Not Safe After Dark (55 page)

The moon was higher now and Banks could see stars, planets, constellations even, beyond the amber glow of the street lights. He wandered the quiet Sunday night streets of the estate feeling
oddly melancholy, past the maisonettes where he used to deliver newspapers, past the house where his old, late friend Steve Hill used to live. Steve had kept toads in a bell jar at the bottom of
the garden, Banks remembered, but he was forgetful, and one summer he neglected them for so long that they shrivelled up and died. They looked like dried mushrooms. That was what happened to living
things you were supposed to love and care for but neglected.

His melancholy was probably something to do with Kay, he realized, though he hadn’t really wanted to repeat last night, either. Last night had had a magic about it that any attempt at
repetition would fall well short of. He remembered how their relationship had fallen apart all those years ago. His fault.

It had all started to change when Kay left school at sixteen and got a job at Lloyd’s bank in the town centre. She made new friends, had money to spare, started going for drinks with the
office crowd regularly after work on a Friday. Banks was still at school, having stayed on for his A levels, and somehow a schoolboy had less appeal than these slightly older, better dressed, more
sophisticated men of the world at the office. They had more money to flash around and, even more important, some of them had cars. One pillock called Nigel, with a plummy accent and a Triumph MG,
particularly got up Banks’s nose. Kay insisted there was no hanky-panky going on, but Banks became tortured with jealousy, racked by imagined infidelities, and in the end Kay walked away. She
couldn’t stand his constant harping on about who she was seeing and what she was doing, she said, and the way he got stroppy if she even so much as
looked at
another man.

The irony was, given that his A level results weren’t good enough for university – the first bone of contention between him and his parents – he might as well not have bothered
staying on. He’d spent far too much time with Kay, away from his studies, listening to Hendrix, Dylan and Pink Floyd, reading books that weren’t on the syllabus.

Shortly after the break up, Banks moved to London and went to pursue business studies at the poly. A year or two after that and several brief, unsatisfactory, casual relationships later, he met
Sandra.

A dog barked as he reached the edge of the estate by the railway lines. A local train rattled by, one or two silhouettes visible through the windows. Banks started towards home. He had only got
a few yards when the mobile in his pocket rang. He had forgotten to turn it off.

‘Alan? I hope I’m not disturbing your party.’

It was Annie Cabbot. Banks wondered how he would have felt if he had gone in with Kay and the phone had rung just as they were . . . it didn’t bear thinking about.

‘No,’ he said quietly. He happened to be passing the telephone boxes at the end of the street, so he decided to stand inside one and take the call. That way he didn’t seem like
one of those silly buggers walking around talking to his girlfriend on his mobile phone.

‘I’m sorry to call so late,’ Annie said.

‘That’s all right. Aren’t you off duty?’

‘Yes, but I was waiting to hear from DS Ryan in Loughborough. He was out at the pictures.’

‘DS Ryan? So this is about Geoff Salisbury?’

‘Yes. What’s wrong, Alan? You sound funny. Distant.’

‘So would you if you were standing in the middle of a council estate talking on your mobile.’

Annie laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m not quite as conservative as you are.’

‘OK. Point taken. What did this DS Ryan come up with?’

‘It’s interesting, actually,’ said Annie. ‘At least, I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Fill me in.’

‘As Winsome told you, Salisbury was actually convicted of fraud. It was a neighbour, an elderly woman, and he started by helping out around the place, that sort of thing.’

‘Sounds familiar,’ said Banks. ‘Go on.’

‘Seems he managed to come between her and her children and get himself written into her will. She didn’t have much. Only a few hundred quid and an insurance policy, but he copped for
most of it.’

‘What happened?’

‘The family contested it. Undue influence, that sort of thing. Hard to prove. Anyway, in the end Mr Salisbury won out.’

‘Where does the conviction come in?’

‘Just getting to that. During proceedings, it came out that Geoff Salisbury had persuaded the woman to invest in a non-existent business venture of his. A garage.’

‘Ah-hah.’

‘Again, it wasn’t much. Only two hundred quid.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Banks. ‘Is a man who preys on the poor any less guilty than one who preys on the rich?’

