The Banks garden consisted mostly of grass. In the middle there was one featured area. It was a cherry blossom tree, although the blooms were gone. Under that was a bench and in front of that a small flower bed with an assortment of flowering plants in shades of pink and blue. Malcolm and Bella were making quick progress up and down the garden. He kept his plastic bag out as if he were checking for dog poo.
From her vantage point Isobel took a quick look around to see if any windows were overlooking them. Most of the abutting gardens had trees for privacy. While the Banks’ garden didn’t, the other houses’ trees meant Malcolm and Bella were probably unobserved.
Suddenly Isobel heard Bella whining. She was lying down under the garden seat. Isobel locked eyes with Malcolm and he gave a barely discernible nod. Did he mean yes, there was a body there? Her mind went blank. It was one thing thinking something, another thing when it might be proved.
Malcolm reached into his pocket, rewarded Bella with a treat and then led her towards the wall again. Giving her some room to run, he let her go and tapped the wall which she duly clambered over. Malcolm followed.
Isobel went to speak but Malcolm frowned at her, demanding silence.
To maintain the charade, he said ruefully to Grace, “I think we’d better go inside where I can keep a closer eye on Bella.”
Grace laughed and agreed. Malcolm collected the tray, asking Isobel to bring the bowl, and they trooped inside.
Isobel sat at the kitchen table, her eyes locked on Malcolm. He knelt and made a fuss of Bella, telling her how wonderful she was. Grace busied herself making fresh tea and coffee.
It was Grace who spoke first. “You found something, didn’t you?”
Malcolm looked at her and enquired gently, “I thought you said it was best for you not to know?”
“I know, I know but . . .” She lapsed into silence.
“Maybe I could just ask a few questions, gardening ones?” Malcolm said.
Grace nodded and he continued.
“Did Thomas do anything with the garden in the last few months?”
Grace paled but nodded. She took a minute to compose herself then, almost forcing herself to face it, she said, “Their garden used to be just lawn. Around February time, just after Valentine’s Day – I thought it was romantic – he put in that cherry blossom tree. He had trouble deciding on where to put it. He dug a couple of holes …” Her voice trailed off.
The silence was deafening. Isobel reached out and took Grace’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“In the fine weather he sits there, most evenings in fact.” Grace fell silent again.
Malcolm waited a moment and then gently asked, “Did Tommy ever have a cat or dog – a pet?”
“No, never. Thomas doesn’t like animals.”
Malcolm spoke gently. “Grace, obviously you’re a clever woman. You’ve guessed what we’ve been doing.”
“I might know but perhaps my first instinct was right – if you don’t tell me then I can still claim innocence.”
“Are you afraid of Thomas?” Isobel asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid of him. I never warmed to him but now, guessing what you’re doing, I’m afraid. I’m not a good liar so the less I know the more convincing I can be.”
Malcolm nodded. “I want you to promise me that you will stay away from Thomas.”
“That’s no problem. I never bump into him and he only came over that one time I told you about, Isobel, to tell me about Anne’s alcoholism.”
Isobel glanced at Malcolm. “If he calls again don’t let him in. Tell him you have a cold. Keep a hanky on the hall table so that you can use it against your face if you have to talk to him. Do you have a chain on your door?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Better you don’t open the door at all,” Malcolm said. “Just call out.”
Grace nodded.
“You have my number,” Isobel said. “Call me if you need me – or even if you’re worried or fearful.”
“Thank you, Isobel.”
“By tomorrow things will be clearer. You stick to your story about not knowing anything. Today two friends called, one who had a dog. He does pet therapy, where they bring dogs to cheer people up and lower their blood pressure. Unfortunately, while in the garden, the dog escaped, and the owner had to go and get it. They assured you that they cleaned up. It’s as simple as that. Plead ignorance of anything else, which is true – you don’t know anything else.”
“Tomorrow is an important day?”
“Yes, tomorrow is the day the divorce papers are due to be signed. If anything is going to happen, it is most likely to be after that.”
Grace straightened her shoulders. “I’ll keep my eyes open and my wits about me.”
“Good,” Malcolm said. “I’m sure you will.”
“Thank you, Grace,” said Isobel. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you worry and upset.”
Grace smiled at her. “I’m tougher than I look.”
They hugged and Malcolm and Isobel left.
On the walk back to Malcolm’s car they said nothing, not wanting anyone to overhear them. Malcolm stowed Bella in the back of his car behind the grill and he and Isobel sat into the front.
“Bella found something, didn’t she?”
Malcolm said, “Yes, she did. There’s obviously the possibility of an error but, to be honest, Bella has never been wrong.”
“Is it likely to be a cat or dog?”
“It could be but, given Thomas’s violence and the fact that Anne was leaving on the 19th of February, plus the holes dug for the new tree, two of them, it all seems to add up. And Grace says they had no animals.”
“Oh God. This is real.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now we make sure we catch this man and prove it. I want to come to the next meeting.”
“That will probably be this evening. Simon is going to contact us today with the time.”
Malcolm nodded. “You let me know then.”
Isobel took his number.
