“And I shouldn’t have mistaken your warning for interference. It’s just that I get so bloody frustrated. Damn men! Why do I never seem able to choose the right one?”
“Does it matter to you, what he did?”
“Of course it matters.”
“Are you going to go on seeing him?”
“I don’t know.” She affected a bored tone. “I was getting rather tired of him, anyway. Have there been any developments?”
“What in? The breakin or the Gill murder?”
“Well, both, seeing as you ask. What’s wrong? You sound a bit tense.”
“Oh, nothing. It’s been a busy morning, that’s all. And I was nervous about calling you. Have you read about Seth Cotton?”
“No. I didn’t have time to look at the paper this morning. Why, what’s happened?”
Banks told her.
“Oh God. Poor Mara. Do you think there’s anything I can do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve no idea what state she’s in. I’m calling on her later this afternoon. I’ll mention your name if you like.”
“Please do. Tell her how sorry I am. And if she needs to talk … What do you think happened, or can’t you say?”
“I wish I could.” Banks summed up his thoughts for her.
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“And I suppose you’re feeling responsible? Is that why you don’t really want to consider that Boyd did it?”
“You’re right about the guilt. Burgess would never have let him go if I hadn’t pressed him.”
“Burgess hardly seems like the kind of man to bow to pressure. I can’t see him consenting to do anything he didn’t want to.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Still… it’s not just that. At least, I don’t think so.
There’s something much more complex behind all this. And don’t accuse me of overcomplicating matters-I’ve had enough of that already.”
“Oh, we are touchy today, aren’t we? I had no such thing in mind.”
“Sorry. I suppose it’s getting to me. About the breakin. I’ve got something in the works and we’ll probably know by tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“What’s it all about?”
“I’d rather not say yet. But don’t worry, I don’t think Osmond’s in any kind of danger.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you’re right?”
“Am I ever wrong? Look, before you choke, I’ve got to go now. I’ll be in touch later.”
Though where he had to go he wasn’t quite certain. There was the solicitor, but that wasn’t until two-thirty. Feeling vaguely depressed, he lit another cigarette and went over to the window. The Queen’s Arms, that was it. A pie and a pint would soon cheer him up. And Burgess had made a tentative arrangement to meet there around one-thirty and compare notes.
II
Banks found the offices of Courtney, Courtney and Courtney on Market Street, quite close to the police station. Too close, in fact, to make it worthwhile turning on the Walkman for the journey.
The firm of solicitors was situated in what had once been a 275
tea-shop, and the new name curved in a semicircle of gold lettering on the plate-glass window. Banks asked the young receptionist for Mr Lawrence Courtney, and after a brief exchange on the intercom, was shown through to a large office stacked with legal papers.
Lawrence Courtney himself, wedged behind a large executive desk, was not the prim figure Banks had expected from their phone conversation-three-piece suit, gold watch chain, pince-nez, nose raised as if perpetually exposed to a bad smell-instead he was a relaxed, plump man of about fifty with over-long fair hair, a broad, ruddy face and a fairly pleasant expression. His jacket hung behind the door. He wore a white shirt, a red and green striped tie and plain black braces. Banks noticed that the top button of the shirt was undone and the tie had been loosened, just like his own.
“Seth Cotton’s will,” Banks said, sitting down after a brisk damp handshake.
“Yes. I thought you’d be interested,” said Courtney. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his pink, rubbery lips.
“When did he make it?”
“Let me see…. About a year ago, I think.” Courtney found the document and read off the date.
“Why did he come to you? I’m not sure how well you knew him, but he didn’t seem to me the kind of person to deal with a solicitor.”
