“All I ask is that you share with me. Any sign of a Carmen Petri on that list, by the way?”
“Carmen? I don’t remember one. It’s an unusual name. Let me have a look.” Banks glanced through the list of names. “No,” he said. “Why? Who is she?”
“I don’t know,” said Annie. “The name just turned up in one of my interviews. So how do you think it all connects?”
“Let’s review what we know.”
“The way it looks is that someone was watching Jennifer’s house in Kennington on Friday evening,” said Annie. “Maybe other evenings, too, that week. Waiting for her. We don’t know why. One witness has already confirmed there was a dark blue car parked near her flat with two men inside around the time she set off, one in the front and one in the back, and he’d seen it there before. The same car – or at least we think it’s the same car – was seen at the Watford Gap service station, where Jennifer stopped to eat and fill up with petrol. It cut off another driver pulling in right behind her when she left. The only half-decent description we have is of the man in the back – muscular, with a ponytail.”
“Is that the man who killed her?”
“We don’t know, but it’s the best lead we’ve got so far. Stefan’s working overtime on the scene. Unfortunately the pursuing car wasn’t scratched or anything, so we’ve no paint chips to go on.”
“But why would Roy send this woman to see me? Why not come himself?”
“I don’t know. Her flatmate said Jennifer received a phone call around a quarter to eleven that Friday and left right after. Said it shook her up a bit. Did your brother sound worried when he heard the doorbell?” Annie asked.
“No,” said Banks. “I’ve thought a lot about that, and he sounded fine. I mean, if he’d been worried it was someone come to do him harm he wouldn’t have answered it, would he? He’d probably have tried to scarper out of the back window. Besides, the bloke across the street said Roy just locked his door and got into the car with his visitor as if things were quite normal.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“I’ve been trying to piece together the events of that day,” Banks said. “The way I see it is that Roy comes home just before half past nine, from where I don’t know, but something has upset him. He puts his mobile on the kitchen table, or it’s already there, pours himself a glass of wine and goes up to his office to check phone messages, e-mail, or whatever. He takes the wine with him. Maybe he sits and mulls things over for a minute or two, then he decides that whatever it is he’s found out is worth calling his estranged policeman brother about. Maybe he even senses that he’s in danger because of something he knows. Anyway, he phones me and tells me he needs my help. While he’s on the phone, the doorbell rings. He answers it and goes off in a car with whoever it is. Willingly, it appears. And he forgets his mobile, even though he’s given me the number. I’d say that means he’s more than a little distracted.”
“Maybe it was Roy who rang Jennifer later, then?” Annie suggested.
“And gave her directions to my cottage and told her to set off right there and then because he couldn’t come himself? Maybe it was. But why? What happened between half past nine and a quarter to eleven?”
“That we don’t know.” Annie paused. “Poor lass,” she said. “Everything I’ve found out about Jennifer tells me she was a decent, hardworking, caring person, perhaps a bit naive and idealistic.”
“So what got her killed?”
“I wish I knew.” Annie sipped her wine. The light changed and she could tell that clouds were gathering, the world darkening around them. “What are you going to do next?”
“Carry on my own personal covert operation,” said Banks
Annie smiled. “What can I say?”
“Nothing. You?”
“I’ll talk to Dave Brooke as soon as I can and I’m pretty sure he’ll want to see you. I mean it, Alan. Our cases have crossed and I’m not leaving any loose ends. Besides, given what happened to Jennifer Clewes, Roy could be in danger. Have you thought about that?”
“I haven’t thought about much else,” said Banks. “Mostly I’ve been thinking that he’s done a runner, with kidnapping a distant second. Your connecting him with the murdered girl puts a different complexion on things.”
“I’m glad you see it that way. If you’d bothered to keep in touch, we might have got to this point ages ago.”
“How was I to know you were looking for me?”
“You know what I mean. Anyway, I’ve still got a couple of things to do tomorrow. Jennifer was killed on our patch, but her life was down here. It makes things awkward.”
“So what do you have to do?”
“Visit Jennifer’s workplace, for a start. She worked at a family-planning center in Knightsbridge. It-”
“What’s it called?” Banks asked.
“The Berger-Lennox Centre. Why?”
Banks opened the folder again and started turning over sheets of paper, some of them covered with his own spidery scrawl. Finally he pointed to a printed sheet. “I thought I remembered the name,” he said. “It’s one of the centers Roy invested in. One of Julian Harwood’s companies. Are you sure that’s where Jennifer Clewes worked?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps that’s where they met, then. Harwood told me that Roy’s a hands-on sort of investor, likes to check out his assets. And if Jennifer Clewes was a good-looking young woman…”
“Which she was,” said Annie.
“Bingo.”
“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“Maybe not,” said Banks. “But it’s another connection. One person murdered, another disappeared. Her phone number is in his book, my address is in her back pocket, and they have this family-planning center in common. I don’t know about you, but that’s way too many coincidences for me. Maybe I’ll go with you tomorrow. Find out for certain. Someone must remember if Roy’s been there.”
Annie paused. She wanted to be diplomatic but didn’t quite know how to do it. In the end, she threw caution to the wind. “You can’t,” she said. “You know you can’t. It’s not your case. I’ve already made it clear I’m making your brother’s disappearance official and I’m giving you a bit of room to maneuver, but you can’t just come muscling in. You have no official standing in the Jennifer Clewes investigation whatsoever.”
“But what if there’s a connection with what’s happened to Roy?”
“Look, Alan, you’ve got no official standing there, either. I’m not taking you with me and that’s that.”
“Fine,” said Banks. “Okay. I understand.”
“Don’t sulk. It doesn’t suit you.” Annie stood up. She felt a little wobbly, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. “And stick around. DI Brooke will be wanting to take your statement.” Annie heard a light tapping sound on the leaves behind her. It quickly grew louder and faster. The rain had started again.
It was early evening and Banks was sitting in Roy’s office reading through the files of correspondence Corinne had printed out when he heard someone at the door. At first he thought it might be Roy, but why would he be knocking at his own door? Then he thought it might be DI Brooke come to interview him and decided it would be best to get it over with. Even so, he looked for some sort of weapon, just in case. All he could find was a set of golf clubs in the landing cupboard, so he grasped one of the irons and answered the door. The man who stood there was about Banks’s age. He was wearing a dark suit, had a neat side parting in his graying black hair and a serious, intelligent look in his eyes. He could have been a policeman, Banks thought, except that he was wearing a clerical collar. He looked at the golf club and at Banks.
“Hello,” he said, reaching his hand out tentatively. “Hunt’s the name. Ian Hunt. Roy home?”
Banks shook his hand. It felt damp and cool. “No,” he said. “I’m his brother, Alan. What’s it about?”
“He’s mentioned you,” said Hunt. “The policeman. But I didn’t think… Never mind.”
Banks had a good idea what Ian Hunt didn’t think, but he kept quiet. He needed all the information he could get, and a defensive attitude from the outset wouldn’t help matters much. He wondered what the hell the vicar was doing calling around at Roy’s house. “Would you like to come in?”
