“It must be very frustrating for you,” Corinne said. “And I know you and Roy weren’t very close, but you must… I mean, he was you brother, after all.”
“This might sound an odd question,” said Banks, “but did Roy ever tell you he’d witnessed the attacks on the World Trade Center?”
“Yes,” said Corinne. “I didn’t know him back then, of course, but he told me it devastated him. He had nightmares for months. I could only imagine what it must have been like.”
“Did he ever talk to you about religion, about spiritual matters?”
“Not really, no. I mean, I knew he went to church on Sundays, and he said he liked his local vicar, but it didn’t really interfere with our life.”
“You’re not interested in spiritual matters yourself?”
“Spiritual matters, as far as I can understand them, yes. But not in organized religion. Look at the misery and bloodshed it’s caused throughout history. Still causes.”
“Did the two of you ever argue about this?”
“Yes, but we always reached an impasse, the way you do when you talk about such things. He said that was just an excuse and that it was mankind who caused the bloodshed and misery, and I said his must be a pretty rotten God if he was so all-powerful and he let it all happen anyway. We learned to stay away from the subject in the end. I mean, where do you go from there?”
Where, indeed? wondered Banks, who had been involved in one or two similar arguments himself over the years.
“He didn’t push religion on me, or on anyone else, for that matter, if that’s what you’re getting at. It was a very private thing with him. And he obviously didn’t use it to try to talk me out of having an abortion.”
“I just wondered how big a role it played in his life, that’s all.”
“Like I said, he went to church on Sunday and had a philosophical chat with the vicar every now and then.”
“Okay. Fair enough. Did he ever mention someone called Gareth Lambert, an old friend?”
“Yes, I remember him mentioning the name.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. It looked raw when she’d finished. “No,” she said. “But I heard his name.”
“Do you remember the context?”
“Roy was just talking about an old friend of his who was back in the country. They hadn’t seen each other in a long time.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of months ago. Around the time of the abortion. He said he was going to meet him for a drink at some club or other they belonged to on The Strand, talk about old times and see if there were any business opportunities. He was always on the lookout for a new angle. I’m afraid I suspected something else. I asked him who he was going out with and that’s what he told me. I didn’t believe him, though.”
“Did Roy go for that drink?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember the name of the club?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Well, it it’s any consolation, he was probably telling the truth. Did he say anything about it afterward?”
“No, not really. He was vague, as usual, and a little tipsy. He just said that he’d had an interesting time. He seemed excited about more business possibilities.”
“Did he say what?”
“No,” she said. “He was very vague.”
Something dodgy, then, Banks thought. Not arms, in all likelihood, but something crooked if Lambert was involved. He had nothing more to ask Corinne but thought he would stay for a while, anyway, just to keep her company, talk about Roy. It was after nine o’clock; it had been a long day and he was feeling pleasantly tired. He could ring his parents and the Peterborough police, then ring Annie and ask her to meet him in the morning, if that was okay with her.
As if she were reading his mind, Corinne said, “Look, I’ve got a nice bottle of white wine in the fridge. I’ve got red, if you want it, too. I don’t want to drink by myself. I don’t want to be alone just now. Would you care to keep me company for a while longer? I mean, if there isn’t anywhere you have to go. Where are you staying?”
Banks realized that he had completely forgotten about finding somewhere to stay. He had driven to London without making any arrangements and the incident on the motorway had pushed all such practical thoughts from his mind. There was always Roy’s – he still had a key – but there was a chance the police hadn’t finished there yet.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I thought I’d just check into a hotel.”
She looked away and reddened a little. “You can stay here if you like. I mean, there’s a spare room, all made up and everything.”
The idea made Banks nervous. He knew the offer was entirely innocent. The poor girl was alone and devastated by the murder of her lover, and Banks would no more think of letting anything sexual happen between them than he would with his own sister, if he had one. Then again, she was a very attractive young woman and he was just a man, after all. What if she cried out in the night? What if Banks went to comfort her and she was naked under the sheet? What would they do then?
What really made up his mind, though, was that right at the moment he was so weary he could hardly lift himself out of the armchair, let alone hit the wet streets looking for a cheap hotel, so he said, “Thanks, that’s very good of you. That’ll be great. And I prefer red, if that’s okay?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Annie woke early on Wednesday morning, and when she opened her curtains she was happy to see that the sun was shining again and the sky was robin’s-egg blue. She managed twenty minutes of meditation and a short yoga session – ten salutes to the sun, cobra, locust and peacock – then she dressed in her new white cotton slacks, red short-sleeve top and light denim jacket and went down to the restaurant for breakfast with Banks, her wavy brown hair still damp from the shower.
The meditation and yoga hadn’t made her feel as calm as she had hoped, and she couldn’t help feeling anxious and tense about meeting Banks again, especially after the way he had phoned and so casually put her off late the previous evening.
Their last meeting had gone well enough, but nothing had been resolved and Annie still felt as if she were bursting with questions and insecurities.
The stories in the morning paper upset her, too, brought back too many bad memories. Because the reporter was trying to link Banks’s fire with his brother’s murder, they had also raked up all the stuff about Phil Keane and his hapless policewoman girlfriend. Where they had got it all from in the first place, she didn’t know, but there’s always a leak somewhere.
Banks didn’t look in too bad a shape, Annie thought, when she saw him already sitting at a cloth-covered table drinking coffee. In fact, he looked a lot more like his old self than he had in ages. All he really needed now was a decent haircut and a few more good nights’ sleep to get rid of the bags under his eyes. And maybe some fresh clothes. The pallor had all but gone, and there was a certain edgines back in his body language instead of that infuriating languor. There was also a brightness in his dark blue eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time. Perhaps, she thought, his brother’s death had made him realize how lucky
She sat down opposite him and noticed that he smelled just a little of original Old Spice. It was a smell she liked, something she remembered from their intimate time together. It had taken her a while to throw out the anti- perspirant stick he had left in her bathroom cabinet, but she had done so eventually, along with the razor, shaving
