Cold Is The Grave

“What’s the matter?” Annie went on. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I don’t see why I should have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, you don’t, don’t you? I’ll tell you why. Murder. That’s why. Emily Riddle was murdered last week, or have you forgotten that?” As she spoke, Annie felt the embers of her anger start to rekindle again. “Now, after the things I’ve discovered, I don’t think you’re fit to be working the case, but I’m your DIO and you owe me at least the fucking courtesy of telling me the truth about your relationship with the victim.”

“There was no relationship.”

“Liar.”

“Annie, there-”

“Liar.”

“Will you let me talk?”

“If you tell the truth.”

“I am telling the truth.”

“Liar.”

“All right. So I liked Emily. So what? I don’t know why. She was a pain in the arse. But I liked her. That’s all. More like a daughter than anything. That’s as far as it went. It was my job to find her in London. She got herself into a bit of bother at a party and the only place she knew to come was to the hotel. I’d given her a card with the name written on, so she could contact me if she decided to come home. She was scared and alone and she came there. It’s as simple as that.”

“What bother?”

Banks told her about the incident with Andy Pandy at the party.

“And you didn’t see fit to share this tidbit of information with me, your DIO?” Annie shook her head. “I can’t believe it. What else have you been keeping me in the dark about?”

“Nothing, Annie. Look, I know it was wrong of me, but surely you can see why I was worried how it might appear?”

“How it might appear? Emily Riddle turns up at your room at three o’clock in the morning and stays there the rest of the night, and you’re worried about how it might appear. Oh, yes, I think I can see why.”

“Surely you can’t think…?”

“What else am I supposed to think? You tell me. You spend the night in a hotel room with a randy sixteen- year-old slut, and you want me to believe nothing happened? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“Emily Riddle wasn’t a slut.”

“Oh, pardon me! Isn’t that grand? Coming to the defense of your poor damsel in distress.”

“Annie, the girl’s dead. At least you could show-”

“Show what? Respect?”

“Yes.”

“Were you showing her respect when you slept with her in that hotel room?”

“Annie, I’ve told you. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“And I don’t believe you. Oh, maybe you only intended to comfort her, give her a little cuddle, tell her everything was all right now, but from what I’ve heard of her, and from what I know about men, I very much doubt it ended there.”

“I never touched her.”

“You should have got her a room of her own.”

“I was going to, but she fell asleep on the bed.”

“Oh, come on.”

“She did. She was stoned. That’s exactly what happened.”

“And you? Where were you? I remember those rooms. They’re not very big.”

“In the armchair by the window. I sat up for a while listening to some music on the Walkman, then I spent the rest of the night listening to her snoring while I was trying to get to sleep, if you must know.”

Annie said nothing. She was trying to work out whether he was telling the truth or not. She suspected that he probably was, but she was determined not to let him off the hook that easily. However much it hurt or upset Annie, whether Banks had slept with Emily Riddle or not wasn’t the real issue, she told herself. He could sleep with whomever he damn well pleased, even if it happened to be a sixteen-year-old girl. Annie had no hold over him. What really mattered was that he had kept important information from her, as he had done before in this investigation, and she was beginning to find it harder and harder to trust him.

“Anyway,” Banks went on, “you’ve got some bloody nerve accusing me of screwing up on the job.”

Annie stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“What about you? Do you really think you’ve been pulling your weight lately?”

Annie flinched from the accusation. “I’ve had a few problems. That’s all. I told you. Personal problems.”

“A few problems? Is that what you call sneaking off to sleep with DI Dalton every minute my back was turned? Don’t think I didn’t notice. I’m not stupid.”

Annie shot forward and slapped him hard across the face. She could tell it hurt him, and he drew back, his cheek reddening. Hot tears brimmed in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh. But you’ve got to admit you were pretty obvious. How do you think I felt?”

Annie could feel the blood roaring through her veins and her heart knocking against her ribs, even louder and faster than when the car almost hit her earlier. She paused for what felt like hours, taking slow, deliberate breaths, trying to calm herself, get rid of the panic and rage that seemed to possess her. When she finally spoke, it was in a voice barely above a whisper. “You bloody idiot. For your information, DI Dalton was one of the men who raped me. But don’t let that bother you. I’ll go now.” She started to get up.

“Jesus Christ, Annie! No, don’t go. Please don’t go.” Banks grasped her wrist. She looked at his hand for a moment, then she sat down again, all the fight gone out of her. Banks refilled her wineglass and his own. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I feel like a fool. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Like what? Come crying to my boss the first week on the job?”

“Like ‘This is the man who raped me.’ Is he the one who actually-”

“One of the others. But it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have done it, too, if I’d given him half a chance. As far as I’m concerned they’re all three of them equally guilty.”

“But you could have told me. You knew that I’d understand.”

“And what would you have done? Gone flexing your macho muscles? Beat him up? Something like that? Had a pissing competition? No, thanks. It was my problem. I preferred to handle it myself.”

“Looks like you did a good job.”

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Banks smiled. “Annie, you don’t have to handle everything in life by yourself.”

“Shows what you know about it. Wasn’t anyone around to help when it happened, was there?”

“That doesn’t mean there’s no one now.”

Annie looked at him and felt herself soften. “I can’t handle this,” she said, shaking her head.

“Annie, I’m sorry. What can I say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I saw the way you and Dalton tensed up when you met and I read it wrongly. I thought there was something between you.”

“There was. Just not what you thought it was.”

“I know that now. And I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

Annie made a sound halfway between a sniff and a laugh. “Like I trusted you?”

“I was jealous. Besides, I didn’t give you much reason to trust me, did I? I’ve handled this all wrong.”

“You can say that again.”

“Annie, I swear on my honor that nothing happened between me and Emily Riddle except she passed out in my room. What was I to do? The next day I bought her some new clothes on Oxford Street and we went home on the train.”

“And you really sat in one of those horrible hotel armchairs listening to your Walkman?”