He glanced at his watch. “I need to go.”
“Of course.”
Isobel got out of the car, waved Malcolm off and walked slowly to the Tube. She felt bereft as the tragedy of Anne Banks’ life got to her. She had nearly got away but sometime over that weekend it seemed she had met her end and then the charade of the drinking and rehab got peddled to cover it up.
Isobel caught the Tube to meet Patricia. She was dreading telling her what they’d discovered. But it was clear that it was time to find out more about Thomas Banks.
Chapter 27
Isobel was early for her midday rendezvous with Patricia and texted her to meet her in the café at the Tube station.
When Patricia sat down opposite her with her coffee, she said, “God, you look serious.”
“I am.”
“What’s happened? Has this got to do with what you were doing this morning?”
Isobel nodded. “I got a retired police officer who has a cadaver dog to check Thomas Banks’ garden this morning.”
Patricia opened and closed her mouth but said nothing.
“And, the dog reacted to an area that Thomas Banks had dug holes in around late February. The neighbour said the Banks never had a cat or dog.”
Patricia went pale.
“So it looks very likely that Anne is buried there.” Isobel exhaled noisily.
Patricia put her head in her hands. “Have you told Simon?”
“No. You’re the first person I’ve told. Simon’s probably going to be annoyed but I just had to know what we were dealing with.”
Patricia nodded. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t think this is going to make any difference to how Simon goes about the next bit. What we did is not a legal search, so he’ll probably have to pick Thomas up with regard to fraud and then apply for a search warrant as he was saying last night. At least that’s what I think he’ll do. What ot
her grounds would he have for a search? And he is so careful.”
“Should we just go ahead with checking on Thomas and then tell him when we see him later?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Maybe we can find out something more today that will strengthen the case and make it easier for him to arrest Thomas. What do you think?”
“That makes sense. He did hint that getting a search warrant might be tricky and we don’t want to wreck his case.” Patricia shook her head. “God, everyone is very upscuttled.”
Isobel inclined her head. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve had Peter on the phone to me a few times this morning from work. I know that he initiated this whole investigation and got you involved but I don’t think he thought for a minute we were going to end up dealing with all that we are. When he hears this about the dog and a body he’s going to be worse.” Patricia lapsed into silence, frowning.
“What did he say this morning?”
“He was saying that at the worst he had queried coercion and he thought your initial input would either support his concern or say it was groundless. He thought he might have to persuade Anne to admit it but that’s it. He certainly didn’t think it would get this sinister. He’s been wrestling with his conscience about who he’s contracted to work for. Legally, where does he stand? And he is really agonising over what he needs to do. He says he has never come across a case like this – you know, who is his client? I didn’t know what to tell him so in the end I told him to ring Yvonne and chat it through with her. He thought that was a good idea.”
Isobel smiled. “He’s lucky to have you.”
Patricia wrinkled her nose at her. “He rang me about an hour later to say that he’d had a great chat with Yvonne. They talked through everything. As far as I can gather, the papers he received, the woman whose birth certificate and marriage certificate he was given for the divorce, that woman is legally his client. That is Claire’s sister, Tommy’s mother. This doppelganger, even if she was the only person he has met, is, they agreed, not his client. This imposter is trying to defraud Anne Banks, so catching her is representing his true client. The fake Anne is committing a crime and hoping to use him to do it. In fact, now it seems she’s covering up a more dark and sinister crime of murder. Anyway, he felt better after talking it through with another solicitor and Yvonne suggested that he might need to talk to the senior partner in the firm and let him know what’s happening. He isn’t going to do that yet until he knows what Simon is planning.”
“That makes sense. So, shall we go ahead with our research to see what we can find out about Thomas Banks?”
Patricia lifted her handbag. “I’m on for that.”
Chapter 28
Thomas Banks Senior, the train driver, lived only a few streets away from the station. Isobel and Patricia bought a half bottle of whiskey, a box of chocolates and some biscuits for their visit.
Isobel wasn’t sure how they were going to do this. It might be a wild goose chase and this man might have nothing to do with the Thomas Banks they knew. In addition, getting someone talking was one thing but getting them talking about one of the biggest tragedies of their life was hard, not to mention morally challenging, and Isobel’s conscience was troubling her.
The address was Number 21 Dame Street. It was a terraced house with a small garden in front. The garden had neat rows of purple, yellow and blue flowers along the path to the front door. Their tiny petalled faces turned towards the sun. Planters at each side of the door and on the windowsills had a profusion of violas and pansies with the same colour palette, their brightness a contrast with the grey walls of the house. Despite all that was going on Isobel could feel the beauty of the flowers comforting her and lifting her spirit.
The door knocker was a brass lion’s head which Isobel rapped with medium force. Immediately they heard a voice shouting, “Coming!” and they waited. They could hear the intermittent sound of something being put down and so they weren’t surprised to find the door opened by a man with a Zimmer frame.
He would have been a tall man in his day but now was hunched over the frame, leaning heavily on it. He was thin and had a bald head with a beard. He seemed weary, as if he’d had enough but this had not turned him bitter and impatient, more resigned, as if life had not lived up to his expectations. Despite this he retained an air of valiant gentlemanliness.
