Sleeping in the Ground: An Inspector Banks Novel (Inspector Banks Novels)

by Peter Robinson

  “OK,” she said. “You’re on. Five o’clock it is.”

  “Thanks for that, Alan,” Jenny said as soon as the others had left the snug. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” said Banks. “You’re the new girl on the team, that’s all.”

  “Girl?”

  “They’re all saying it these days. Books titles and all. That woman on the train was far from being a girl.”

  “Are you saying I’m too old to be a girl?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  Jenny laughed. “You’re too easy to bait, Alan. But as for DI Cabbot being ‘an old friend of yours,’ come on, give. Did you two have a thing?”

  Banks sighed. “Once,” he said. “Briefly. A long time ago. After Sandra and I split up. We decided that work and dating didn’t mix.”

  “Very wise of you, I’m sure.”

  “Seriously, Jenny. Give her a chance. She’s a good cop and a good person. She’s just a bit insecure, that’s all, and she can be abrasive.”

  “Insecure? Abrasive? I’d say the ropes have just about pulled away from the moorings.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  Jenny took a few deep breaths then seemed to relax and smile. “I don’t know how you manage to do it,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “See the good in everyone after so long on the job.”

  “It’s not that,” Banks protested. “I know my team. Strengths and weaknesses.”

  “And do you know me?”

  “Not anymore, apparently.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a sensitive bastard. I’m only teasing. Remember that?”

  Banks dredged up a weak smile. “I remember.”

  “Besides, I haven’t changed that much.”

  “Come off it. We both have. We’ve already discussed that. A lot’s happened.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. You’ve become a bit more grumpy, true, but I don’t think people change all that much, deep down.”

  “We learn nothing from experience?”

  “Well, it certainly seems that mankind learns nothing from history, so why should individuals learn anything from their own experience?”

  “I’m no expert, but that sounds like spurious logic to me.”

  Jenny wrinkled her nose. “It is,” she said. “Rhetoric, to make a point. I know we shouldn’t, driving and all, but do you fancy another pint? It’s quite cozy in here, and I don’t much like the idea of hurrying home to an empty house so soon.”

  “I’ll have another,” said Banks. Jenny went to the bar.

  He planned on going back to the office and getting through some more paperwork after lunch. By the time he’d finished with that, he planned on heading out to Filey to see Julie Drake. He had phoned, and she had invited him to dinner. In the meantime, why not enjoy another drink in a nice warm snug with a beautiful and intelligent woman? The music Cyril was playing through his sound system was muted in the snug, but Banks could make out Ray Charles singing “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” It seemed a good omen.

  Jenny returned with another pint of Black Sheep for him and a glass of white wine for herself.

  “What happened with DI Cabbot?” she said. “Do you think it’s serious? I mean, could it affect the case?”

  “Just teething troubles,” said Banks. “We’ve all been under a lot of pressure.”

  “She doesn’t seem to have to have much time or use for profilers.”

  “Forget about Annie,” Banks said, raising his glass. “Here’s to solving the case.”

  They clinked glasses.

  After a long pause, Banks shifted in his chair and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think, maybe after all this is over, you and I could, you know, maybe get together for a drink or dinner or something?”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Jenny said. “Aren’t we having a drink now? And as I remember we’ve had dinner since I’ve been back.”

  “I know that, but . . .”

  “And how many ways are there to take it?”

  “Jenny, don’t make it more . . . awkward . . .”

  Jenny gave him a thoughtful stare. “It’s all right,” she said. “I know what you mean. I shouldn’t tease. But do you have any idea why I went away in the first place all those years ago?”

  “Your work, I assumed. Or you’d already met a fellow you wanted to follow halfway around the world.”

  “Neither of the above. You can be so thick sometimes, you know. Though I won’t deny moving did my career no harm. No, it was because of you.”

  Banks felt his chest tighten. “Me?”

  “Yes. Maybe you thought I was just a frivolous young slut making a pass at you, but I was in love with you, Alan, and I knew it was hopeless. Christ, I was young and idealistic, and you were married with kids. I knew you were a decent man, that you wouldn’t cheat on your wife or leave her and the kids for me. What was the point in me hanging around and feeling like crap every time I saw you, going home crying every night after we’d worked together because you weren’t going home with me?”

  “Australia was a long way to go just to get away from me.”

  Jenny laughed, the lines around her eyes and mouth curving as she did so. “You’re incorrigible. That was just what came up, where I settled. I’d probably have gone to Antarctica if there was a job there. In fact, I did go to Antarctica once with Sam. No, my career was certainly a part of it, but if you’d been free, and interested . . . Who knows? Maybe things would have turned out differently.”

  “Maybe they still could. I was interested. I just wasn’t free.”

  “And now?”

  “Both.”

  “Are you sure? What about Annie?”

  “Old friends.”

  “And the poet?”

  “A newer friend.”

  Jenny stared at him as if trying to make up her mind whether he was telling the truth.

  “I’m not being difficult,” she said. “I just don’t know what I want, Alan. I might have left because of you, but I certainly didn’t come back for you.”

  “Someone else?”

