“So he never brought his business home, so to speak?”
“No.”
“Did he travel much?”
“Do you mean abroad?”
“Anywhere.”
“Well, he did go abroad now and then, on business, and of course, we’d holiday in Mexico, Hawaii or Bermuda. He also travelled a lot locally in the course of business. He was away a lot.”
“Where did he go?”
“Oh, all over. Leeds, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Bristol. Sometimes to London, Europe. He had a very important job. He was a brilliant financial analyst, much in demand. He could pick and choose his clients, could Keith, he didn’t have to take just any old thing that came along.”
“You mentioned financial analysis. What exactly did he do?”
She picked at the wool on her sleeve with long, bony fingers. “As I said, he didn’t tell me much about work, not about the details, anyway. He qualified as a chartered accountant, of course, but that was only part of it. He had a genius for figures. He advised people what to do with their money, helped businesses out of difficulties. I suppose he was a kind of trouble-shooter, if you like. A very exclusive one. He didn’t need any new clients, and people only found out about him by word of mouth.”
That all sounded sufficiently vague to be suspicious to Banks. On the other hand, what did
“And you never met any of his business associates?”
“We had people for dinner occasionally, but we never talked business.”
“Maybe, if you have a moment later, you could make a list of those you entertained most frequently?”
She raised her eyebrows. “If you want.”
“Now, Mrs. Rothwell,” Banks said, wishing he could have a cigarette in what was obviously a non-smoking household, “this next question may strike you as rather indelicate, but were there any problems in the family?”
“Of course not. We’re a happy family. Aren’t we, Alison?”
Alison looked at Banks. “Yes, Mother,” she said.
Banks turned back to Mrs. Rothwell. “Had your husband been behaving at all unusually recently?” he asked. “Had you noticed any changes in him?”
She frowned. “He
“For how long?”
She shrugged. “Two or three weeks.”
“But he never told you what was wrong?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“My husband didn’t appreciate people prying into his private business affairs, Chief Inspector.”
“Not even his wife?”
“I assumed that if and when he wanted to tell me, he would do so.”
“What did you talk about over dinner yesterday?”
She shrugged. “Just the usual things. The children, the house extension we wanted to have done… I don’t know, really. What do you talk about when you’re out for dinner with
Good question, Banks thought. It had been so long since he and Sandra had gone out to dinner together that he couldn’t remember what they talked about. “Did you have any idea what he might have been worried about?” he asked.
“No. I suppose it was one of the usual business problems. Keith really cared about his clients.”
“What business problems? I thought he didn’t talk to you about business.”
“He didn’t, Chief Inspector. Please don’t twist what I say. He just made the occasional offhand comment. You know, maybe he’d read something in the
“Do you know which company?”
“No. It’ll be on his computer. He put everything on that computer.” Suddenly, Mrs. Rothwell put the back of one ringed hand to her forehead in what seemed to Banks a gesture from a nineteenth- century melodrama. Her forehead looked clammy. “I’m afraid I can’t talk anymore,” she whispered. “I feel a bit faint and dizzy. I… Alison.”
Alison helped her up and they left the room. Banks glanced over at WPC Smithies. “Have you picked up anything at all from them?” he asked.
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “Nothing. I’ll tell you one thing, though, they’re a weird pair. It’s an odd family. I think they’re both retreating from reality, in their own ways, trying to deny what happened, or how it happened. But you can see that for yourself.”
“Yes.”
Banks listened to a clock tick on the mantelpiece. It was one of those timepieces with all its brass and silver innards showing inside a glass dome.
A couple of minutes later, Alison came back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Mummy’s still weak and in shock. The doctor gave her some pills.”
“That’s understandable, Alison,” said Banks. “I’d almost finished, anyway. Just one last question. Do you know where your brother is? We’ll have to get in touch with him.”
Alison picked up a postcard from the top of the piano, gave it to Banks and sat down again.
The card showed the San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge, which looked orange to Banks. He flipped it over. Postmarked two weeks ago, it read,
“How long has he been gone?”
“Six weeks. Just over. He left on March 31st.”
“What does he do? What was that about a motion picture conservatory?”
Alison gave a brief smile. “He wants to work in films. He worked in a video shop and saved up. He’s hoping to go to film college in America and learn how to become a director.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-one.”
Banks stood up. “All right, Alison,” he said. “Thanks very much for all your help. WPC Smithies will be staying here for a while, so if you need anyone… And I’ll ask the doctor to pay your mother another visit.”
“Thank you. Please don’t worry about us.”
Banks looked in on Richmond, who sat bathed in the bluish glow of Rothwell’s monitor,
