“I know, I know,” said Banks. “Notoriously difficult to establish.
F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
7 5
The one thing that can sometimes help us most. Just one more of life’s little ironies.”
Dr. Wallace didn’t respond.
“Anything odd or unusual?”
“All perfectly normal so far, for this sort of thing.” Dr. Wallace sounded weary and too old for her years, as if she’d seen it all too many times before. Banks stood back and kept quiet to let her get on with her work. She gripped the scalpel and started to make the Y incision quickly and precisely and Banks felt a shiver run up his spine.
A N N I E TO O K Ginger with her to Nottingham to talk to Gail Torrance, Karen Drew’s social worker, while Tommy Naylor held the fort back in Whitby. Annie liked Ginger’s company, felt at ease with her.
She was irreverent and funny, chewing gum constantly, talking a mile a minute, complaining about the other drivers, and she always seemed cheerful. Perhaps because of her rather butch appearance, many of the blokes at the station had first thought she was a lesbian, but it turned out that she had a stay-at- home husband and two young kids. For a moment, as Annie drove and listened to the hilarious tirade about the kids’ weekend with a bouncy castle, she thought that Ginger might be someone she could talk to about Eric—there, he had a name now—
but she realized it wouldn’t be appropriate, that she didn’t really know her well enough, and that she didn’t want anyone to know, at least not right now. What did she expect? Advice? She didn’t need any. She knew what to do. And if she talked to anyone about it, it would be Winsome, though they hardly saw each other these days.
Annie was driving because she didn’t feel safe with Ginger behind the wheel. And Ginger knew that. Though she had somehow got her license, driving was simply one of the skills she hadn’t truly mastered yet, she apologized, and she was due for yet another training course in a month’s time. But by the time they got lost in an area of desolate industrial estates, Annie was wishing she had handed the wheel over to Ginger, who was proving to be an even worse navigator than she was a driver.
7 6 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
They finally found the social services offices in West Bridgford. It was almost lunchtime when they arrived, and Gail Torrance was more than happy to join them in the nearest pub. The place was already busy with office workers, but they found a table cluttered with the previous occupants’ leftover chips, salad and remains of Scotch eggs, along with empty lipstick-stained half-pint glasses with pools of pale warm lager in the bottom. The ashtray, too, was overf lowing with crushed pink-ringed cigarette ends, one of them still smoldering slightly.
Ginger took the orders and went up to the bar. By the time she got back with the drinks, a sullen teenage waitress had cleared away the debris, then brought knives and forks folded in paper serviettes. Annie and Ginger drank Slimline Bitter Lemon and Gail sipped a Campari and soda. She lit a cigarette. “Ah, that’s better,” she said, blowing out the smoke.
Annie managed to smile through the smoke. “As you know,” she said, “we’ve come to talk about Karen Drew.” She noticed Ginger take out her pen and notebook. Despite her size and her f laming red hair, she had the knack of disappearing into the background when she wanted to.
“You’re probably wasting your time,” said Gail. “I mean, I can’t really tell you very much about her.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know anything.”
“But you
were her liaison between the hospital and Mapston Hall.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I handle all sorts of similar residential care cases all over the county.”
“So tell us what you do know.”
Gail pushed back her hair. “About four months ago,” she began, “the administration at Grey Oaks, the hospital where Karen had been for almost three years, got in touch with me—I’ve worked with them before—and told me about a woman they had been treating who needed special care. That’s my area. I went out there and met Karen —
for the first and only time, I might add—and talked to her doctors.
They had assessed her needs, and from what I could see, I agreed with them—not that my opinion on the matter was required, of course.” She F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
7 7
f licked the ash off her cigarette. “There was nothing suitable available locally, and I’d dealt with the Mapston Hall people before, so I knew their area of specialization matched Karen’s needs. It was just a matter of waiting for a bed, getting the paperwork done, dotting the
“What were your personal impressions of Karen?” Annie asked.
“That’s a funny question.”
“Why?”
“Well, what impression can you have of someone who just sits there and says nothing?”
“She must have had a life before the accident.”
“I suppose so, but that wasn’t any of my business.”
“Didn’t you have to contact her family at all?”
