leave it, sarge,” Crowther said abruptly. “Let’s go.”

Her fury subsided as fast as it had risen. He was right; this estate was dangerous enough; no need for them to make things worse for the local force.

Banham was at the station before Crowther and Alison arrived. Isabelle Walsh had left Brian Finn’s file on his desk, and he had taken the chance to get up to speed on the man’s history.

In July 1988, Finn had been caught red-handed with Ahmed Abdullah’s dead body in his car. He confessed to his murder, but refused to answer any questions, and consequently served nineteen years of a life sentence, before being released a few weeks earlier. The cause of death was recorded as asphyxiation; the post mortem revealed a satin thread in Abdullah’s windpipe. The thread had been part of a red g-string found in the deceased’s top pocket.

Banham rubbed his mouth, then picked up the papers and made his way to the interview room.

When he entered the room Finn didn’t look up. He sat motionless, head bent, staring at the table.

“He has refused legal representation, guv,” Alison said.

She turned the tape on and made the official statement. Banham tapped his chin with his fingers and looked at Finn. “So you decided to blackmail Olivia Stone and Katie Faye?”

Finn lifted his head, but didn’t answer. His eyes darted nervously from Banham to Alison and back again.

Banham sighed. “OK. Let me remind you. You sent them a note demanding a hundred thousand pounds.”

Finn still said nothing.

Banham raised his voice slightly. “One hundred thousand pounds. In exchange for video tapes you have in your possession. Tapes of both women, and three others, in intimate sexual situations with Ahmed Abdullah, the man you killed.”

Finn’s gaze dropped back to the scarred table. “Will I go back to prison?” he asked quietly.

“Why did you kill Shaheen Hakhti?” Banham asked abruptly.

Alison threw him a quick glance, surprise in her eyes.

“What?” Finn looked astonished. “I never... Shaheen? Dead?” His brown eyes were wide and frightened now. “I love them girls. I wouldn’t hurt an ’air on their ’eads.”

“You killed Ahmed Abdullah,” Alison said. “You admitted that.”

Finn looked her in the eye. “And I’ve served my time,” he said, his voice firmer. “I don’t need to answer any questions about that. But I’m telling you, I wouldn’t hurt them girls. I wouldn’t. Shaheen, dead...” His face dropped into his hands and he shook his head slowly.

“You’d blackmail them,” Alison said sharply. “Isn’t that hurting them?”

Finn looked up at her and his face crumpled. “That’s different. If they’d...” His voice fell to a whisper. “My kid’s brain-damaged.”

“We know,” Alison said. “It’s very sad. But blackmail is still a crime.”

Banham was watching him carefully. “You choked Ahmed Abdullah with a red g-string,” he said. “And Shaheen Hakhti was found with one in her mouth.” He paused. “Only you cut Shaheen’s throat as well.”

Brian looked terrified. “I never did, guvnor.” He put his hands flat on the table and leaned towards Banham. “I wouldn’t do anything like that,” he said emotionally. “Why would I want to kill her?”

“That’s what we’re asking you,” Banham said coldly.

There was a silence.

Alison looked Finn in the eyes. “Shaheen wanted to take your blackmail demand to the police,” she said. “She didn’t want Olivia Stone and Katie Faye to pay you. And you knew that, didn’t you?”

Finn made no reply.

“OK, let’s go back to the beginning.” Banham was becoming irritated. “There were six women working with you in the Scarlet Pussy Club nineteen years ago. Ahmed Abdullah made pornographic tapes of those women, which came into your possession. You knew they would pay handsomely to get them back. But Shaheen Hakhti wouldn’t agree. She wanted to go to the police. So you killed her.”

Finn jumped up and banged his fist on the table. “That’s a lie! Till you said it just now, I didn’t even know Shaheen was dead.”

“Sit down, Finn,” Banham said wearily.

Finn subsided into his chair, obviously still riled. “You can’t keep me here,” he said. “I’ve committed no crime, and my mother needs me.”

“I can,” Banham said. “I’m arresting you for blackmail, and you’ll be held for further questioning in connection with the murder of Shaheen Hakhti. Caution him, sergeant.”

“We’ve got thirty-six hours to come up with something,” Alison said as they walked back to the incident room.

“I need the exhibits from the Abdullah case,” Banham said. “If the g-strings were the same, we’ve got him.”

“Could it be a copycat?”

Banham shook his head. “A copycat would be closer. Abdullah was choked, and the g-string left in his top pocket. Shaheen Hakhti’s throat was cut, and it was stuffed in her mouth. All the same, if the g-strings are the same, it’s enough to get us into court.”

“But possibly not enough to get a murder charge to stick,” Alison pointed out. “We need more. I’ll chase up the CCTV. If we can track the car...”

“It’s connected to that strip club,” Banham broke in, rubbing his mouth in his habitual gesture. “Why the g-strings, if it isn’t?”

Alison nodded agreement. “Who stood to lose if Shaheen Hakhti went to the police?”

Banham thought aloud. “Kenneth Stone for one. His career’s already on the line.”

“His wife too. And the vulnerable and gorgeous Katie Faye.” Alison wanted to bite the words back as soon as they were out; the wave of jealousy had taken her by surprise. But she decided not to back down; her opinion of the lovely Miss Faye was as much professional as personal. “You don’t watch Screened, do you, guv?”

“That hospital thing? You mentioned it before. I think my sister watches it. Why?”

“Katie Faye’s the star. She plays a sweet, clean-living staff nurse. She’s won awards – not for acting: people’s favourite, nation’s sweetheart, that kind of thing. That’s the image she’s built up. A pornographic video would ruin her. And it would probably cost Olivia Stone her marriage. The question is, how far would they go to protect themselves?”

“Ken Stone has a lot more to lose.” Banham pushed open a swing door and held it for her. “He knows the tapes exist, remember.”

Alison flicked her long mouse-brown plait over one shoulder. “That struck me as a tad strange,” she mused. “He was young, rich and affluent yet he frequented a down-market strip club like the Scarlet Pussy.”

“What’s strange about that?” Banham turned to look her in the face. “He was twenty-something and single; what was strange about liking to watch pretty girls undress? I’d call that pretty normal.”

Alison smiled to herself, but said nothing. Normally Banham would clam up and say zilch when this kind of subject came up; something had clearly changed.

“I think you should talk to Ken Stone again tomorrow,” he went on. “He likes pretty women.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I won’t wear stockings and a thigh-length mini-skirt, guv,” Alison replied dryly, delighted that Banham had hinted she was pretty.

He added, “Take Isabelle Walsh with you. All the men fancy her.”

Typical! He had to go and spoil it. She swallowed down the sharp retort that sprang to her lips and marched swiftly through the next swing door.

Banham was completely oblivious to his lack of tact. “With luck, something might turn up in post mortem report,” he went on. “And we’ll need to get a warrant to search Finn’s flat. Let’s try and retrieve the videos.”

“Crowther can do that,” Alison suggested. “The residents won’t give him so much grief. They dented the bonnet of my car with a brick today.”

“Better still if we could find more of those red g-strings,” he said.

“It would help if Crowther hadn’t fallen out with Penny Starr,” Alison said acidly. Penny was the head forensic officer, and her relationship with Crowther had gone on so long people had only started gossiping about it when it came to an end. “She was a great asset to us when they were an item; she used to work all hours if he was on duty too.”

“I didn’t know it was over,” Banham said. “Why have they fallen out?”

“It was yesterday’s main gossip,” Alison said, as the door to the incident room swung open.

Crowther stood the other side of it. “Guv,” he said. “I was just coming to find you. We’ve got another one.”