Banks put his feet up, lit a cigarette and warmed the glass in his palm.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. He jumped to his feet and cursed as he spilled a little valuable Scotch on his shirt front. Rubbing it with the heel of his hand, he walked into the hall and opened the door a few inches on the chain.
It was Jenny Fuller, the psychologist he had met and worked with on his first case in Eastvale. More than that, he had to admit; there had been a mutual attraction between them. Nothing had come of it, of course, and Jenny had even become good friends with Sandra. The three of them had often been out together.
But the attraction remained, unresolved. Things like that didn’t seem to go away as easily as they arrived.
29
“Jenny?” He slipped off the chain and opened the door wider.
“I know. It’s two o’clock in the morning and you’re wondering what I’m doing at your door.”
“Something like that. I assume it’s not just my irresistible charm?”
Jenny smiled. The laugh lines around her green eyes crinkled. But the smile was forced and shortlived.
“What is it?” Banks asked.
“Dennis Osmond.”
“Who?”
“A friend. He’s in trouble.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Yes, boyfriend.” Jenny blushed. “Or would you prefer beau? Lover? Significant other? Look, can I come in? It’s cold and raining out here.”
Banks moved aside. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Have a drink?”
“I will, if you don’t mind.” Jenny walked into the front room, took off her green silk scarf and shook her red hair. The muted trumpet wailed and Sara Martin sang “Death Sting Me Blues.”
“What happened to opera?” Jenny asked.
Banks poured her a shot of Laphroaig. “There’s a lot of music in the world,” he said. “I want to listen to as much as I can before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”
“Does that include heavy metal and middle-of-the-road?”
Banks scowled. “Dennis Osmond. What about him?”
“Ooh, touchy, aren’t we?” Jenny raised her eyes to the ceiling and lowered her voice. “By the way, I hope I haven’t disturbed Sandra or the children?”
Banks explained their absence. “It was all a bit sudden,” he added, to fill the silence that followed, which seemed somehow more weighty than it should. Jenny expressed her sympathy and shifted in her seat. She took a deep breath. “Dennis was arrested during that demonstration tonight. He managed to get in a phone call to me from the police station. He’s not come back yet. I’ve just been there and the man on
30
the desk told me you’d left. They wouldn’t tell me anything about the prisoners at all. What’s going on?”
“Where hasn’t he come back to?”
“My place.”
“Do you live together?”
Jenny’s eyes hardened and drilled into him like emerald laser beams. “That’s none of your damn business.” She drank some more Scotch. “As a matter of fact, no, we don’t. He was going to come round and tell me about the demonstration. It should have been all over hours ago.”
“You weren’t there yourself?”
“Are you interrogating me?”
“No. Just asking.”
“I believe in the cause-I mean, I’m against nuclear power and American missile bases-but I don’t see any point standing in the rain in front of Eastvale Community Centre.”
“I see.” Banks smiled. “It was a nasty night, wasn’t it?”
“And there’s no need to be such a cynic. I had work to do.”
“It was a pretty bad night inside, too.”
Jenny raised her eyebrows. “The Hon Hon?”
“Indeed.”
“You were there?”
“I had that dubious honour, yes. Duty.”
“You poor man. It might have been worth a black eye to get out of that.”
“I take it you haven’t heard the news, then?”
