“I am sorry, you know, about your loss,” Banks said awkwardly to her back.
Mara turned around and stared at him for a long time. He couldn’t make out what she was thinking or feeling.
“I do believe you are,” she said finally.
“And Jenny sends her condolences. She says to give her a call if you ever need anything … a friend.”
Mara said nothing.
“She didn’t betray your confidence, you know. She was worried about you. And you went to her because you were worried about Paul, didn’t you?”
Mara nodded slowly.
“Well, give her a call. All right?”
“All right.” And tall though she was, Mara seemed a slight figure walking up the lane in the dark toward the Roman road. Banks stood and watched till she was out of sight.
Hatchley was already in the Black Sheep-halfway through his second pint, judging by the empty glass next to the half-full one in front of him. Banks went to the bar first, bought two more and sat down. As far as he was concerned, Hatchley could drink as much as he wanted. He was a lousy driver even when sober, and Banks had no intention of letting him anywhere near the Cortina’s driving seat.
“Anything?” the sergeant asked.
“No, not really. You?”
“That big bloke with the shaggy beard put up a bit of an argument at first, but the little lass with the red hair told him it was best to cooperate.”
“Damn,” Banks said. “I knew there was something I’d forgotten. Mara’s prints.
Never mind, I’ll get them later.”
“Anyway,” Hatchley went on, “most of the letters in the cabinet were carbons, but I managed to rescue a couple of drafts from the waste bin.”
“Good.”
287
“You don’t sound so pleased,” Hatchley complained.
“What? Oh, sorry. Thinking of something else. Let’s drink up and get your findings sent over to the lab.”
Hatchley drained his third pint with astonishing speed and looked at his watch.
“It’s going on for six-thirty,” he said. “No point rushing now; they’ll all have buggered off home for the night.” He glanced over at the bar. “Might as well have another.”
Banks smiled. “Unassailable logic, Sergeant. All right. Better make it a quick one, though. And it’s your round.”
Ill
At home, Banks managed to warm up a frozen dinner-peas, mashed potatoes and veal cutlet-without ruining it. After washing the dishes-or, rather, rinsing his knife and fork and coffee cup and throwing the metal tray into the rubbish bin, he called Sandra.
“So when do I get my wife back?” he asked.
“Wednesday morning. Early train,” Sandra said. “We should be home around lunchtime. Dad’s a lot better now and Mum’s coping better than I’d imagined.”
“Good. I’ll try and be in,” Banks said. “It depends.”
“How are things going?”
“They’re getting more complicated.”
“You sound grouchy, too. It’s a good sign. The more complicated things seem and the more bad-tempered you get, the closer the end is.”
“Is that right?”
“Of course it is. I haven’t lived with you this long without learning to recognize the signs.”
“Sometimes I wonder what people do learn about one another.”
“What’s this? Philosophy?”
“No. Just frustration. Brian and Tracy well?”
“Fine. Just restless. Brian especially. You know Tracy, she’s happy enough with her head buried in a history book. But with him it’s all sports and pop music now. American football is the latest craze, apparently.”
288
“Good God.”
Brian had changed a lot over the past year. He even seemed to have lost interest in the electric train that Banks had set up in the spare room. Banks played with it himself more than Brian did, but then, he had to admit, he always had done.
To keep the emptiness after the conversation at bay, he poured out a glass of Bell’s and listened to Leroy Carr
