Playing With Fire

capable of looking after herself properly. Where was he, anyway?”

Banks was damned if he was going to tell Patrick Aspern that Mark had been in bed with Mandy Patterson at the time of the fire. “His alibi’s been checked,” was all he said. “I take it your surgery is attached to the house?”

Aspern looked surprised by the abrupt change of subject. “Yes. Actually, it was two houses knocked into one. I know it’s rather old-fashioned, but people around here like it. It’s so much more civilized than some anonymous clinic. That’s one of the reasons we bought the houses in the first place.”

“Pretty expensive proposition.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Fran’s father helped us out.”

“I see. Very nice of him. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that Christine could have had access to drugs here, couldn’t she? They were in the house, after all.”

Aspern crossed his legs and tugged at the crease of his trousers. “As I told you last time, I keep everything in my surgery under lock and key. The surgery itself is also securely locked when I’m not there.”

“Yes, but presumably the keys are somewhere around?”

“On my key chain. In my pocket.”

“So they’re always with you?”

“Well, almost always. I mean… not when I’m asleep or in the bath…”

“So Christine could have got access, for example, while you were asleep, or out somewhere?”

“I’d have my keys with me if I was out.”

“But there is a possibility, isn’t there? She could even have had copies made.”

“I suppose there’s the possibility. But it didn’t happen.”

“Did you ever notice any drugs missing from your surgery? Specifically morphine?”

“No. And, believe me, I would have noticed.”

“Didn’t you ever notice anything unusual about Christine’s behavior while she was living at home?”

“No, not particularly. She seemed tired, listless, spent a lot of time alone, in bed. You know teenagers. They seem to need sixteen hours’ sleep a day. To be honest, I didn’t even see that much of her.”

“But you’re a doctor. You’re trained to spot signs other people might miss.”

Aspern gave a grim smile. “We’re not infallible, you know, despite what some people think.”

“So you had no idea that Christine was taking drugs?”

“None at all. Like I said, she was a teenager. Teenagers are surly and uncommunicative, whether they’re on drugs or not.”

“What about her eyes? Didn’t you notice dilated pupils?”

“I might have done, but I wouldn’t necessarily jump to the conclusion that my stepdaughter is a drug addict. Would you?”

Banks wondered. What would he think if he noticed those signs in Tracy or Brian? As a policeman, he had certainly been trained to look for them. But if he challenged either of his children and the explanation was innocent, such a challenge could cause irreparable damage to their relationship. They’d never trust him again. On the other hand, if he were right… Fortunately, he had never been put to the test. Brian played in a rock band, so he was probably the one with the best access to drugs. Banks didn’t doubt that his son had tried marijuana, perhaps even Ecstasy. Banks could live with that. Maybe Brian had also taken the odd upper on the road to stay awake. But nothing stronger, surely? Not heroin. And Tracy? No, she was far too sensible and conventional, wasn’t she?

“Didn’t you ever notice needle marks on her arms?” Banks paused. “Or in other places, perhaps?”

Aspern stared at him. His expression was hard to read: cold but quizzical. “That’s a strange question,” he said finally. “If I had, then I would have known what was going on. I said I didn’t know, ergo I can’t have noticed anything.”

“I suppose she must have worn long-sleeved tops,” Banks said.

Aspern got up, walked over and leaned on the mantelpiece by the watercolor of AdelWoods. He looked as if he were posing for a photograph. “Indeed she must have,” he said. “Look, I understand you have your job to do and all that, and I think I’ve been more than patient with you. But I’ve just lost my stepdaughter, and I’m beginning to get a very suspicious feeling about this conversation. If this artist on the other boat was the intended victim, why are you asking so many questions about Christine? She was merely an innocent bystander.”

“Oh, nothing’s obvious yet,” Banks said. “It’s still early days. Believe me, we’re gathering as much information as we can about Thomas McMahon, but we have to follow every lead we have and avoid jumping to conclusions. I said it looked as if Christine wasn’t the intended victim, but criminals can be very clever at misdirecting investigations, especially if they’ve had a chance to think out and plan their crimes ahead of time.”

“You think that’s how this happened? It was planned?”

“It’s beginning to look that way to me.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re questioning me this way. You can’t think I had anything to do with it, surely?”

“Where were you on Thursday night?”

Aspern laughed. “I don’t believe this.”

“Humor me.”

“I was here, of course. With my wife. Just like I told you the last time you asked.”

“Nobody else? No dinner guests?”

“No. We ate by ourselves, then we watched television. It was a quiet evening at home.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“Eleven o’clock, as usual.”

“You always go to bed at eleven o’clock?”

“Weeknights, yes. We sometimes stay up a bit later at weekends, or we may go to the opera, dine with friends. Believe it or not, my job can be rather tiring, and I do need my wits about me.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want the hand that holds the needle to be shaking, would we?” Banks was wondering how he could get around to Mark’s accusation that Aspern had sexually abused Christine. If there was an easy way, he couldn’t think of it. He decided to jump right in. “Mark Siddons had something else to say about Christine,” he said.

“Oh?”

“He said that one of the reasons she left home was that you were sexually abusing her.”

At least Aspern didn’t act outraged, Banks noticed. He seemed to take the accusation calmly and consider it. “And you believe him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why mention it, especially at a time like this? Can’t you see how upsetting an accusation like that can be to a grieving relative, however groundless?”

Banks stood up and looked Aspern in the eye. “Dr. Aspern, this is a murder investigation. We might not know exactly who the intended victim was, or victims were, but we do know that two people died. One of them was your stepdaughter. Now, I’m very sorry for your loss, but as you said earlier, we men have to get on with our jobs, don’t we? That’s what I’m doing. And anything that I think might be relevant to the investigation, I ask questions about. That’s not unreasonable, is it?”

“Put that way,” Aspern said, “I suppose not.”

“So will you answer my question?”

“It’s hardly worth dignifying with a denial.”

Banks looked into his eyes. “Try anyway.”

“Very well. The accusation is absurd. I never touched my stepdaughter. Will that do?”

He was lying, Banks knew it. In that instant, he knew that Tina and Mark Siddons had been telling the truth. But who would believe him? And how could it be proved? What could he do about it?

So intent was he on registering his awareness of Patrick Aspern’s body language and facial signals that he didn’t notice the figure in the doorway until she spoke.

“What is it?” Frances Aspern asked, her face still soft and puffy from sleep. “What’s going on?”

They both turned to face her. Patrick Aspern looked at his wife and said, “It’s nothing, darling. Just a few more questions, that’s all.”