‘I’m afraid that’s a bit too philosophical for me at this time on a Sunday evening, but at a guess I’d say even more so, wouldn’t you?’

‘I would. Thanks a lot, Annie. Above and beyond, and all that.’

‘Oh, that’s not all.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. While all this was going on, Mr Salisbury’s mother died. Well, she was old and—’

‘Sick?’

‘How did you guess? She had diabetes. Anyway, she died. Or—’

Banks felt a tingle go up his spine. ‘Or what?’

‘Or he helped her on her way. Nothing was ever proven. There weren’t even any charges. But DS Ryan was one of the investigating officers, and he says he was suspicious enough to ask
for an autopsy. Negative. The woman was old, she went hypoglycaemic, and that was that.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Hypoglycaemic? It’s something that happens to diabetics, apparently, caused by too much insulin or low food intake.’

‘He gave her an overdose of insulin?’

‘No evidence of that.’

‘But someone could have brought it about, this hypoglycaemic coma?’

‘Yes. Hard to prove, though.’

‘What did DS Ryan say?’

‘DS Ryan said that his older sister is a diabetic and she always keeps her bedside drawer full of Mars bars or chocolate of some kind for just that sort of eventuality.’

‘But I thought diabetics had to avoid sugar like the plague?’

‘So did I. Apparently, they do. Unless they go hypoglycaemic. Then they need a hit of sugar.’

‘Or?’

‘Coma. Death. And in this case there were other complications. Weak heart, for example.’

‘And DS Ryan says?’

‘DS Ryan says the doctor didn’t find any traces of sugar products close to Mrs Salisbury’s bed, and he found that in itself suspicious. In his opinion – DS Ryan’s,
that is – Geoff Salisbury was responsible, knowing it was just a matter of time before she’d need a sugar fix .’

‘He killed his own mother. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Mercy killing, but killing all the same.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Banks. ‘This changes things.’

‘It does?’

‘I’d been thinking of leaving well alone.’

‘But not now?’

‘Not now. Thanks a lot, Annie.’

‘My pleasure. See you tomorrow?’

‘OK. And thanks again.’

Missing Mars bars. A faulty oxygen-tank valve. Banks wondered who else Geoff Salisbury had assisted in their final moments on earth. He also wondered how long it would be before his own father
suffered that fatal angina attack and was unable to find his nitroglycerine tablets in time. Putting his phone in his pocket, he headed straight for Geoff Salisbury’s house.

20

‘Look, I can
see you’re not going to let this drop, are you?’ said Salisbury when Banks had told him he knew about the conviction. ‘So
I’ve been to prison. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I served my time.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Banks, ‘it is something to be ashamed of. But those who’ve been there rarely seem to think so. Innocent, were you, like everyone
else?’

‘No. I did it. I was desperate and she didn’t need the money, so I conned her. I’m not saying I’m proud of
that
, what I did, but like I said, I served my time,
paid my debt to society.’

Debt to society
. Roy’s words exactly and an odd phrase when you really thought about it. ‘Would that it were as simple as that,’ Banks said. Salisbury’s living
room wasn’t quite as clean and tidy as he had expected, but perhaps he used all his energy on other people’s homes and had none left for his own. Dust gathered in the corners, the
carpet was threadbare and lumps of mould floated on the half-empty coffee cup on the table.

‘All right,’ said Salisbury, ‘suppose, just
suppose
that I was ripping people off. Some people might actually believe I’m a power for good around here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘An estate like this, the old folks need someone on their side, someone to look out for them. They die off, you see, and when they do it’s mostly young ’uns come in off the
waiting list. You know the sort. Young lasses barely out of school with three kids and no father in sight. Or that lot next door to your mum and dad’s. Scum. Now you’re a copper, Alan,
you tell me if he doesn’t have prison written all over him. And as for the kids, well, it’ll only be a matter of time. And if it’s not scum like that it’s foreigners.
Gyppos. Darkies. Pakis. Them with the turbans. All with their funny ways, slaughtering goats in the street and whatever, not giving a toss for our customs and traditions and way of life. See, the
old folks, they get frightened when everything around them starts to feel threatening and
unfamiliar
. Their world’s changing so fast and their bodies can’t do what they used to
do, so they end up feeling lost and scared. That’s where someone like me comes in. I reassure them, do odd jobs, give them a friendly and familiar face to relate to. So what if I make a few
bob out of it? Hypothetically.’

