Strange Affair

by Peter Robinson

  “It’s because you don’t have to cook it yourself and wash the dishes after,” said Annie.

  “And because I never have time to sit around and eat it.”

  “How are things going?”

  “Not so bad, considering,” said Banks. “My dad’s just worn down by the whole thing, but my mother’s acting strange.”

  “Strange how?”

  “As if it’s just another family event, like the anniversary party. She’s already talking about sandwiches for the funeral tea.”

  “Might not be a bad idea,” said Annie. “The postmortem’s over. Given cause of death, I shouldn’t imagine they’ll be holding on to the body for too long. I’m really sorry about your brother, Alan. I know Dave Brooke will do his best. He’s a good copper.”

  A waitress came over and Banks ordered the full English. Annie ordered a cheese-and-mushroom omelette and felt a twinge of guilt—her first morning she’d had only a continental, and the next two days muesli—but if you didn’t treat yourself once in a while, what was the point?

  “Anyway,” Banks asked, “how are things progressing up north?”

  Annie ran her hand over her hair. “I’ve only been in touch over the phone but they seem to be moving along nicely. Mostly it’s forensics on the tire tracks and fingerprints we found at your cottage and on the door of Jennifer’s car. We’ve also got people asking around, you know—did anyone see anything, that sort of thing. But we don’t expect much to come from that. It was late and in a remote place. Anyway, Winsome’s on the case, and I know I can trust her.”

  “What about Templeton and Rickerd?”

  “They’re on it, too. You know as well as I do, DC Rickerd’s a born office manager. And Kev might be a bit of an arsehole, but he’s got good instincts. He’s off on a bit of a tangent, and it’s not a bad idea to give him some space. Anyway, it’s in good hands. I’m hoping to get back up there today, if only for a flying visit to bring everything up to speed. The telephone has its limitations.”

  “Indeed it does.”

  “What about you?” Annie asked. “What have you been up to?”

  “Me? Apart from keeping my parents company, and Corinne, nothing much, really,” said Banks. “I doubt that I’ve discovered anything you’d be interested in hearing.”

  “Try me. What is it you usually say to witnesses or suspects? ‘Let me be the judge of that?’ ”

  “Touché,” said Banks. “Okay. I’ve found out that Gareth Lambert is back from self-imposed exile in Spain and that one evening a couple of months ago he had drinks with Roy. That mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “They’re old pals,” Banks said. “Known one another for years. No doubt they were mixed up in all sorts of criminal enterprises before the arms deal put the wind up them. Up Roy, at least. Lambert we’re not so sure about. Anyway, it’s a bit too much of a coincidence for my liking, two old crooks reunited and one of them dead.”

  “I suppose you got all this from Burgess, didn’t you? That man’s a walking disaster area.”

  “Dirty Dick has his good points, but I don’t know why you should think I got any of it from him.”

  “I can’t imagine where else, that’s all.”

  The waitress delivered their breakfasts. Banks asked for more coffee, Annie for tea.

  “Anyway,” Banks said, when the waitress had gone. “DI Brooke’s got everything I found: the mobile, the CD and USB drive, even the digital photos I’d printed from the CD. Everything.”

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. “But you kept copies.”

  “It’s not illegal. I didn’t withhold or tamper with anything.”

  “Goddammit, Alan, you broke into a murder victim’s house, you went through his stuff, you used his mobile phone, you found and copied personal information. Don’t tell me you haven’t tampered.”

  Banks rested his knife and fork at the sides of his plate. “In the first place, I didn’t know he was a murder victim at the time. He was simply missing and had been gone for less than twenty-four hours. What would we have done if a call like that came in? If he’d been a child or a teenager, then perhaps we might just have set the wheels in motion. But a healthy man in his late forties? Come on, Annie, you know as well as I do what would happen. Nothing. And he was my brother. Family. I think that gave me a right to enter his home. What is it that really upsets you?”

  “It’s that you keep going off all on your own like some kind of maverick,” she said. “You don’t tell anyone what’s going on. You think you’re the only one who can work it all out. You think you can handle everything on your own, but you can’t. For God’s sake, Alan, you nearly got killed.”

  When one of the nearby diners looked over, Annie realized she’d let her voice get too loud. The thing was, it had come out spontaneously. She hadn’t known what she was going to say when Banks asked her what her problem was because she hadn’t really known. Perhaps the stories in the newspaper had stirred it all up, but now she did know. It went back to Phil Keane and the way Banks had suspected him but said nothing, gone and tried to build his own case against Phil on the quiet.

  When she thought about it, though, she realized that it went even farther back than the Phil Keane case. Banks had been just the same when he went off looking for Chief Constable Riddle’s wayward daughter. Emily, and he’d held back so much information from Annie during that case that her hands had been tied. At one point she had even suspected him of being sexually involved with the girl’s mother, if not the girl herself. That was what happened when you held things back; the truth got warped and twisted in people’s minds. Lacking the facts, they made up stories based on fancy, like the stories in the tabloids.

