Dead Right (35 page)

They both laughed. The waiter came by and took their plates.

“What now?” Pamela asked, after she’d wiped her eyes from the mingled tears of humiliation and laughter.

“Coffee? Dessert?”

She hit him on the arm again. “I don’t mean that, idiot. I mean, you. Your future.”

“Looks bleak. I’d rather concentrate on dessert.”

“Just a cappuccino for me.”

Banks ordered two cappuccinos and lit another cigarette.

“You’re smoking too much,” Pamela said.

“I know. And just when I’d managed to cut down.”

“Anyway, you haven’t answered my question.”

“What question was that?”

“You know quite well. Your future. What are you going to do?”

Banks shook his head. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.”

“Well surely when this chief constable person has done his investigation, he’ll have to reinstate you?”

“I doubt it. Even if a disciplinary hearing really does reinstate me, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Think about it,” said Banks. “I hit the chief constable. Even if he does keep that just between the two of us, it still means I can’t work with him any more. He’d find ways to make my life a living hell.”

“I understand it might make things difficult.”

“Difficult? It was
difficult
before all this. After …” He shrugged. “Impossible, more like.”

The restaurant was full of students now. They looked like an artsy, literary crowd, all talking excitedly about the latest music, arguing loudly about books and philosophy. They made Banks feel old; made him feel he had wasted his life. A waiter passed by carrying plates, leaving a trail of garlic and basil smells.

“But you can get a job somewhere else,” Pamela said. “I mean as a policeman. In a different region. Can’t you?”

“I suppose so. I don’t mean to be negative, Pamela, I just haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“I understand.” She leaned forward and put her hand on his. Candlelight glittered in her diamond stud, made shadows of burnished gold and lit the soft down between her breasts.

Banks swallowed and felt his excitement rise. He wanted to take her home and lick every inch of her golden skin. Or did he? There would be consequences, confidences shared, a
relationship
. He didn’t think he could handle anything like that right now.

Pamela sat back and flipped a long tress of hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand. “What about this case you were working on?” she asked. “You seemed to imply that it’s not over.”

“Everyone thinks it is.”

“And you?”

Banks shrugged.

She toyed with a gold bracelet on her arm. “Look, Alan, this person you talked about earlier. Mark Wood.
Did
he do it?”

“I don’t know. He
might
have done. But not, I don’t think, the way he said he did, or for the reason he claimed.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It could mean the difference between manslaughter and murder. And if someone else was behind it, say Neville Motcombe, I’d hate to see him get away with it while Mark Wood takes the fall alone.”

“If you were still on the force, would you be working on this case?”

“Probably not. The chief constable’s got his confession. Everybody’s happy. Case closed.”

“But you’re not on the force.”

“That’s right.”

“So that means you
can
still work on it if you want.”

Banks smiled and shook his head. “What impeccable logic. But I don’t think so. I can’t do it, Pamela. I’m sorry. It’s over.”

Pamela sat back and studied him for a moment. He reached for another cigarette, thought twice about it, then lit up anyway.

“Remember when I was hurt?” she said.

“Yes.”

“And thought I might never play again?”

Banks nodded.

“Well, if I’d taken your negative attitude, I wouldn’t have played again. And, believe me, there were times when giving up would have been the easiest thing in the world. But you helped me then. You encouraged me. You helped give me some strength and courage when I was at my lowest. I’d never had a friend like … someone who didn’t want …” She turned away for a moment. When she looked back, her eyes were deeply serious and intense, glistening with tears. “And now you’re giving up. Just like that. I don’t believe it. Not you.”

“What else can I do?”

“You can follow up on your ideas. On your own.”

“But how? I don’t have the resources, for a start.”

“Someone will help you. You’ve still got friends there, in the department, haven’t you?”

“I hope so.”

“Well, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” Banks gestured for the waiter and paid, waving aside all Pamela’s attempts to contribute. “My idea, my treat,” he said.