  “No, you idiot. I’d just got divorced, I felt alone and I wanted to come home. Simple as that. And let’s face it, you haven’t exactly been the world’s best correspondent over the years. I had no idea what your situation was. Married, single. Even if you were still here. Still alive.”

  “And now you know?”

  Jenny drank some wine and looked down at the table. “You can’t just pick up where you left off, you know. Maybe our time has passed. Maybe we didn’t take the chance when it was there.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say we’d be picking up where we left off, would you? We didn’t leave off anywhere.”

  “You know what I mean. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe you regretted not taking what you could have had. Maybe I’m the one that got away. How do you know you’re not just chasing a memory, making up for what you didn’t do the first time around? I suppose what I’m saying is I just don’t know anymore. I don’t want to piss away what’s left of my life, Alan. Maybe it doesn’t mean so much to you, but I’m well turned fifty, and I know damn well that most men prefer younger women. From what I’ve heard, you’re no different. I don’t want a toy boy, but I don’t want a fling with someone I care about, either. I still have feelings for you. I think that much is clear. Can’t we just leave things as they are? The occasional dinner? Drinks like now? No pressure. I may not want a fling, but I’m also not sure I want commitment yet, either. I’m still stinging from the divorce. I don’t even know if I like men anymore—and if you make one crack about me turning lesbian, you’ve lost any chance you might ever have had.”

  “You mean I’m in with a chance?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “She said, weakening?”

  Jenny flicked a little wine at him. “Besides,” she went on, “we’ll be working together. You said work and dating didn’t mix.”

 
; “It wouldn’t be the same. You’re a consultant. You’d be doing other work, teaching, work for other crime units. We wouldn’t be work colleagues. And I’m not your boss.”

  Jenny rested her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. “God, it is good to see you again. To sit and talk like this.”

  “So you’ll give it a go?”

  “I didn’t say that. I don’t know. Like I said, I still care about you, but I don’t want a fling. I’ve only been here a month or so. I’m still settling in.” She sighed. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what I want.”

  “Me, neither. At least we’re agreed on that. Neither of us can predict where we’ll end up, but as the bard said, ‘Our doubts are traitors / And make us lose the good we oft might win / By fearing to attempt.’”

  “Oh, you smooth-talking bastard. That your poet’s influence?”

  “She’s not my poet, but yes, it is.”

  “Aren’t you just saying, ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ in fancy language?”

  Banks laughed. “I suppose I am. Though I’d argue that the Shakespeare quote does have more of a ring to it.”

  Jenny lifted her head from her hands. “You’re right,” she said, leaning forward slowly. “Of course you are. But please do a favor, for now at least. Don’t push it. Just leave things as they are.” She held up both her hands, palms out.

  Banks didn’t know where his next thought came from, and he had the good sense and quick enough wits to stop before he spoke it out aloud, but as he leaned back and reached for his beer glass, it flashed through his mind, as clear as anything: I don’t want to grow old alone.

  11

  “This is a dead loss,” Doug Wilson complained as Gerry maneuvered into yet another narrow parking space later that afternoon. “The last salesclerk I talked to said it wasn’t so unusual for people to buy two or more sets of items they liked. I’ve even done it myself with shirts and stuff, especially when they’re on sale two for one. And like I said before, he might have gone to different branches. I know I would have if I’d been worried about getting caught. They didn’t even have to be exactly the same, just like that from a distance.”

  “But maybe he did buy two outfits in the same branch,” said Gerry, “because it would have meant another expedition to find the same of everything in another one. Time might have been a factor. You checked Edgeworth’s debit and credit cards yourself before we set out and we know he didn’t buy them, at least with plastic. Don’t be so negative. I’m just happy to get out of the office for a while. We’ve even got a few patches of blue sky. Enjoy it while you can.” She knew Doug wanted to be at the football match, a local derby, and she wouldn’t have minded a bit of time off to tidy her flat, as there wasn’t much more digging she could do on the Wendy Vincent case until after the weekend, but that was the way the job went. She didn’t want to have to put up with Doug sulking all afternoon, at any rate.

  “Besides,” she went on, “the killer had no reason to think we’d end up traipsing around every bloody branch of Walkers’ Wearhouse in Yorkshire asking after someone who bought two pairs of everything. He clearly thought his plan would work and everything would end with Edgeworth’s suicide. We’ll do Relton and Lyndgarth then call it a day. OK?”

  Doug glanced at his wristwatch. Gerry could see him calculating whether he’d make the second half or not. “Right,” he said, opening the door and stepping out. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

  They turned up nothing in Relton, but things started to get more interesting in Lyndgarth.

  The doorbell of the Walkers’ Wearhouse branch jingled as they entered, and immediately Gerry was hit by the smells of leather, wet wool, warm rubber and that peculiar chemical odor that seemed to emanate from waterproofed garments. Doug slunk in behind her, having clearly written the place off before they even got out of the car. Gerry spotted a young woman toward the rear of the overstuffed room sorting out a table of lumberjack-style shirts. She glanced up when she heard the bell and moved forward, smiling as if she were pleased at the interruption of a customer. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  Gerry showed her warrant card. “I hope so.”

