Playing With Fire

Phil held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop.”

“Besides,” Annie said, “we’ve still got a major crime investigation on the go.”

“Still stumped?”

“We don’t have a lot to go on. Even the rented car turned out to be a dead end. Literally. The man who rented it died six months ago.”

“Oh,” said Phil. “Then how…?”

“Don’t ask. All I know is it’s a real bloody headache, and it’s nice to take my mind off it even for a few hours. Christ, I even had to spend last night in a motel outside Redditch fighting off the attentions of two traveling salesmen from Solihull.”

Phil laughed. “Successfully, I hope.”

“Yes. I had Winsome with me. She can be quite fearsome when she wants.” Annie smiled. “Fearsome Winsome.”

The waiter returned with their credit card receipts to sign. Annie breathed a sigh of relief. When they had finished, they picked up their coats from the rack by the table and walked out into the cobbled alley off King Street, at the back of the police station.

“Ooh,” said Annie, when the cold night air hit her. “I feel dizzy. I think I’ve had a bit too much wine.” She linked arms with Phil.

“Come on,” Phil said. “My car’s just around the corner. Where did you park?”

Annie was wearing high heels, and it was difficult walking on the cobbles, especially with the effects of the wine and the patches of ice that were forming as the temperature dropped. “Police station car park,” she said.

“Leave it there, then. I’m perfectly okay to drive.”

And he was, Annie knew. She had never seen Phil drunk, never known him to drink more than one glass of wine with dinner. “But what…?”

“Look,” he said, “I’ll take you home, if you like. Or, if you want…”

Annie looked up at him. “What?”

“Well, you could come back to my place, if you like.”

“But how will I get to work in the morning?”

“Maybe you won’t. Maybe I’ll keep you there. My love slave.”

Annie laughed and pushed him.

“Seriously,” he said. “I’ll drop you off there in the morning. I have to pick up the Turners to take them to London, anyway.”

“You’re going back down?”

“Have to.”

“Pity.”

“Work goes on. Anyway, how about it?”

“You’ll bring me back in the morning? You’ll do that?”

“Of course. Unless I decide to keep you prisoner.”

“Go on, then.”

“But I’m warning you. I know you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and I might take advantage of you.”

Annie felt better than she had in a long while about that prospect, but she was damned if she was going to let Phil know it. “I’m not that drunk,” she said. “And I’m definitely not that easy.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find some way of keeping your mind off your work for a few hours more, at least.”

Annie tightened her arm around his and they turned the corner onto King Street.

“Dad? I’m sorry to ring so late, but I just got back in.”

Banks glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. “Where’ve you been?”

“The pictures. With Jane and Ravi.”

“What did you see?”

“The new Lord of the Rings.”

“Was it good?”

“Brilliant. But very long. Look, Dad…”

Banks turned down the old Jesse Winchester CD he was playing and settled back in the armchair with his glass of Laphroaig, his used paperback copy of Ambler’s The Mask of Dimitrius open facedown beside him. The peat fire crackled and filled the small living room with its warmth, the acrid smell harmonizing with the taste of whiskey. He didn’t like the ominous tone of his daughter’s “Look, Dad.” “What?” he asked.

“I was talking to Mum earlier today,” Tracy went on.

“And?”

“She said she saw you. In London.”

“That’s right. I was down there on business.”

“She said she thought you were watching her. Stalking her.”

“I was doing no such thing.”

“Well, she says you were hanging around her house. In the rain.”

“It wasn’t raining. That started later.”

“Dad, she’s worried about you.”

“I don’t see why.”

“She thinks you’re becoming weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yes. Hanging around her house and all. It is pretty weird. You must admit.”

“I had a few questions I wanted to ask her.”

“About a case?”

“As it happens, yes. About an artist she once knew when she worked at the community center. It’s part of a case I’m working on.”

“The burning boats. Yes, I’ve read about it in the paper.” Tracy paused. “She didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, it’s true. What? Don’t you believe me? Do you think I’m getting weird in my old age?”

“Nobody said anything about old age.”

“Still… my own daughter grilling me.”

“I’m not grilling you. Can’t you see, she still cares about you?”

“She’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“You scare her, Dad. She just can’t cope with you. You always seem so angry with her. She thinks you hate her. All she can manage is to go cold when the two of you talk to one another.”

Banks remembered that from their marriage. Whenever Sandra couldn’t deal with a situation emotionally, she would just sort of turn off. Sometimes she would even fall asleep in the middle of an argument. It used to infuriate him. “I don’t hate her,” he said.

“Well, that’s how she feels.”

“It’s a funny turn of events, isn’t it, my own daughter giving me advice on marital relationships?”

“I don’t have any advice to give. And you’re not married anymore. That’s the problem. How’s your girlfriend?”

“Michelle? She’s fine.”

“Seen her lately?”

“No. We’ve both been too busy.”

“There you go, then.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dad, you’ve got to make time to have a life. Stop and smell the roses. You can’t just… Oh, I don’t know. What’s the point?”

“I stopped to smell the roses last summer,” Banks said. “But it didn’t last.” He remembered the two weeks of bliss he had spent on a Greek island, the sun, the light on white and blue planes of the houses straggling down the hill, scents of lavender, thyme, oregano, a whiff of dead fish and salt spray. He also remembered how restless he had felt and how, though it seemed a great wrench at the time, he was secretly pleased to feel himself being called