  Now she’d said it, though, she felt embarrassed, and she sneaked a look at Banks as she took a bite of her omelette. He was eating his breakfast again quite placidly. The waitress came with more coffee and tea. Annie thanked her.

  “Listen to us,” said Banks, “bickering over breakfast like an old married couple.”

  “We’re not bickering,” said Annie. “It takes two to bicker. Aren’t you going to respond?”

  “What can I say? I’m glad you got it off your chest.”

  “Simple as that, is it?”

  Banks looked at her directly, his eyes clear and bright. “It’s a start. If we’re going to go on working together, we have to get one or two things sorted.”

  “On whose terms?”

  “That’s not the point. I’m not going to change my ways. Nor are you.”

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t go on working together.”

  “Up to you.”

  “Not entirely. What do you want?”

  “I want to carry on working with you. Believe it or not, I like you, and I think you’re damn good at your job.”

  Annie felt absurdly pleased at the compliment, but she hoped it didn’t show in her face. “But you’re still going to leave me in the dark half the time?”

  “I don’t deliberately hide things from you. If I had told you all my suspicions about Phil Keane as soon as I had them—and God knows I tried to hint—you’d have thrown me out on my ear, accused me of being jealous—which you did anyway—and never talked to me again. All I had to go on was a feeling, at first, some sense that all wasn’t what it seemed with him.”

  “But I might not have had to run into a burning house and drag you out.”

  “So it’s that, is it?”

  “No, it’s not even that, when you come right down to it.” Annie paused. “If you really want to know, it’s the way you treated me afterward.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” But Annie had gone too far now to hold back. She put her knife and fork down.

  “Come on, Annie,” said Banks. “Let’s clear the air. See if we can’t come up with a chance of working this out.”

  “That’s a change of tune.” This was more difficult than Annie thought it would be, especially given the context—the ersatz hotel
restaurant with its trees and potted plants, waitresses carrying trays, the businessmen in their pin-striped suits planning their days, some of them already on their mobiles and PDAs. “It’s just that you seemed to brush me off,” she said, “push me aside as if my feelings didn’t matter. God knows, I felt bad enough about making the mistake I did over Phil. I mean, can you imagine, sharing your bed with a fucking serial killer?” She shook her head. “But you. I’d have expected…I don’t know…support…comfort, maybe. You went to Corinne last night, didn’t you, but you weren’t there for me. I know we have our history and it hasn’t always been easy, but you should have been there for me and you weren’t. I was hurting as much as you, if not more.”

  There, she’d said it, said more than enough. Christ, he was staying silent an awfully long time. Say something. Say something.

  At last Banks spoke. “You’re right,” he said. “And if it means anything, I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you do it? Why did you abandon me? Was it her?”

  “Who?”

  “Michelle, or whatever her name is.”

  Banks looked surprised. “No, it wasn’t Michelle. It’s just that Michelle didn’t have anything to do with what happened, seeing her didn’t make me think about it. She took me away from it, distracted me. It was thinking about it that was doing my head in. I couldn’t remember a thing between answering the door and waking up in the hospital. Still can’t. All I know is what you’ve told me, and the smell of whiskey still gives me panic attacks. Christ, for a while, for weeks, I didn’t even want to get out of bed in the morning, let alone have a serious heart-to-heart about what happened. What’s the point? It’s like these interminable daytime chat programs, people talking on and on about their bloody feelings and problems and it gets them nowhere. It’s just talk, talk, talk, blather, blather, blather.”

  “Some people think that might be better than keeping it bottled up inside.”

  Banks ran his hand over his hair. “Look, Annie, I feel like I’m crawling out of a deep trough. By all rights, Roy’s murder should have pushed me back in, but it hasn’t. Cut me a little slack here.”

  “Maybe you’re fueled by anger?”

  “Maybe I am, but at least I’m fueled.”

  Annie looked at him for a while over her tea and let his words sink in. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to put it all behind them and move on, and maybe part of doing that was allowing Banks some leeway in the investigation of his brother’s murder. After all, it wasn’t as if she could stop him.

  “Okay, let’s imagine you were investigating the case,” she said. “Hypothetically, of course. What would your next move be?”

  “What’s the official line of inquiry?”

  “Basically they’re working their way through Roy’s mobile phone book and his business contacts listed on that smart drive you handed over. Oliver Drummond and William Gilmore, the names I mentioned last night, are DI Brooke’s priorities because their names are on his computer. Chop shop and fraud. Do they sound like enterprises your brother might have been interested in?”

  “Probably,” said Banks. “Though I’d say fraud was the more likely of the two. I can’t see Roy in the stolen-car racket. Has Brooke got anywhere with either of them so far?”

  “I don’t know,” said Annie. “I haven’t talked to him yet this morning.”

  “He should be going after Lambert,” Banks said. “He knows as much as I do, that Roy had taken a photo of Lambert and an unidentified man and hidden it away shortly before he disappeared. That ought to set off a few alarm bells, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure Dave has his reasons. Does Lambert have a record?”

  “No.”

  “And is his name in the mobile call list or address book?”

  “No.”

  “There you are, then. Drummond and Gilmore both have form and they appear in the call list.”

