Final Account Read Online Free PDF Page B

Arkbeck Farm. “I told her you were here …” She shrugged.
    That was odd, Banks thought. Surely a mother would want to comfort her daughter and protect her from prying policemen? “Have you remembered anything else?” he asked.
    Alison Rothwell looked worn out and worried to death. She wore her hair, unwashed and a little greasy, tied back, emphasizing her broad forehead, a plain white T-shirt and stonewashed designer jeans. She sat with her legs tucked under her, and as she talked, she fiddled with a ring on the little finger of her right hand. “I don’t know,” she said. The lisp made her sound like a little girl.
    They sat in a small, cheerful room at the back of the house with ivory-painted walls and Wedgwood blue upholstery. A bookcase stood against one wall, mostly full of paperbacks, their spines a riot of orange, green and black. Against the wall opposite stood an upright piano with a highly lacquered cherry-wood finish. On top of it stood an untidy pile of sheet music. WPC Smithies, who had stayed with the Rothwells, sat discreetly in a corner, notebook open. Phil Richmond was upstairs in Keith Rothwell’s study, clicking away on the computer.
    The large bay window, open about a foot to let in the birdsongs and fresh air, looked out over Fortford and the dale beyond. It was a familiar enough view to Banks. He had seen it from “Maggie’s Farm” on the other side of Relton, and from the house of a man called Adam Harkness on the valley bottom. The sight never failed to impress, though, even on a dull day like today, with the grey-brown ruins of Devraulx Abbey poking through the trees of its grounds, the village of Lyndgarth clustered around its lopsided green and, towering over the patchwork of pale green fields and dry-stone walls that rose steeply to the heights, the forbidding line of Aldington Edge, a long limestone scar streaked with fissures from top to bottom like gleaming skeleton’s teeth.
    â€œI know it’s painful to remember,” Banks went on, “but we need all the help we can get if we’re to catch these men.”
    â€œI know. I’m sorry.”
    â€œDo you remember hearing any sounds between the time they went outside and when you heard the bang?”
    Alison frowned. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œNo sounds of a struggle, or screaming?”
    â€œNo. It was all so quiet. That’s what I remember.”
    â€œNo talking?”
    â€œI didn’t hear any.”
    â€œAnd you don’t know how long they were out there before the explosion?”
    â€œNo. I was scared and I was worried. Mum was sitting facing me. I could see how frightened she was, but I couldn’t do anything. I just felt so powerless.”
    â€œWhen it was all over, did you hear any sounds then?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œTry to remember. Did you hear what direction they went off in?” “No.”
    â€œAny sounds of a car?”
    She paused. “I think I heard a car door shut, but I can’t be sure. I mean, I didn’t hear it drive it away, but I think I kept sort of drifting in and out. I think I heard a sound like the slam of a car door in the distance.”
    â€œDo you know which direction it came from?”
    â€œFarther up the daleside, I think. Relton way.”
    â€œGood. Now, can you remember anything else about the men?” “One of them, the one who touched me. I’ve been thinking about it. He had big brown eyes, a sort of light hazel colour, and watery. There’s a word for it. Like a dog.”
    â€œSpaniel?”
    â€œYes. That’s it. Spaniel eyes. Or puppy dog. He had puppy-dog eyes. But they’re usually … you know, they usually make you feel sorry for the person, but these didn’t. They were cruel.”
    â€œDid either of the men say anything else?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid they go anywhere else in the house? Any other