‘I’d say, hypothetically, that it makes you a thief.’

‘Words, Alan, just words.’

‘Actually, no. Legal concepts.’

‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’

‘Here’s another one to try on for size.
Murder
.’

Salisbury blinked and stared at him. ‘What?’

‘You heard me, Geoff. Oh, you might have a more fancy name for it, something high-sounding and moral, such as
mercy
killing, but in my eyes it’s murder plain and
simple.’

Salisbury sat back in his chair. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, I think you do. There was your own mother for a start. Don’t tell me a woman who’s been a diabetic for a good part of her life doesn’t know to keep some sugar on
hand in case she goes hypoglycaemic.’

Salisbury banged his fist on the chair arm. ‘That’s over and done with,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t there. Nobody ever proved anything against me!’

‘I’m not saying you haven’t been clever, Geoff. You never were there, were you? Mr Green’s faulty valve, for example. Wouldn’t be difficult for a car mechanic,
would it? And what about Mrs Summerville, Geoff, gentle pillow over the face as she slept, was it? Nobody would ask too many questions. Or perhaps a little too much morphine? She was alone. You had
a key. They always give you a key, don’t they? And what about the hundred quid you drew out with her bank card the day she died. Mistake, that. She couldn’t get it herself, remember
– she was bedridden – and her daughter could find no sign of the money.’

Salisbury got to his feet. ‘You can’t prove a damn thing. Get out of here! Go on, get out!’

Banks didn’t move. ‘You don’t get away with it that easily, Geoff, especially not when it’s my parents you’re playing with now. I saw the piece of silver paper you
folded and dropped in the bin at Mrs Summerville’s house. I’ll bet it has your prints on it.’

‘So I went there. I helped her. Like I helped the others. So what? That doesn’t prove anything.’

‘I’ll bet if we exhumed the body, though, we’d find some evidence of tampering, some evidence of what you did. She hasn’t been dead as long as the others, Geoff.
There’ll be forensic evidence. In the house, too.’

For the first time, Banks saw Salisbury falter and sit down again. He knew he had been guessing, taking a stab in the dark, but it seemed to have touched a nerve. ‘She had cancer and a
weak heart,’ Banks went on. ‘All it took was a little pressure. She didn’t even have the strength to fight back, did she?’

‘What do you mean
forensic
evidence?’ Geoff asked. ‘They’d never dig her up.’

‘Oh yes, they would. On my say-so. And you know exactly what they’d find, don’t you?’

‘But the doctor signed the death certificates. There wasn’t even an inquest, nothing suspicious at all.’

‘Why would there be, Geoff? Don’t you know how it goes? All your victims were medically attended during their illnesses, they’d all been seen by their doctors within fourteen
days of death, and they were all terminally ill, likely to die at any time. There were no grounds for a coroner’s inquest. And remember: none of them was alone with family members when they
died. Not even your mother. You made sure you were out of the house that night, didn’t you?’

‘This is absurd. They’ll never open up her coffin .’

‘Yes, they will. We’d just better thank the Lord that she was buried and not cremated, don’t you think? What will they find? Tell me.’

Salisbury licked his lips, staring at Banks, and said nothing for a long time. ‘You think you’re clever, don’t you?’ he said at last. ‘You don’t know nothing
about it.’

‘About what?’

‘Suffering.’

‘Tell me about it, Geoff. I want to know.’

‘Why should I? You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Believe me, I’ll try. And it’ll go better for you if you do. If we don’t have to exhume the body. That’s a lot of work. And messy. Nobody wants to do it. I think
we’d be able to prove a case against you, Geoff, I really do, but if you help us, if you tell me about it, it’ll go a lot easier for you.’

‘Why do you think they let me cheat them, take their money?’

Banks frowned. ‘Come again?’

‘You don’t think they didn’t know what I was doing, do you? They knew all right and they let it go on. Payment. That’s what it was. They just couldn’t come right
out and say it. What they really wanted me to do. But it was their way of paying me, of letting me know what they wanted me to do.’