Strange Affair

by Peter Robinson

  Harwood thought for a moment. “Possible, I suppose, if things got too much for him. Tax, debts, that sort of thing. But surely he’d lock his house and take his mobile?”

  “Maybe he wanted it to look as if it had happened some other way. I wouldn’t put it past him. I don’t know,” said Banks. “I’m just clutching at straws.”

  Harwood cleared his throat. “Roy told me you’re a policeman,” he said. “Have you reported this?”

  “No,” said Banks. “I’m conducting my own investigation so far.”

  Harwood nodded. “Probably wise, given Roy’s penchant for—how shall I put it?—sailing a little close to the wind.”

  “How long have you known him?” Banks asked.

  “Years. We met at university.”

  “Have you been involved in business ventures together ever since then?”

  “On and off.”

  “What about arms deals?”

  “What arms deals?”

  “Roy was involved in one a few years back. I was wondering if you knew anything about it, as a close friend.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise,” Harwood said in a tight voice. “Roy would have known better than to come to me about it, if indeed he was involved.”

  “Oh, he was involved, all right. What about insider trading?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s something else my brother was involved in. I just wondered if you played a part.”

  Harwood shrugged. “There was a time…it wasn’t uncommon.”

  “So you did?”

  “I’m not admitting that.”

  “But you knew Roy did?”

  Harwood scraped his chair back and made to get up. “Is this meant to be some sort of interrogation? Because if it is, I’m going right now.”

  “I have some questions to ask you,” said Banks. “Does that constitute an interrogation?”

  “Depends on what they are and how you go about it.”

  “I’ll be as gentle as I can be if you’ll be as frank as you can.”

  Harwood moved his chair back to the table. “Then I’m here to help,” he said. “But let’s leave insider trading behind us, shall we? I’m not saying it doesn’t still go on—you only have to read the papers to know that—but if Roy or I had any involvement, we left it behind us along with the nineties. You can take my word on that.”

  “All right,” said Banks. “From what I can gather, Roy has been investing in private health care recently, and you’re a big player in that game.”

  “It was me who brought him in. There are a lot of opportunities. I’m the director and CEO of a chain of private health centers and clinics offering various procedures and levels of care, all carried out by highly qualified doctors and nursing staff. Roy’s one of our major shareholders.”

  “What kind of procedures?”

  “Pretty wide range, really, from hernia operations to terminal cancer care.”

  “Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to harm him?”

  “Anyone connected with our business ventures, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” said Harwood. “It doesn’t make sense. I can assure you that everything is completely in accordance with the law. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’m really stuck here, Mr. Harwood, so I’m just casting around in the dark. As far as I can make out, Roy was last seen leaving his house and getting into a big light-colored car, probably an expensive model, with another man. As far as I know there were no signs of coercion, but it’s not out of the question, if the man was carrying a hidden gun or something. Later, possibly during the night, his computer was taken from his house, which was left unlocked. His mobile phone was lying on the kitchen table. There were no signs of a struggle. I’ve considered kidnapping, and it might still be a possibility, though there’s been no ransom demand yet. Roy’s a wealthy man.”

  Harwood stroked his chin. “Not that wealthy, I wouldn’t have thought.”

  “It’s all relative,” said Banks. “People have been kidnapped for less, I should imagine.”

  “True enough. But wouldn’t there have been some sort of communication by now? When did you say this happened?”

  “Friday night. Yes, it’s been nearly two days and I’ve heard nothing so far. Which leads me to think it’s something else. It just doesn’t look like a bunch of thugs, that’s all. More like…I don’t know.”

  “Organized crime?”

  “It’s a possibility,” said Banks. “But what connection could Roy possibly have to organized crime?”

  “None that I know of,” said Harwood. “Just an idea I was tossing out. I mean, I don’t even know what those people do. It’s not as if it’s just the Mafia anymore, is it? One reads about Russians and Yardies and Vietnamese gangs. People who’d cut your throat as soon as look at you. Who knows?”

  Banks took a copy of one of Roy’s digital photos out of his briefcase and set it on the table. “Do you know either of these men?”

  Harwood pointed to Lambert and spoke coldly. “Well, I know him. That’s Gareth Lambert. But I can’t say I know the other one.”

  “You know Lambert?”

  “Oh, yes. Roy and I have done a bit of business with him in our time. Not for a while, mind you. He disappeared from the scene.”

  “He’s back.”

  Harwood frowned. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Interesting,” said Banks, putting the photo away. “I mean, that Roy would know, but not you.”

  “Gareth Lambert and I had a disagreement some years ago,” said Harwood. “We haven’t communicated since.”

  “What about?”

  “A private business matter.”

  “I see. Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”

  “As far as I know, he moved to Spain.”

  “Big country. You don’t have his address?”

  “No. As I said, we had a falling-out. I no longer have any interest in where Mr. Lambert is or what he does.”