On seeing Isobel and Patricia with gifts in their arms he smiled and said with some warmth, “I’m not interested in religion.”
Isobel burst out laughing. “Fair enough,” she said. “I don’t talk about football. So, now that we’ve both said what we won’t discuss, can we still visit?”
“Of course, of course, I’m glad of the company. With my hip so bad I don’t get out much.” He waved them in, then led the way down the hall to the sitting room at the back of the house.
The room was pleasantly decorated but old-fashioned. It looked tidy but not well cared for and Isobel wondered if this man’s wife was dead. She offered to make tea. Thomas Senior was appreciative and shouted in the location of everything to her. The kitchen was also tidy but a quick look revealed no personal information. Isobel assembled tea for three on a tray and carried it into the sitting room. While she worked she could hear the soft murmur of voices and knew that Patricia was chatting away to Thomas Senior. Having dispensed tea to everyone Isobel tuned into the conversation.
Patricia it seemed had been doing Trojan work establishing a rapport. Mr Banks was talking about his wife, now deceased.
“Do you have a husband?” he asked Patricia.
“No.”
“But you have someone you like?”
Patricia blushed.
He smiled. “I hope you’ll be as happy as my wife and I were.”
“Did you have children?”
“One son but he died. His picture is on the dresser. He was a great lad, knocked down and killed by a drunk driver who fled the scene.”
“May I?” Patricia asked, standing up and moving gently towards the dresser. She lifted a photo frame. She looked at it and passed it to Isobel. The picture was of a young dark-haired boy with brown eyes but where the Thomas Banks they knew had a hard face with cold eyes, this young man was smiling and open and friendly.
“He looks like a lovely lad,” Patricia said. “I’m so sorry.”
Thomas inclined his head in acknowledgement. “He was the apple of our eyes. It hit us real hard. The witnesses said the car just ploughed into him, so we assume drink or drugs. The driver fled the scene. A hit-and-run. The car was stolen and was found burnt out, so no forensics. The police tried but there was just nothing to go on. My wife, it broke her heart. Young Thomas died ten years ago and my wife two years later.”
Isobel could feel her eyes welling up. “I’m sorry if we’re awaking painful memories, Thomas.”
He smiled at her. “No, talking about him helps, it’s just all the thinking I do that gets me down. Crazy as it is, I keep hoping that somehow someone will confess to the accident – then I can go in peace.”
Isobel reached out and touched Thomas’s hand. He squeezed it and, laying his other hand over hers, patted it. She glanced at Patricia, wishing that they’d not troubled this elderly gentleman. However, having gone this far it would render it all vain if they backed away from their task. She nodded at Patricia and she nodded back. They both straightened imperceptibly, knowing now was the moment.
Isobel said, “We called to see you, Mr Banks, because we were looking for this man’s father. As she spoke, on her phone she pulled up the photo of Thomas and Anne.
Thomas took it and looked in concentration, pursing his lips.
“This looks like Matt Cooper. He lived near us and was a sort of friend of Thomas’s but not as bright or as popular. He even went to the same college and worked initially in the same company. I haven’t seen him in years. His family sold up here shortly after Thomas died.”
Thomas continued to regard the photo, lost in his re
miniscence while Isobel and Patricia gazed at each other.
Isobel said, “So the man I’m showing you is not Thomas Banks but Matt Cooper?”
“Yes, Thomas’s friend Matt. I probably have some old photos of them together. Would you like to see them?”
Isobel smiled and nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, we certainly would.”
“It’ll take me a while to find them. They should be in that cabinet. I haven’t looked at them in ages,” Thomas said, struggling to stand.
Patricia gently moved across. “If you don’t mind me doing it, I’ll find them for you.”
Thomas looked relieved. “Go ahead.” He settled back into his chair.
Patricia smiled. “Just tell me what I’m looking for.”
Isobel rose. “I’ll make more tea – this is thirsty work.”
In the kitchen Isobel’s mind was exploding with questions. Had Thomas Banks stolen his friend’s identity? And, if so, why? Could he have run his friend down? Or was that a step too far? Maybe he just capitalised on a situation? Alongside the mental activity, Isobel boiled the kettle and arranged the tray.
By the time she returned to the sitting room with the replenished tea tray, Patricia was on the floor with a myriad of loose photos laid out around her and Thomas had a photo album open on his lap, turning the pages slowly.
“How are we doing?” Isobel asked.
Thomas answered first, adjusting the album in his lap so Isobel could see. “This is my Thomas at ten with Matt Cooper. My wife didn’t like the lad, she thought him sneaky, but Thomas always insisted he be included with his other friends.”
He flipped forward to near the end of the album.
“Here are the boys at sixteen,” and he pointed out Thomas and Matt from a group photo of the same friends. “After that the only photos are from graduation and family Christmases. Those photos you have, Patricia, are Thomas’s. He had them in his flat. Betty never got around to sorting them out and putting them in an album – her heart wasn’t in it.”
What Lies Hidden Page 18