confide in her. I kept it all to myself. Can you imagine that? I still do. You’re the first person I’ve told.” He stood up. “Look, I really must be off.”
“We’ll be in touch about the artist, then.”
“Yes. Okay. And… ”
“Yes?”
“Thanks,” he said, then turned abruptly and hurried off.
Susan watched him go down the path, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped. She poured herself another cup of tea, stewed though it was, and looked out at the river. A beautiful insect with iridescent wings hovered a few feet above the water. Suddenly, a chaffinch shot out from one of the trees and took the insect in its beak in mid-air. Susan left her lukewarm tea and headed off to meet Sergeant Hatchley. The porn hunt awaited.
3
After Banks had gone for a swim in the hotel pool, taken a long sauna, and put away three cups of freshly brewed coffee and a plateful of bacon and eggs, courtesy of room service, he was feeling much better.
As he made a few phone calls, he tried to remember something that had been nagging away at him since the early hours, something he should do, but he failed miserably. At about the same time that Susan Gay was talking to Tom Rothwell, he went out for his first appointment, with Melissa Clegg.
The morning sun had burned off most of the rain, and the pavements had absorbed the rest, leaving them the color of sandstone, with small puddles catching the light here and there. As wind ruffled the water’s surface, golden light danced inside the puddles.
It wasn’t as warm as it had been, Banks noticed. He had left his torn sports jacket at the hotel. All he wore on top was a light blue, open-neck shirt. He carried his notebook, wallet, keys and cigarettes in his briefcase.
A cool wind whispered through the streets, and there were plenty of dark, heavy clouds now lurking on the northern horizon behind the Town Hall. It looked like the region was in for some “changeable” weather, as the forecasters called it: sunny with cloudy periods, or cloudy with sunny periods.
He could drive to his appointment, he knew, but the one-way system was a nightmare. Besides, the city center wasn’t all that big, and the fresh air would help blow away the cobwebs that still clung to his brain.
Banks had grown quite fond of Leeds since he had been living in Yorkshire. It had an honest, slightly shabby charm about it that appealed to him, despite the new “Leeds-look” architecture – redbrick revival with royal blue trim – that had sprouted up everywhere, and despite the modern shopping centers and the yuppie developments down by the River Aire. Leeds was a scruff by nature; it wouldn’t look comfortable in fancy dress, no matter what the price. And then there was Opera North, of course.
Avoiding City Square and the scene of the previous evening’s debacle, he cut up King Street instead, walked past the recently restored Metropole Hotel, all redbrick and gold sandstone masonry, and along East Parade through the business section of banks and insurance buildings in all their jumbled glory. Here, Victorian Gothic rubbed shoulders with Georgian classicism and sixties concrete and glass. As in many cities, you had to look up, above eye level, to see the interesting details on the tops of the buildings: surprising gables where pigeons nested, gargoyles, balconies, caryatids.
As he walked along The Headrow past Stumps and the art gallery, he became aware again of the sharp pain in his knee, with which he had probably chipped a cheekbone or broken a jaw the previous evening.
He arrived at the Merrion Centre a couple of minutes early. Melissa Clegg had told him on the phone that she had a very busy day planned. She was expecting a number of important deliveries and had appointments with her suppliers. She could, however, allow him half an hour. There was a quiet coffee bar with outside tables, she told him, on the second level, up the steps over the entrance to Le Phonographique. She would meet him there at half past ten.
Banks found the coffee bar, and an empty table, with no trouble. At that time on a Wednesday morning, the Merrion Centre was practically deserted: especially the upper level, which seemed to have nothing but small offices and hairdressers.
Melissa Clegg arrived on time with all the flurry of the busy executive. When she sat down, she tucked her hair behind her ears. Today, she wore a pink dress cut square at her throat and shoulders.
The last thing on earth Banks felt he needed was another cup of coffee, but he took an espresso just to have something in front of him. Also, by the feel of his chest, he didn’t need a cigarette, either, but he lit one nonetheless. The first few drags made him a bit dizzy, then it tasted fine.
“You look a bit the worse for wear,” Melissa observed.
“You should have seen the other two,” Banks said. He could tell by the way she laughed that she didn’t believe him, just as he had expected. But he had also noticed the angry contusion high on his left cheek, just to the side of his eye, when he shaved that morning. Another result of his crash into the alley wall. He tried to keep his skinned knuckles out of sight, which made drinking coffee difficult.
“What can I do for you this time, Inspector, or Chief Inspector, is it?”
“Chief Inspector. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from your husband?”
“Ex. Well, near as. No, I haven’t. But he’s hardly likely to get in touch with me. I still don’t know why you’re so worried. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Clegg. Remember last time we met I asked you if you knew a Robert Calvert?”
“Yes. I said I didn’t and I still don’t.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would keep this quiet for the moment, but we believe that Robert Calvert was also Keith Rothwell.”
“I don’t understand. Do you mean he had a false name, an alias?”
“Something like that. More, actually. He lived in Leeds, had a flat in the name of Robert Calvert. A whole other life. Mary Rothwell doesn’t know, so-”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. You’ve got me puzzled.”
“We were, too. But the reason I’m telling you this is that your husband acted as a reference for Robert Calvert in the matter of his bank account and credit card. Also, ironically enough, Calvert listed his employer as Keith Rothwell.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Melissa. “Daniel must have known about this double life, then?”
“It looks that way.”
“Well, I certainly knew nothing about it. As I told you before, I haven’t seen Keith Rothwell since Danny and I split up two years ago.” She frowned. “I must say it surprises me that Daniel would risk doing something so obviously dishonest as that. Not that dishonesty is beneath him, but it seems too much of a risk for no return.”
“We don’t know what the returns were,” Banks said. “How close are you and Daniel?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he ever mention a woman called Marci Lapwing to you?”
“God, what a name. No. Who is she? His girlfriend?”
“Someone he’s been seeing lately.”
“Well, he wouldn’t tell me about her, would he?”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “He never does. Maybe he thinks I’d be jealous.”