“So you
will
do something? You promise me you won’t just sit around at home and mope?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll do something.” He scraped his chair back and smiled. “Now, come on. Let me take you home.”

THIRTEEN

I

The first thing Banks needed to do, he realized in the cold light of Wednesday morning, was spend a few hours going over
all
the paperwork on the Jason Fox case—especially that which had been generated in his absence. He realized he had missed a lot over the weekend, and there were things he needed to know if he were to make any progress on his own. But how could he get hold of it? Nobody was going to kick him out of Eastvale station, he didn’t think, but neither could they let him just walk in and take what he wanted.

There wasn’t even a crust of bread left in the house, and he didn’t fancy eating Sandra’s leftover cottage cheese, so he made do with coffee and Vaughan Williams’s “Serenade to Music” for breakfast.

As he let the sensuous music flow over him, he thought about last night. When he had dropped Pamela at her flat, he had half-hoped she would invite him up for a drink, but she just thanked him for the lift, said she was tired and hoped she would see him again soon. He said he would call and drove off with a pang of disappointment about not getting to do something he probably wouldn’t have done anyway, even if he had had the chance. But seeing her had been good for him. At least she had persuaded him to keep working on the case.

When the music finished, he picked up the phone and called Sandra in Croydon. He had been thinking of calling last night when he got in, but decided it was too late.

Her mother answered.

“Alan? How are you doing?”

“Oh, not so bad, considering. You?”

“About the same. Look, er, I’m really sorry about what’s happened. Do you want to speak to Sandra?”

“Please.”

“Just a minute.”

She sounded embarrassed, Banks thought as he waited. Not surprising, really. What could she say? Her daughter had left her husband and come home to sort herself out. Banks had always got on well with his mother-in-law, and he didn’t expect she was going to see him as a monster now, but neither was she going to chat with him about his feelings over the telephone.

“Alan?”

It was Sandra’s voice. She sounded tired. He felt the icy hand squeeze his heart. Now he had her on the line, he didn’t know what to say. “Yes. I … er … I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. I wish you hadn’t called.”

“But why?”

“Why do you think? I told you. I need time to work things out. This doesn’t help.”

“It might help me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I spent the weekend in Amsterdam.”

“You did
what
?”

“In Amsterdam. It was strange. It brought back a lot of memories. Look, do you remember—”

“Alan, why are you telling me this? I don’t want to talk about it. Please. Don’t do this to me. To us.”

“I’m only—”

“I’m going now.”

“Don’t hang up.”

“Alan, I can’t deal with this. I’m going now.”

“Can I speak to Tracy?”

There was silence for a while, then Tracy came on the phone. “Dad, it’s you. I was worried.”

“I’m okay, love. Your mother … ?”

“She’s upset, Dad. Honest, I don’t understand what’s happening
any more than you do. All I know is Mum’s confused and she says she needs some time away.”

Banks sighed. “I know that. I shouldn’t have called. She’s right. Tell her I’m sorry. And tell her I …”

“Yes?”

“Never mind. Look, does Brian know about all this? I’m sorry, I haven’t been very organized. Other than you, I haven’t called anyone else.”

“It’s all right, Dad. You don’t have to apologize to me. I suppose it’s hard to know what to do when something like this happens. I mean, it’s not exactly something you can take a course on, is it?”

God, she sounded suddenly so mature, Banks thought. Much more mature than he felt right now. “Does he?”

“Yes. We talked to him over the weekend.”

“How’s he taking it?”

“Cool. You know Brian. He’s okay.”

“When am I going to see you?”

“I’m staying the rest of the week down here. But I’ll come up for the weekend if you want.”

“You will?” The icy hand relaxed its grip and Banks’s heart warmed a little.

“Of course. You know I love you, Dad. I love you both. I told you yesterday, I’m not taking sides. Please don’t think because I came down here that I think any less of you.”

“I don’t. Anyway, the weekend would be great.”

Tracy hesitated. “You won’t be at work all the time, will you?”

