“No.”

Annie closed her notebook. “Very well, Mr. Bennett,” she said. “You can go now. We might need to get in touch again later.”

“Fine. Feel free to do whatever you need here, but please remember to lock up when you leave.”

Bennett practically ran out of the office. Annie stood in the doorway and watched him reverse the BMW, then take off in what would have been a cloud of dust, had the ground not been so wet. As it was, one of the puddles he hit sent a sheet of water over a woman just walking into the needlework-center shop a few units down. She looked down at her soaked raincoat and tights and glared after the car, shaking her fist.

She shouldn’t have been quite so sharp with Bennett, Annie thought, as she watched him clear the gates and turn right onto the main road. He was a smug pillock, true enough, but she’d had to deal with plenty of those in her time, and she hadn’t usually resorted to bullying. He looked like the kind who’d put in a complaint, too. Would that have any effect on her attempt to make inspector? She doubted it. But she also made a mental note to watch herself and be a lot more compassionate toward fools and pillocks.

Now, she thought, it was simply a matter of deciding whether to go right or left and spend an hour or so talking to the people who operated the businesses at Daleview. They would probably know a lot more about its day-to-day operations than Mr. Ian bloody Bennett. After that, with any luck, Colin Finch would have reported for duty.

“Barry was very angry after you left,” Emily said, toying with, rather than smoking, another cigarette. “I’ve never seen him so angry. When he gets angry, he goes all cold. He doesn’t go red in the face and shout or anything, like Dad, he just gets this fixed sort of smile and does everything in a very slow, careful sort of way, like straightening the cushions on the settee or lighting a cigarette. And he talks very quietly. It’s frightening.”

“Do you know why he was angry?”

“Because you came asking questions. He doesn’t like anyone asking questions, especially strangers.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Barry? He didn’t do anything. I’m telling you. He was angry in that cold way he had. He just told me to get ready for the party, then we did another couple of lines of coke and off we went.”

“What kind of party was it?”

“The usual sort. Music-business people, a few minor bands, groupies, along with a few young entrepreneurs, other club owners. The kind of people Barry collects. There was a bonfire and fireworks outside, but mostly we stayed indoors.”

“Drugs?”

She laughed. “Oh, yes. Of course. Always drugs.”

“Does Barry deal?”

“No. He just buys.”

“Go on.”

Emily paused. For all her bravado, Banks could tell she had difficulty talking about it. “Barry was weird all evening. I tried to just… you know… stay away from him until his mood had passed, keep my distance, talk to some of the guys in the bands and stuff, but he kept appearing, smiling in that cold way of his, putting his arm around me, touching me… sometimes even squeezing… hurting me…” She drank some of her Snowball, grimaced and said, “I don’t think I like this, after all. Would you get me a lager and lime or something like that? I’m thirsty.”

“I’m not buying you an alcoholic drink, Emily. You’re under age.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m already drinking one, aren’t I?”

“You’re right. I probably shouldn’t even be sitting with you. But I am. If you want me to get you a drink you’ll get a lemonade or a Coke.”

“I won’t tell you the rest of my story.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Bastard. And I thought you were supposed to be my friend.”

Banks said nothing. Emily sashayed to the bar, drawing all the male eyes again. Banks sipped some beer and lit his second cigarette. He was definitely going to make some inquiries into Mr. Barry Clough and his “business” activities over the next few days.

Emily came back with a pint of lager and lime and spilled some as she set it triumphantly on the table. For a while, she didn’t say anything, then she took a long swig, paused and said, “It was pretty late. I don’t know. Two or three in the morning. Everyone was really wasted. I was feeling weird, like someone had put something in my drink. It might have been one of those date-rape drugs I’ve read about, but I’d had so much other stuff I didn’t fall asleep. I just felt strange. Floating. Anyway, Barry took me aside and said there was something he wanted me to do for him.” As she spoke, she looked into her drink and the fingers of her right hand rubbed at the table’s surface. Banks noticed the chewed nails. “He took me upstairs toward one of the bedrooms. I thought he wanted a blow job or something. He sometimes did. I didn’t really want to, I was feeling so spaced out, but… if it would get him off my back for a while… Anyway, it wasn’t that. He opened the bedroom door and there was Andy inside. Anyway, he was stark naked and he… I mean, we’d all been taking V amp; E, so he was, you know, it was…”

“V and E?”

She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Viagra and Ecstasy. Anyway, like I said, he was… like he had a lamppost between his legs. Barry just gave me a push forward and told me to be nice to him, then I heard the door shut. Anyway, when Barry pushed me I fell on the bed and Andy started pulling at my clothes, rubbing against me. It was gross. I might have been stoned, and I’ll admit I’ve not always been a good girl, but this was seriously out of line. I mean, it ought to be my choice who I have sex with, not someone else’s, oughtn’t it? And it wasn’t even him so much. I mean, he was a pathetic creep, but the thought that Barry had given me to him as a sort of punishment for you coming and asking questions… I don’t know. It just made me sick, that’s all.”

She paused to drink some lager and lime. Banks felt his anger rise along with the guilt; it was his arrival that had caused the problems for Emily. He told himself that, no matter what, with someone like Clough she would have got to that point eventually anyway, but it didn’t help right then. He also remembered the night, not so long ago, in a London bistro, when Annie Cabbot had told him about her sexual humiliation at the hands of some CID colleagues. “Who was this Andy? Did you know him?”

“Like I said, I’d seen him around. He’s one of Barry’s gofers. At least I’ve heard Barry telling him off and ordering him to do stuff sometimes. Takes the piss out of him some-thing terrible, too. Andy has a stutter, see. I mean, that was one of the most humiliating things about it. Like, Barry had given me to one of his employees. To someone he thought was a bit of a joke. It made me feel worthless. Like shit.”

“What was his full name?”

“Andrew Handley. But everyone calls him Andy Pandy. Anyway, you know the rest. Or most of it.”

“How did you get away?”

“We struggled. He wasn’t really expecting any resistance, so I just kneed him in the balls and he hit me and let go. The door wasn’t locked. I ran out, downstairs and out of the house without looking back. I was only worried that Barry might be lurking around at the bottom of the stairs or something and that he’d stop me, but I didn’t see him. I was lucky. We were near Victoria Station, so I ran to the taxi rank and the only place I could think of to go was your hotel. And that’s it. The sad story of Barry and Emily. Or Barry and Louisa.”

“Did he ever mistreat you before that?”

“No. But I never gave him cause to.”

“What do you mean?”

Emily thought for a moment, then said, “With Craig, it was easy. He was jealous, maybe a bit too much, and it made him a bit crazy. With Barry, it’s different. He’s possessive, not jealous. He expects loyalty. You know that there are certain lines you’re not supposed to cross. I’m not a fool. I might not know exactly what he’s into, but I know it’s probably illegal. And I know he hurts people. I saw him hurt Craig.”