Cold Is The Grave

was the barmaid who served her this time, not the landlord, and Banks noticed them talking, Emily taking something out of her handbag and showing it to her.

“What was all that about?” he asked when she came back.

“Nothing,” she said, putting her drink down. “Christ, this place is in the fucking dark ages.”

“What do you mean?”

“I only asked for a TVR, didn’t I, and do you think the sad bitch behind the bar had any idea what I was talking about?”

“I can’t say I have any idea what you’re talking about, either.”

Emily looked at him as if he came from another planet. “Well, I had to explain it to her, too. It’s tequila, vodka and Red Bull. Great stuff, gives you a real alcohol high without all that slurring and stumbling. Me and… well, you know who… we used to drink it in the Cicada Dust in Clerkenwell.”

“And?”

She pulled a face. “What do you think?”

“They didn’t have it?”

“Of course they didn’t.”

“So what did you settle for?”

“A Snowball.”

Banks had heard of that one: Advocaat and lemonade. He had thought it long out of fashion. He remembered that his mother sometimes used to drink a Snowball at Christmas when he was a kid. Just the one, usually, as she was never much of a drinker. “Mmm, it’s good.” Emily held out the glass. “Want a sip?”

“No, thanks. Have you been in touch with any of the crowd down there? Craig? Ruth?”

Emily shook her head. “Not much.”

“Craig said Barry’s minders beat him up outside a pub in Soho while you looked on laughing.”

“The lying bastard.”

“It didn’t happen?”

“Oh, it happened, but not the way he told it.”

“You tell me, then.”

“It was in Clerkenwell, outside Barry’s club. Craig found out about the place and he started hanging around there, pretending to be taking photographs. He was obsessed. He just wouldn’t let go. I told him to stay away, but he wouldn’t listen. He even started coming in, but Barry had him barred. When he came up to me, it was the last straw. I wouldn’t have let them hit him like that if I could have stopped them, but it all happened so quickly. It was his own fault, really.”

“He said he didn’t know where you lived.”

“He didn’t. I told Ruth to make sure she didn’t tell him. He knew about the club from before, though, from the party.”

“Which party?”

“The one where I met Barry. At some promoter’s house. Ruth took us. She knows people in the music scene and all that.”

“Craig was there, too?”

“Yes. That’s how he knew Barry owned a club in Clerkenwell. I started seeing Barry after that night and a week or so later I left Craig. He was just getting to be too much.”

“I see. And were you laughing when they beat him up?”

“I wasn’t laughing. I was crying. The fool.”

“Why would he lie to me?”

“The truth would hardly make him look good, would it? Craig might seem so nice and well-balanced on the surface, but he’s got a mean streak, too, you know.”

“Did he ever hit you?”

“No. He knew I wouldn’t stand for that. It was just… oh, you know, if I came home late or something, he’d always be waiting up and go on at me, calling me a slut and a whore and stuff. It was mean. Nasty. Then he was all pathetic the next morning, telling me he loved me and buying me presents and all that when all he really wanted was to get into my knickers.”

“I still don’t understand why he would lie to me. He believed I was your father. Surely he must know I’d find out the truth when I found you?”

Emily laughed. “Silly. It’s the last thing I’d tell my father. Think about it.”

Banks did. She was right. “But you’re telling me.”

“That’s different. You’re not my father. You’re not like him at all. You’re…”

“I’m what?”

“Well, you’re more like a friend. Cute, too.”

“I’m flattered, Emily, but you’d better not tell your father that.”

She giggled and put her hand to her mouth, as if embarrassed to catch herself out in a juvenile act. “You’re right about that.”

“Have you heard from Craig at all since you’ve been back in Yorkshire?”

“No. I’ve not seen or heard from him since that night outside the club.”

“What about Ruth?”

“I’ve talked to her a couple of times on the phone. But I didn’t give her much cause to like me, did I? I think she fancied Craig and I took him away from her.”

“It was as much his choice. Besides, she’ll get over it.”

“Yeah… well… Ruth’s got enough problems without me adding to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. She’s just a bit fucked up. Couldn’t you tell?”

“She did seem strange.” Not much stranger than Emily herself, though, Banks thought. He pushed his empty plate aside and lit a cigarette. It wasn’t as if there was anything to be gained by trying to act as a positive, nonsmoking role model to Emily. “Are you going to tell me what happened in London that night?” he asked. “Before you arrived at the hotel.”

Emily licked at the rim of her glass. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“And?”

She looked around, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve decided I will.”

Banks could smell the Advocaat on her breath. He leaned back. “I’m all ears.”

Annie had not been completely honest with Banks, she admitted to herself the next afternoon as she drove out to the Daleview Business Park to meet Charlie Courage’s boss at SecuTec, Ian Bennett. As usual, when she found it difficult to talk about something, she had been flip, all style and no substance. Working out of Eastvale, with Banks, bothered her more than she had been able to tell him. It wasn’t that she couldn’t separate her job from her personal life – she felt she could do the job perfectly well, no matter with whom she worked – but so much proximity to Banks might weaken her resolve to end their relationship. After all, she had given him up not because she didn’t feel anything for him, but because she found herself feeling too much too soon, and because he brought too many complications from his previous relationship with him, a marriage of over twenty years. Working with him again, she had to admit to herself that she still fancied him.

To hell with it, she told herself, sneaking a quick glance at the map on the car seat beside her. Almost there. She would just do her bloody job and let the rest take care of itself. One thing her brief romance with Banks had done was renew her faith in the Job, make her think about why she had become a policewoman in the first place. Now she had a better sense of herself, more confidence, and she was damn well going for inspector. Not that the Job was everything, mind you – she wasn’t going to make that mistake and end up a dried-up old spinster with no life other than work – but she was willing to commit herself as much as it took. And because her work life was going to be hard, she wanted to keep her personal life simple. With Banks in her bed, it wouldn’t be.

The black wrought-iron railings to her left bore a large painted sign saying DALEVIEW BUSINESS PARK, along