  Banks would have liked to know more about that falling-out, but Harwood was a shrewd businessman, good at keeping secrets, at holding his cards close to his chest. “Did Roy ever mention anything that led you to believe he was up to something dodgy?”

  “No. Not that he would have told me. Sometimes, in the business world, ignorance is bliss.”

  “Is it possible he stumbled across something? Maybe someone was stealing and he found out about it?”

  “From one of the centers?”

  “Wherever.”

  “I have nothing to do with the day-to-day running of the health centers or clinics.”

  “What about Roy?”

  “Your brother’s a hands-on sort of investor. He likes to know how the businesses operate, likes to put faces to names. I imagine he’s been doing the rounds.”

  “So it’s likely he visited the centers?”

  “I should think so. Some of them.”

  “Could he have stumbled on some sort of fraud or something?”

  “We keep a pretty close eye on the figures. I think we’d know if anyone was bleeding the company.”

  “What about stuff going missing? Drugs, for example.”

  “They’re strictly controlled.” Harwood looked at his watch. “Look,” he said, standing up to leave, leaning over the table with his palms spread on its surface, “I have to go now. I don’t know whether you consider me a suspect in whatever you think is going on, but I want you to know that Roy’s a valued friend. If I can help you in any way, please don’t hesitate to get in touch again.”

  “Very well,” said Banks. “Thank you for your time.”

  Harwood walked off. Banks finished his cigarette, then stubbed it out and set off along Old Brompton Road. He turned through the narrow arch into the mews and reached for Roy’s key. Just as he put it in the lock, someone grabbed his arm and a familiar voice said, “You’re nicked.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You l
ook like death warmed over.”

  “Thanks. You know, you shouldn’t go around creeping up on people like that doing your Sweeney impersonation. You might get hurt.”

  “You do seem very jumpy.”

  “Maybe I’ve got good reason to be.”

  “Care to tell me about it?”

  Banks gave Annie a look she’d seen before. It meant he’d get her to play out her hand first and then decide how much to share with her. So be it. “All right,” Annie said. “How about a drink?”

  They were sitting in Roy’s kitchen, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the open window. Banks picked a bottle of Château Kirwan from the wine rack and Annie watched him attack it with an expensive and complicated opener. A simple corkscrew would have taken less time, she thought. After Banks poured, they sat opposite each other in silence.

  “Who’s going first?” Annie asked.

  “How did you find me?”

  “That doesn’t matter. The point is that I have found you.”

  “No,” said Banks. “The point is, why were you looking for me? Why come all the way down here when I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “I’ve got no idea. As far as you’re concerned, I’m on holiday. Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Lots of things, probably.”

  “No need to be sarcastic.”

  Annie flushed. She hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, but he was driving her to it. She knew she used sarcasm to hide behind when she was feeling vulnerable or confused, the way others hide behind smoking or bad jokes. She realized it probably wasn’t the right time, but she didn’t think she could go on talking to Banks unless she cleared the air. He would have to meet her halfway. The last time she had tried to reach out to him and heal the rift, he had dismissed her. She polished off her glass and held it out for a refill. Dutch courage. Banks narrowed his eyes and poured.

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said. “I don’t mean to be sarcastic. After everything that’s happened, things just seem to come out wrong.”

  Banks caught her eye for a moment, then gazed past her out of the window. There were flowering shrubs outside in the backyard, and Annie could hear bees buzzing from one to another behind her. Impulsively, she reached across the table and put her hand on his arm. “What is it, Alan? We can’t go on like this. You can’t go on like this.”

  Banks didn’t flinch when she touched him, but he didn’t say anything at first, just kept staring over her shoulder, through the window. Finally, he turned his eyes back to her.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I feel as if I’ve been a long, long way from everything that used to matter, but I’m getting closer again.”

  “Light at the end of the tunnel?”

  “And all the other clichés. Yes.”

  “I’m glad,” Annie said, feeling herself choke up. There was so much more to say but she sensed that now was not the time. Besides, there were other things of more immediate concern that they needed to talk about. She took another sip of wine. Definitely not your everyday quaffing plonk. Banks lit a cigarette.

  “I thought you’d stopped that,” Annie said.

  “I had,” said Banks. “It’s only a temporary return.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Why do you want to see me?”

  “Have you heard about the woman found dead in the car near Eastvale?”

  “I’ve read about it in the paper,” Banks said, “but they haven’t really given out much information.”

  “Her name is Jennifer Clewes. Do you know anyone by that name?”

  “No,” said Banks.

  “Guess what we found in the back pocket of her jeans?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “An address.”

  “Whose address?”

  “Yours.”

  Banks’s jaw dropped. “What? I can’t…What’s her name again?”

  “Jennifer Clewes.”

  “I’ve never heard of her. What’s it all about?”

  “We don’t know yet. She had your address and directions written on a slip of paper in her back pocket, in her own handwriting,” Annie went on. “The directions were to the damaged cottage. It looks as if it has been broken into. You can imagine what a flap it created up there, finding your name and address on a victim’s person. Superintendent Gristhorpe decided to sit on it until Monday.” Annie could see that Banks was thinking furiously, trying to make things connect. “Come on, Alan, give,” she said. “You know something. What is it?”