  “Police? Is it about the shoplifting we reported?” The woman smoothed her hair, which was smooth enough to begin with, as it was tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked to be in her forties, short, mousy-haired, and pleasantly round. Her complexion was ruddy, but not weather-beaten like many keen ramblers. Gerry guessed this was just a job to her rather than a way to be close to her passion.

  “It’s not about shoplifting,” Gerry said.

  “So you haven’t caught them?”

  “Shoplifters are notoriously difficult to track down, unless you catch them in the act.”

  “Yes, yes, I see that. That’s what the local bobby said, too. We’ve been vigilant—that’s Sue and me. She’s not in today. But you can’t have your eyes everywhere at once, can you?”

  “Unfortunately not, or it would make our job a lot easier.”

  Doug Wilson grunted in what might have been a minor guffaw or an indication of impatience.

  “My name’s Paula Fletcher, by the way. What can I do for you, then?”

  Doug lingered in the background pretending to examine a pair of thermal socks. “It may seem an odd question,” Gerry began, but we were wondering if you can remember a customer, say, last November or early December. Someone who bought two sets of exactly the same items.” Gerry showed her the photocopied list of articles, colors and sizes.

  The woman chewed on her lower lip as she read through before handing it back. “We have quite a few customers who like to buy a couple of sets of their favorite walking gear,” she said. “After all, unless you put on a lot of weight you don’t grow much after you reach a certain age, do you?”

  “I suppose not,” Gerry said, disappointed. She couldn’t fail to notice the “I told you so” smirk of triumph on Doug’s face. “This might not be regular customer,” Gerry went on. “In fact, he’s far more likely to have been a one-off, a stranger.”

  Paula’s face scrunched up in frown of concentration. “That’s when we had our last two-for-one sale. When exactly would this have been, did you say?”

  “Toward the end of last year. November or early December, most likely.” She realized it could have been long before then, but there was no sense in giving anyone such broad parameters, or they wouldn’t even bother trying to remember.

  “Can I have a peek at that list again, please?”

  “Of course.” Gerry handed it to her. As she waited while Paula went laboriously through the items, she first heard the patters, and then saw the rain trickling down the plate-glass window. It had started again; the blue sky had only been a tease. Please let this be the last stop of the day, she begged silently. Now all she wanted was a long hot bath and a few chapters of the new Rose Tremain novel. She’d tidy up her flat later. After all, it wasn’t as if she was expecting company, or had a hot date this Saturday night. Or any night, for that matter. Work took care of that. She didn’t know how DI Cabbot and Detective Superintendent Banks managed relationships, if they did. Banks certainly must have had, because he had a family, and Gerry had heard rumors that he’d had one or two youngish girlfriends of late. She had always got the impression that he would fall for someone more his own age, like the poet Linda Palmer, but what did she know about romance?

  When she let herself think about it, which wasn’t often, she realized that she wouldn’t mind at all going out with someone like Banks, if he wasn’t her boss, that is, that age wouldn’t really be an issue. He seemed healthy and young enough in body and spirit, was handsome in that lean and intense sort of way, and she certainly got the impression that he was interested in a wide range of subjects, so conversation wouldn’t be a problem. He also had a sense of humor, which she had been told by her mother was essential to a happy marriage. Not that she was having fantasies about marrying Banks, or even going out with him. Just that the whole
idea didn’t seem so outlandish. She knew that he and DI Cabbot had had a thing because DI Cabbot had told her once after a few drinks, and warned her that it was a bad idea to have relationships with people you worked closely with, especially your boss. Gerry thought she already knew that, but she thanked Annie for the advice.

  Paula tapped the list with her forefinger. “You know, there is something here that rings a bell.”

  “Any idea what?” Gerry asked.

  “It’s just . . . well, it wasn’t quite the way you said it was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone buying two sets of the same clothes.”

  Gerry frowned. “It wasn’t? Then what was it?”

  “It was this fellow who wanted to buy two sets—you know the black anorak, black waterproof trousers, the black woolen cap.”

  “When was this?”

  “Around the time you said. Well, it must have been during the last two weeks of November because that’s when we had our last big two-for-one sale. It helps at that time of year to get people in, a sale, you know, something special like that. Usually business is a bit slow in November.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Gerry, rushing on. “But what about this particular man? What stood out about him?”

  “Stood out? Oh, nothing. He was ordinary enough, I suppose, except for his eyes. They were deep set, like, and a bit scary, if you know what I mean. Like they’d seen things you wouldn’t want to see.” She gave a slight shudder.

  “Go on,” Gerry encouraged her.

  “Well, he came up to me with an armful of clothes, which turned out to be two sets of the same, except for one jacket. We’d had a run on the black anoraks and were completely out of them. I remember he asked me if we had any more in the storeroom and I told him I was sorry but that was it. I even went and had a look. I said we did have orange or yellow if he’d like, but he just shook his head impatiently, like, then I said if he’d care to leave his name and address and a contact number, we could perhaps order some in from the warehouse, or get some from another branch, and let him know, though it might take a day or two. I assured him he’d still get the same deal, even if took a few days.”