  “Even so…” said Banks. “What have you been up to?”

  “I’ve been pursuing leads of my own in the Jennifer Clewes murder.”

  “They’re linked. Roy and Jennifer were lovers.”

  “I know that. But they can’t both have been killed by the man with the ponytail. The timing’s way off. Which is why Dave thinks it’s worth looking elsewhere for Roy’s killer. And like I said, both Drummond and Gilmore have criminal records. Brooke also has a man trying to find anyone who knows about Roy’s movements on the day he disappeared. Apparently the mobile isn’t much use there as he only used it once that day. To call his hairdresser.”

  “I know that,” said Banks.

  “Of course you do. You got to the mobile first. They’ve also enhanced the photo you received. Brooke’s not convinced yet that the man is Roy, but I’d say it seems likely. Anyway, they think it might lead them to the spot where it happened.”

  Banks nodded.

  “Any idea who Roy went off with yet?” Annie asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I think it might have been Gareth Lambert. Roy’s known him for years. I’d still like to know who that other man in the photo is.”

  “Any leads?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’m working on it.” He smiled. “Obviously, I don’t have the manpower to follow up every name in Roy’s life, the way you and DI Brooke do, so I plan to go straight to Lambert, when I can find the slippery bastard. It still surprises me that Brooke hasn’t been there already.”

  “I’ve told you why that is,” Annie said. “And his team’s overstretched anyway.” She paused. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there was something going on at the Berger-Lennox Centre. Dr. Lukas told me she was helping young eastern European prostitutes who got pregnant—mostly illegal immigrants, she said—to get free abortions on the quiet. She called them ‘late girls.’ Jennifer Clewes found out about it, but instead of blowing the whistle she helped bury some of the paperwork. I don’t think that’s everything Dr. Lukas knows, but it’s a start. And don’t even think of going to see her. She’s on the edge and a visit from a stranger would alienate her completely.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Banks. “I’m not altogether stupid. I’ll leave her to you. You don’t believe her story?”

  “Most of it,” Annie said. “I think she might be willing to tell me more, but she’ll only do it in her own time, on her own terms.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “About a year.”

  “How much money is involved?”

  “The center charges between four hundred and a thousand pounds for consultation, termination and postoperative care, depending on how advanced the pregnancy is.”

  “So it could add up to quite a tidy sum over time?”

  “Yes. But not worth killing over.”

  “I suppose not,” said Banks. “Did Roy know about it?”

  “Jennifer knew, and I’ll bet she told Roy. The problem is that Dr. Lukas says Jennifer had known about it for a couple of months, but it was only in the last few days that people noticed any difference in her behavior.”

  “So perhaps she found out something else?” Banks suggested. “Something we don’t know. How did the girls find Dr. Lukas?”

  “That’s what seems a bit vague about it all. She’s from Ukraine. She said she’s known in the community. It’s possible, I suppose. Some of these communities are very close-knit. Word gets around.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “I think she’s holding something back. And I think she’s scared.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Banks. “Two people have been murdered.”

  “I think there might be three.”

  “Oh?”

  “Jennifer mentioned a girl called Carmen Petri—one of the ‘late’ girls—to her close friend Melanie Scott shortly before she was killed. Her ex-boyfriend Victor Parsons was sort of stalking Jennifer. Ironically enough, it’s the first time a stalker’s actually been any practical use to us. He saw Jennifer come out of the center last Monday evening with
a young girl who looked pregnant. A man immediately came out of the shadows and the girl went off with him in a car.”

  “And you think that girl was this Carmen?”

  “Yes. And I think she’s dead, too. The man she went off with was a muscle-bound lump with a ponytail, the one I told you about before, and he sounds remarkably like the man we think shot Jennifer Clewes and broke into your cottage.”

  “And followed me back here from Peterborough,” said Banks.

  Annie’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Banks told her what happened on the motorway the previous day and what measures he had taken to protect his parents.

  “Did you get the number?” Annie asked.

  “What do you take me for?”

  “Give it to me. I’ll trace it.”

  “It’s already being done.”

  “Burgess?”

  Banks said nothing.

  Annie sighed. “Give it to me anyway.”

  Banks did as she asked.

  “I take it you haven’t told Dave Brooke about this yet?”

  “I told you. I rang the Peterborough police. It’s their manor. I checked with them again this morning and nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night.”

  “Fine,” said Annie. “I’ll tell him myself.”

  “Ponytail might well have killed Jennifer and tried to scare me off, but we know he can’t have killed Roy.”

  “So there’s someone else involved.”

  “Well, if ponytail is the muscle and prostitution is the business, I’d say there’s a pimp somewhere at the top of it all, wouldn’t you?”

  “Possibly,” Annie agreed. “Lambert?”

  “Maybe.” Banks stood up. “Anyway, we won’t find out the answer by sitting around here, however pleasant it is. Thanks for breakfast, Annie, and for clearing the air.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Banks smiled. “Well, if I told you that, you’d really be in trouble, wouldn’t you?”

  Annie put her hand on Banks’s arm. “I know I can’t stop you,” she said, “but promise me a few things?”