Blood At The Root

THIRTEEN

I

The first thing Banks needed to do, he realized in the cold light of Wednesday morning, was spend a few hours going over all the paperwork on the Jason Fox case – especially that which had been generated in his absence. He realized he had missed a lot over the weekend, and there were things he needed to know if he was to make any progress on his own. But how could he get hold of it? Nobody was going to kick him out of Eastvale station, he didn’t think, but neither could they let him just walk in and take what he wanted.

There wasn’t even a crust of bread left in the house, and he didn’t fancy eating Sandra’s leftover cottage cheese, so he made do with coffee and Vaughan Williams’s “Serenade to Music” for breakfast.

As he let the sensuous music flow over him, he thought about last night. When he had dropped Pamela at her flat, he had half hoped she would invite him up for a drink, but she just thanked him for the lift, said she was tired and hoped she would see him again soon. He said he would call and drove off with a pang of disappointment about not getting to do something he probably wouldn’t have done anyway, even if he had had the chance. But seeing her had been good for him. At least she had persuaded him to keep working on the case.

When the music finished, he picked up the phone and called Sandra in Croydon. He had been thinking of calling last night when he got in, but decided it was too late.

Her mother answered.

“Alan? How are you doing?”

“Oh, not so bad, considering. You?”

“About the same. Look, er, I’m really sorry about what’s happened. Do you want to speak to Sandra?”

“Please.”

“Just a minute.”

She sounded embarrassed, Banks thought as he waited. Not surprising, really. What could she say? Her daughter had left her husband and come home to sort herself out. Banks had always got on well with his mother- in-law, and he didn’t expect she was going to see him as a monster now, but nor was she going to chat with him about his feelings over the telephone.

“Alan?”

It was Sandra’s voice. She sounded tired. He felt the icy hand squeeze his heart. Now he had her on the line, he didn’t know what to say. “Yes. I… er… I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. I wish you hadn’t called.”

“But why?”

“Why do you think? I told you. I need time to work things out. This doesn’t help.”

“It might help me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I spent the weekend in Amsterdam.”

“You did what?”

“In Amsterdam. It was strange. It brought back a lot of memories. Look, do you remember-”

“Alan, why are you telling me this? I don’t want to talk about it. Please. Don’t do this to me. To us.”

“I’m only-”

“I’m going now.”

“Don’t hang up.”

“Alan, I can’t deal with this. I’m going now.”

“Can I speak to Tracy?”

There was silence for a while, then Tracy came on the phone. “Dad, it’s you. I was worried.”

“I’m okay, love. Your mother…?”

“She’s upset, Dad. Honest, I don’t understand what’s happening any more than you do. All I know is Mum’s confused and she says she needs some time away.”

Banks sighed. “I know that. I shouldn’t have called. She’s right. Tell her I’m sorry. And tell her I…”

“Yes?”

“Never mind. Look, does Brian know about all this? I’m sorry, I haven’t been very organized. Other than you, I haven’t called anyone else.”

“It’s all right, Dad. You don’t have to apologize to me. I suppose it’s hard to know what to do when something like this happens. I mean, it’s not exactly something you can take a course on, is it?”

God, she sounded suddenly so mature, Banks thought. Much more mature than he felt right now. “Does he?”

“Yes. We talked to him over the weekend.”

“How’s he taking it?”

“Cool. You know Brian. He’s okay.”

“When am I going to see you?”

“I’m staying the rest of the week down here. But I’ll come up for the weekend if you want.”

“You will?” The icy hand relaxed its grip and Banks’s heart warmed a little.

“Of course. You know I love you, Dad. I love you both. I told you yesterday, I’m not taking sides. Please don’t think because I came down here that I think any less of you.”

“I don’t. Anyway, the weekend would be great.”

Tracy hesitated. “You won’t be at work all the time, will you?”

“I… er… no, I don’t think so,” Banks answered. No point telling her about his suspension, he thought. The last thing he needed right now was his daughter feeling even more sorry for him from a distance. “I’ll pick you up at the train station. What time does your train get in?”

“It gets back to Leeds mid-afternoon. But I’ll need to drop by the residence first. There might be messages. I shouldn’t really have taken off like that. I’ve only just started there.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I hope so.”

“So why don’t I come down to Leeds and pick you up at the student residence? Does that sound like a good idea?”

“That’d be great.”

“What time?”

“About six be okay?”

“Fine. And we’ll stop at the King’s Head in Masham for something to eat on the way back.”

“Great. And, Dad.”

“What?”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will. See you on Friday. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Banks hung on to the receiver for a while after the line went dead, then he swallowed, took a deep breath and dialed Brian’s number in Portsmouth.

After six rings, a sleepy voice drawled. “Uh. Yeah. Who is it?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, you did. But it’s all right. I should be getting up anyway. Next lecture’s at ten. What’s up?”

“I gather you’ve heard about your mother and me?”

“Yeah. It’s too bad. Are you okay?”

“I’m doing fine.”

“And mum?”