“I … er … no, I don’t think so,” Banks answered. No point telling her about his suspension, he thought. The last thing he needed right now was his daughter feeling even more sorry for him from a distance. “I’ll pick you up at the train station. What time does your train get in?”

“It gets back to Leeds mid-afternoon. But I’ll need to drop by the residence first. There might be messages. I shouldn’t really have taken off like that. I’ve only just started there.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I hope so.”

“So why don’t I come down to Leeds and pick you up at the student residence? Does that sound like a good idea?”

“That’d be great.”

“What time?”

“About six be okay?”

“Fine. And we’ll stop at the King’s Head in Masham for something to eat on the way back.”

“Great. And Dad.”

“What?”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will. See you on Friday. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Banks hung onto the receiver for a while after the line went dead, then he swallowed, took a deep breath and dialled Brian’s number in Portsmouth.

After six rings, a sleepy voice drawled, “Uh. Yeah. Who is it?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Well, yeah, as a matter of fact you did. But it’s all right. I should be getting up anyway. Next lecture’s at ten. What’s up?”

“I gather you’ve heard about your mother and me?”

“Yeah. It’s too bad. Are you okay?”

“I’m doing fine.”

“And Mum?”

“I just talked to her. She’s a bit confused right now, but she’ll be okay.”

“Great. What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. She says she needs some time away.”

“She’ll come back, Dad, you’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

“Just wait and see. She’s just having a mid-life crisis, that’s all. She’ll get over it.”

Kids. Banks couldn’t help but smile. “Right. And how are you?”

“Fine.”

“How’s your classes?”

“All right. Hey, Dad, the band’s got a couple of gigs coming up
next weekend. Paying gigs.” Brian played in a local blues band. Banks thought he was a pretty good guitar player.

“That’s great. Just don’t let it get in the way of your studies.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. Gotta go now, or I’ll be late for the lecture.”

“When are you coming up?”

“I’ll try to get up to see you before Christmas. Okay?”

“Fine. If money’s a problem, I’ll pay for your ticket.”

“Thanks, Dad, that’d be a great help. Gotta go.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye, Dad. And hang in there.”

Hang in there
. Like a kid from some American television programme. Banks smiled as he hung up. Well, that was enough family business for the moment, he thought. He knew he should phone his own parents and tell them what had happened, but he couldn’t face them yet. They’d be really upset. All these years they had loved Sandra like the daughter they had never had. If anyone was likely to blame him for what had happened, it would be his own parents, not Sandra’s, he thought ironically. No, best wait. Maybe Sandra would come up with Tracy at the weekend, then he wouldn’t have to tell them anything.

He poured some more coffee and put on the Beatles CD that he’d bought in Leeds yesterday. It was the second of three anthologies, and he’d been thinking of buying it ever since it came out. He went straight to the second disc: out-takes of “Strawberry Fields.” His favourite. Singing along, he tidied up a little, but soon started to feel restless and caged. Somehow, it didn’t feel right to be home during the daytime, watching neighbours walk back and forth with shopping and the unemployed bank clerk over the street wash his car for the second time in a week.

It was time for action. He picked up the telephone, dialled the station and asked to be put through to DC Susan Gay’s extension.

She answered on the second ring.

“Susan?” Banks said. “It’s me.”

“Sir? Are you … Is everything all right?”

He was sure she meant it, but her voice sounded tight and cool. “I’m fine. Is Jim there?”

“No, he’s out on the East Side Estate. Another break-in.”

“The super?”

“Away at Bramshill.”

“Good. Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like it did. Look, I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but do you think you could do me a favour?”

“Sir?”

“I need to look over the stuff on the Jason Fox case again. All of it—from the crime-scene photographs to Mark Wood’s statements. Can you help?”

“Can I ask why you’re still interested, sir?”

“Because I’m not satisfied. Will you help me?”

There was a long pause, then Susan said, “Why don’t you come to the station?”