  “I don’t know anything. I’m telling the truth. I’ve never heard of the girl.”

  “But you know something. I can tell.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve got time.” Annie was feeling a little tipsy from the wine, but what the hell, she thought, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Maybe you can start,” she went on, “by telling me what you’re doing here. Last I heard, you and your brother were hardly on the best of terms.”

  “He’s disappeared,” Banks said.

  “What?”

  Banks told her about Roy’s phone call and the empty, unlocked house.

  “Have you reported this?”

  Banks said nothing, just stared over her shoulder out of the window.

  “You haven’t, have you?”

  “Why does everyone keep going on about it so?” said Banks, with a sudden flash of anger. “You know as well as I do how much effort we’d put into looking for a missing adult when he’s been gone less than forty-eight hours. I’ve probably done more myself than the locals would have.”

  “Who are you trying to convince? Listen to yourself. There are suspicious circumstances and you know it. You told me he said it was a matter of life and death.”

  “Might be a matter of life and death.”

  “Fair enough, you want to split hairs. I’ll say no more right now, but don’t forget it might be your brother’s life you’re playing fast and loose with. For Christ’s sake, Alan, you shouldn’t even be here.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Oh, sometimes I just wish you’d grow up. You might be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but, quite frankly, you’re still a mess. You’ve done nothing but paperwork for the past few months, you’ve barely spoken to a soul, you rarely bother to shave, you need a haircut, and you’re half-pissed most of the time. I was in your flat. I’ve seen how you live.” There was no point going on at him, Annie knew. She just had to let her frustration out from time to time.

  “What put you in such a good mood?” Banks said.

  Annie just shook her head. “Look, I know you’re concerned,” she went on in a softer tone. “I know you’re worried about your brother, but you’ve got to stop being so stubborn. For his sake as well as your own.”

  “You’re probably right,” Banks said, “but look at it from my point of view. I’m worried they might find out a few things about Roy our parents would rather not know, and I know there’s no way they’ll let me work on the case if it becomes official. Besides, how can I know the job’s being done properly if I don’t do it myself?”

  “Sometimes I wonder how you made DCI,” Annie said. “Such skills of delegation.”

  Banks laughed. Annie was surprised, and it broke the tension.

  “Are you sure you’ve never heard of Jennifer Clewes?” she went on. “You’ve no idea why she should have your address in her pocket?”

  “There’s a Jenn in Roy’s mobile call list.”

  “That’s what her friends called her.”

  “Wait here a minute.” Banks disappeared upstairs. Annie sipped more wine and looked around the kitchen. Expensive, she thought, especially for a room that didn’t get used much. Banks soon returned with a bulging folder under his arm, sat back down and started flipping through pages.

  “Do you have her phone number?” he asked.

  “Her mobile’s missing, but I got the number from her fl
atmate.” Annie read out the number from her notebook. It was the same one Banks had on Roy’s call list.

  “My God,” said Annie. “So there definitely is a connection between Jennifer Clewes and your brother Roy.”

  “Corinne was right. He did have a new girlfriend.”

  “Corinne?”

  “Roy’s fiancée. Ex-fiancée.”

  “From now on, this is official,” Annie said. “I’m going to have a word with DI Brooke about your brother’s disappearance. He won’t be happy.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Banks.

  “Look,” Annie went on, trying to placate him, “you know you’re too personally involved to be assigned to the case—either case—but that doesn’t mean you can’t be of some use.”

  “On whose terms?”

  Annie managed a thin smile. “Well, it’s not as if anyone’s going to be keeping tabs on you twenty-four hours a day, is it? As long as we stay on the same page.”

  Banks nodded. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for.”

  “All I ask is that you share with me. Any sign of a Carmen Petri on that list, by the way?”

  “Carmen? I don’t remember one. It’s an unusual name. Let me have a look.” Banks glanced through the list of names. “No,” he said. “Why? Who is she?”

  “I don’t know,” said Annie. “The name just turned up in one of my interviews. So how do you think it all connects?”

  “Let’s review what we know.”

  “The way it looks is that someone was watching Jennifer’s house in Kennington on Friday evening,” said Annie. “Maybe other evenings, too, that week. Waiting for her. We don’t know why. One witness has already confirmed there was a dark blue car parked near her flat with two men inside around the time she set off, one in the front and one in the back, and he’d seen it there before. The same car—or at least we think it’s the same car—was seen at the Watford Gap service station, where Jennifer stopped to eat and fill up with petrol. It cut off another driver pulling in right behind her when she left. The only half-decent description we have is of the man in the back—muscular, with a ponytail.”

  “Is that the man who killed her?”

  “We don’t know, but it’s the best lead we’ve got so far. Stefan’s working overtime on the scene. Unfortunately the pursuing car wasn’t scratched or anything, so we’ve no paint chips to go on.”