Aftermath

it. Trouble is, the chappie she overdid it with is suspected to be that Chameleon killer they’ve been after for a while, which, as I’m sure even you will realize, puts a different complexion on things.” He tapped the folder. “The details, such as they are at the moment, are all in there. Do you think you can handle it?”

“No problem,” said Annie.

“On the contrary,” said Chambers, “I think there’ll be plenty of problems. It’ll be what they call a high-profile case, and because of that my name will be on it. I’m sure you understand that we can’t have a mere inspector still wet behind the ears running a case of this importance.”

“If that’s the case,” said Annie, “why don’t you investigate it yourself?”

“Because I happen to be too busy at the moment,” said Chambers, with a twisted grin. “Besides, why own a dog and bark yourself?”

“Absolutely. Why, indeed? Of course,” said Annie, who happened to know that Chambers couldn’t investigate his way out of a paper bag. “I understand completely.”

“I thought you would.” Chambers stroked one of his chins. “And as my name’s on it, I want no cock-ups. In fact, if any heads roll over this business, yours will be the first. Remember, I’m only a hairs-breadth away from retirement, so the last thing on my mind is career advancement. You, on the other hand… Well, I’m sure you catch my drift.”

Annie nodded.

“You’ll be reporting to me directly, of course,” Chambers went on. “Daily reports required, except in the event of any major developments, in which case you’re to report to me immediately. Understood?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Annie.

Chambers narrowed his eyes at her. “One day that mouth of yours will get you into serious trouble, young lady.”

“So my father told me.”

Chambers grunted and shifted his weight in his chair. “There’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like the way this assignment was delivered to me. There’s something fishy about it.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I don’t know.” Chambers frowned. “Acting Detective Superintendent Banks from CID is running our part of the Chameleon investigation, isn’t he?”

Annie nodded.

“And if my memory serves me well, you used to work with him as a DS before coming over here, didn’t you?”

Again, Annie nodded.

“Well, it might be nothing,” said Chambers, looking away from her, at a point high on the wall. “Summat and nowt, as they say up here. But on the other hand…”

“Sir?”

“Keep an eye on him. Play your cards close to your chest.”

He looked at her chest as he spoke and Annie gave an involuntary shudder. She stood up and walked over to the door.

“And another thing, DI Cabbot.”

Annie turned. “Sir?”

Chambers smirked. “This Banks. Watch out for him. He’s got the reputation for being a bit of a ladies’ man, in case you don’t know that already.”

Annie felt herself flush as she left the office.

Banks followed Maggie Forrest into the living room, with its dark wainscoting and brooding landscapes in heavy gilt frames on the walls. The room faced west, and the late-afternoon sun cast dancing shadows of twisted foliage on the far walls. It was not a feminine room, but more like the kind to which the men withdrew for port and cigars in BBC period dramas, and Banks sensed that Maggie was uncomfortable in it, though he wasn’t quite certain what gave him that impression. Noticing a whiff of smoke in the air and a couple of cigarette ends in the ashtray, Banks lit up, offering Maggie a Silk Cut. She accepted. He looked at the schoolgirl on the sofa, head lowered, bare knees close together, one of them scabbed from a recent fall, thumb in her mouth.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he asked Maggie.

“Detective…?”

“Banks. Acting Detective Superintendent.”

“Detective Superintendent Banks, this is Claire Toth, a neighbor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Claire,” said Banks.

Claire looked up at him and mumbled hello, then she took a crumpled packet of ten Embassy Regal from her blazer pocket and joined the adult smokers. Banks knew this was no time for lectures on the dangers of smoking. Something was clearly wrong. He could see by her red eyes and the streaks on her face that she had been crying.

“I’ve missed something,” he said. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

“Claire went to school with Kimberley Myers,” said Maggie. “Naturally, she’s upset.”

Claire grew edgy, her eyes flitting all over the place. She took short, nervous puffs on the cigarette, holding it affectedly, straight out with her first two fingers vertical, letting go as she puffed, then closing her fingers. She didn’t seem to be inhaling, just doing it to look and act grown up, Banks thought. Or perhaps even to feel grown up, because only God knew what turbulent feelings must be churning inside Claire right now. And it would only get worse. He remembered Tracy’s reaction to the murder of an Eastvale girl, Deborah Harrison, just a few years ago. They hadn’t even known each other well, had come from differing social backgrounds, but they were about the same age, and they had met and talked on several occasions. Banks had tried to protect Tracy from the truth for as long as he could, but in the end the best he could do was comfort her. She was lucky; she got over it in time. Some never do.

“Kim was my best friend,” Claire said. “And I let her down.”

“What makes you think that?” Banks asked.

Claire flicked her eyes toward Maggie, as if seeking permission. Maggie nodded almost imperceptibly. She was an attractive woman, Banks noticed, not so much physically, with the slightly long nose and pointed chin, though he also admired her elfin looks and her trim, boyish figure, but it was the air of kindness and intelligence about her that struck him. He could see it in her eyes, and there was an artist’s grace in the economy of her simplest movements, such as flicking ash from her cigarette, in her large hands with the long, tapered fingers.

“I should have been with her,” Claire said. “But I wasn’t.”

“Were you at the dance?” Banks asked.

Claire nodded and bit her lip.

“Did you see Kimberley there?”

“Kim. I always called her Kim.”

“All right: Kim. Did you see Kim there?”

“We went together. It’s not far. Just up past the roundabout and along Town Street, near the Rugby ground.”

“I know where you mean,” said Banks. “It’s the Congregational church opposite Silverhill Comprehensive, right?”

“Yes.”

“So you went to the dance together.”

“Yes, we walked up there and… and…”

“Take your time,” said Banks, noticing that she was about to cry again.

Claire took a final puff at her cigarette, then stubbed it out. She didn’t do a good job, and the ashes continued to smolder. She sniffled. “We were going to walk home together. I mean… people had said… you know… it was on the radio and television and my father told me… we had to be careful, stick together.”

Banks had been responsible for the warnings. There was a fine line between panic and caution, he knew, and while he wanted to avert the kind of widespread paranoia that the Yorkshire Ripper case had whipped up for years in the early eighties, he also wanted to make it clear that young women should be cautious after dark. But short of