Aftermath

recognize you at first.”

Lucy gave a little twirl. “Do you like it?”

“It’s certainly different.”

Lucy laughed. “Good,” she said. “I don’t want anyone else to know I’m here. Believe it or not, Maggie, but not everyone around here is as sympathetic toward me as you are.”

“I suppose not,” said Maggie, then she locked, bolted and put the chain on the door, turned out the kitchen light and led Lucy Payne into the living room.

18

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Annie told Banks in his Eastvale office on Wednesday morning. He had just been glancing over the garage’s report on Samuel Gardner’s Fiat. They had, of course, found many hair traces in the car’s interior, both human and animal, but they all had to be collected, labeled and sent to the lab, and it would take time to match them with the suspects, or with Leanne Wray. There were plenty of fingerprints, too – it was certainly true that Gardner had been a slob when it came to his car – but Vic Manson, fingerprints officer, could only hurry to a certain degree, and it wasn’t fast enough for Banks’s immediate needs.

Banks looked at Annie. “Sorry for what exactly?”

“Sorry for making a scene in the pub, for acting like a fool.”

“Oh.”

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing.”

“No, come on. That I was sorry about what I said, about us? About ending the relationship?”

“I can always live in hope, can’t I?”

“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Alan. It doesn’t suit you.”

Banks opened up a paper clip. The sharp end pricked his finger and a tiny spot of blood dropped on his desk. Which fairy tale was that? he found himself wondering. “Sleeping Beauty”? But he didn’t fall asleep. Chance would be a fine thing.

“Now, are we going to get on with life, or are you just going to sulk and ignore me? Because if you are, I’d like to know.”

Banks couldn’t help but smile. She was right. He had been feeling sorry for himself. He had also decided that she was right about their relationship. Fine as it had been most of the time, and much as he would miss her intimate company, it was fraught with problems on both sides. So tell her, his inner voice prompted. Don’t be a bastard. Don’t put it all down to her, the whole burden. It was difficult; he wasn’t used to talking about his feelings. He sucked his bleeding finger and said, “I’m not going to sulk. Just give me a little time to get used to the idea, okay? I sort of enjoyed what we had.”

“So did I,” said Annie, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Do you think it’s any easier for me, just because I’m the one who’s making the move? We want different things, Alan. Need different things. It’s just not working.”

“You’re right. Look, I promise I won’t sulk or ignore you or put you down as long as you don’t treat me like something nasty stuck on your shoe.”

“What on earth makes you think I’d do that?”

Banks was thinking of the letter from Sandra, which had made him feel exactly like that, but he was talking to Annie, he realized. Yes, she was right; things were well and truly screwed up. He shook his head. “Ignore me, Annie. Friends and colleagues, okay?”

Annie narrowed her eyes and scrutinized him. “I do care, you know.”

“I know you do.”

“That’s part of the problem.”

“It’ll get better. Over time. Sorry, I can’t seem to think of anything to say but cliches. Maybe that’s what they’re for, situations like this? Maybe that’s why there are so many of them. But don’t worry, Annie, I mean what I say. I’ll do the best I can to behave toward you with the utmost courtesy and respect.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Annie said, laughing. “You don’t have to be so damn stuffy! A simple good morning, a smile and a friendly little chat in the canteen every now and then would be just fine.”

Banks felt his face burn, then he laughed with her. “Right you are. How’s Janet Taylor?”

“Stubborn as hell. I’ve tried to talk to her. The CPS has tried to talk to her. Her own lawyer has tried to talk to her. Even Chambers has tried to talk to her.”

“At least she’s got a lawyer now.”

“The Federation sent someone over.”

“What’s she being charged with?”

“They’re going to charge her with voluntary manslaughter. If she pleads guilty with extenuating circumstances, there’s every chance she’ll get it down to excusable homicide.”

“And if she goes ahead as planned?”

“Who knows? It’s up to the jury. They’re either going to give her the same as they gave John Hadleigh, despite the vastly different circumstances, or they’re going to take her job and her situation into account and give her the benefit of the doubt. I mean, the public doesn’t want us hamstrung when it comes to doing our job, but they don’t want us to get ideas above our station, either. They don’t like to see us acting as if we’re beyond that law. It’s a toss-up, really.”

“How’s she bearing up?”

“She’s not. She’s just drinking.”

“Bugger.”

“Indeed. How about the Payne investigation?”

Banks told her what Jenny had discovered about Lucy’s past.

Annie whistled. “So what are you going to do?”

“Bring her in for questioning in the death of Kathleen Murray. If we can find her. It’s probably a bloody waste of time – after all, it was over ten years ago, and she was only twelve at the time – so I doubt we’ll get anywhere with it, but who knows, it might open other doors if a little pressure is judiciously applied.”

“AC Hartnell won’t like it.”

“I know that. He’s already made his feelings clear.”

“Lucy Payne doesn’t suspect you know so much about her past?”

“She has to be aware there was a chance the others would talk, or that we’d find out somehow. In that case, she may have already gone to ground.”

“Anything new on the sixth body?”

“No,” said Banks. “But we’ll find out who it is.” The fact that they couldn’t identify the sixth victim nagged away at him. Like the other victims, she had been buried naked and no traces of clothing or personal belongings remained. Banks could only guess that Payne must have burned their clothes and disposed of any rings or watches somehow. He certainly hadn’t kept them as trophies. The forensic anthropologist working on her remains had so far been able to tell him that she was a white female between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two and that she had died, like the others, of ligature strangulation. Horizontal striations in the tooth enamel indicated inconsistent nutrition during her early years. The regularity of the lines indicated possible seasonal swings in food supplies. Perhaps, like Katya, she had come from a war-torn country in Eastern Europe.

Banks had had a team keeping track of all mispers over the past few months, and they were working overtime now, following up on reports. But if the victim was a prostitute, like Katya Pavelic, then the chances of finding out who she was were slim. Even so, Banks kept telling himself, she was somebody’s daughter. Somewhere, somebody must be missing her. But perhaps not. There were plenty of people out there without friends or family, people who could die in their homes tomorrow and not be found until the rent was long overdue or the smell grew too bad for the neighbors to bear. There were refugees from Eastern Europe, like Katya, or kids who had left home to travel the world and might be anywhere from Katmandu to Kilimanjaro. He had to inure himself to the fact that they might not be able to identify the