and bloody around the edges.
“Erin? I know you must be angry with her for what she did, but she is your mother.”
“She reported me to the police.” The anger was gone, replaced by disbelief and pain. “How could she do that? How could my own mother do that when she knew I’d go to jail?” She looked directly at Banks, her blue-gray eyes disconcerting. “Would you do that? If it was Tracy?”
“I don’t know what I’d do,” Banks said. “The law against handguns is there for a good reason.”
“But she’s my mother.”
“She was concerned,” Banks said. “She didn’t know what to do. And she wasn’t thinking about the consequences. She certainly didn’t intend you to go to jail.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she asked for me. She didn’t know how to cope with finding a gun in your room. She was scared. So she came to me.”
“But you’re a policeman. What did she expect you to do?”
“I’m also a friend of the family. What do you think I would have done?”
“I suppose you’d have followed the rules.”
“I might have been able to help her. To help you, too.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“I haven’t had a chance yet. I will. But you have to promise me you’ll try to forgive her. I must at least have something positive to tell her. Something to give her hope. Think how she must be feeling. Her daughter hates her. Her husband’s dead. You can’t expect her to make all the moves. You’ve got to try to meet her halfway.”
“She moved quickly enough to turn me in.”
“She was scared, confused. Have you never felt that way?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Erin turned away and rubbed the tears from her eyes.
“Look,” said Banks, “you’ve been cooped up here for ages. Do you fancy a walk, a bit of fresh air? Maybe get a bite to eat? A drink?”
Erin nodded. “A walk would be good,” she said. “Just let me wash my face first. I must look a mess.”
Banks gazed out of the window as Erin went over to the washstand and bent over. The houses opposite were almost close enough to touch, and just beyond their flagstone roofs he could see the jagged top of the castle keep. Every once in a while a cloud would obscure the sun, casting a shadow over the scene.
Erin tied her hair back in a ponytail, grabbed a light jacket and put it on over her T-shirt. She was wearing jeans torn at the knees and a battered pair of trainers. Banks guessed that most of her good clothes were either back at Laburnum Avenue or in Leeds. She hadn’t been taking care of herself; that much was obvious. She had purple-black bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, her eyes were dull and her complexion pasty. She also seemed listless and tired, no doubt from shock and lack of food.
They left the B-and-B and walked back up to Castle Road. Just a few yards farther ahead a flagged pathway led up to the castle itself, and another branched off along the crest of the hill, circling the castle’s outer walls and looking out over the woods down the hill to the river. There were plenty of tourists enjoying a day out, and couples and families were picnicking far below on the grassy riverbanks by the terraced falls. Birds twittered in the trees. Some of the leaves were already turning at the edges. Banks remembered his first months in Eastvale, also around this time of year; how he had walked here many times with Sandra, Brian and Tracy, slowly getting used to their new home, watching the leaves change color day by day until at last they broke free and drifted down into the river.
Neither Banks nor Erin talked at first. Erin kept her head down and her hands in her pockets. She seemed a slight and vulnerable figure to Banks, far more frail than he had expected, even given the circumstances; more like a little girl again. But then he reminded himself of the problems she had to face-not only her father’s death and her mother’s blame, but the gun charges, the unfaithful boyfriend, her best friend’s treachery. It would be more than enough for anyone.
At the end of the path a chip van stood outside the car park, and Banks asked Erin if she would like a burger or a hot dog. She chose the hot dog, and he got one for himself, too, piling on the fried onions and hot chili sauce, along with a couple of cans of cold Coke. Queuing at the van reminded him of buying ice cream for Erin and Tracy when they were kids.
They found an empty bench below the castle walls and sat down to eat, looking out over the treetops. The foliage almost obscured the East Side Estate and the railway lines beyond, but not quite. Even so, it was an idyllic scene, and from that height, far in the distance, on a clear day like this, he could see the long anvil of Sutton Bank rising across the Vale of York.
Banks pulled the tab on his tin and the Coke foamed and fizzed over his hand. He laughed. Erin offered him a tissue from her pocket, and he wiped it off. The tin had felt cold, but the Coke was too warm. Still, the sugar hit was so good it made him feel a bit giddy at first. Tourists wandered by, and a few curious dogs, attracted by the smells, sniffed and strained at their leads.
Food finished, Banks collected the rubbish and dropped it in the bin beside the bench. “I’ve got to ask you a few questions,” he said, sitting beside Erin again and crossing his legs.
She gave him a sly sideways smile. “I should have known there was a price to pay for that hot dog.”
“The hot dog’s free, talking’s optional.”
Erin sat silent a moment, lips pursed, looking out over the panorama, her eyes squinting shut against the sun. Finally she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, propping up her head. “Why not? It’s a nice place for it. I was just thinking. Do you remember that time we went swimming in the river, in the shallows over there by the woods?” She pointed in the general direction of Hindswell Woods, to the west. “There was me, Tracy, Brian, Mum, Mrs. Banks, and you and Dad keeping an eye on us. We had a picnic, too. Potted-meat sandwiches and dandelion and burdock. And Blue Riband chocolate biscuits. They tasted so good.”
“Yes,” said Banks. “But I’m amazed you remember. You can’t have been more than six or seven.” He remembered the day well. He and Patrick Doyle were just getting to know each other then, typically enough, through their children. Patrick had said he was happy to have a police detective living in the street. Now he’d know where to go if he ever got a parking ticket or had a problem with the law. They had all walked through magical woods dappled with sunlight filtered between fluttering leaves, and at that riverside picnic Sandra had chilled a bottle of white wine in the water, and they had sipped it from colored plastic cups with chunks of old cheddar and soft Brie on baguettes.
The spot was also close to where some schoolchildren had found a man hanging earlier in the summer, and that had marked the start of the case that had almost finished Banks. But it was behind him now, along with the rest of that troubled time. “Do you remember Blackpool Illuminations?”
“Vaguely,” said Erin. “It’s not quite as clear. I think I fell asleep in the car. Brian was with us then, too, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Erin shook her head sadly. “She won’t even mention his name anymore. I talk about the Blue Lamps, she doesn’t want to know.”
“Who? Why?”
“Tracy. I mean, if I had a rock star like Brian for a brother, I’d be telling, like, everyone. I do, anyway. Tell them I grew up with him. The Blue Lamps are so cool. Do you know she likes to call herself Francesca now because she thinks Tracy’s too Corrie?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” said Banks. And somehow, knowing it hurt him to the quick. Her name. The name he and Sandra had given her. “Why won’t she mention Brian?” he asked.
“She’s jealous, I’d say, but she won’t admit it. Because he’s successful and she’s…well, let’s face it, she didn’t do very well in her exams, did she? I mean, she knew how much was expected of her, and she feels she’s let everyone down, especially herself. Ever since then she’s been on hold, sort of dithering. She likes working at the bookshop well enough, but she doesn’t see it as a career, or as what she thought she’d be doing by now.”
“But she can still take her academic career further if she wants. She mentioned teaching once. Surely she could still do that?”
“Sure, if she had the will. But she’s changed. There’s a lot of negative stuff there. Anger. Low self-esteem. I don’t know. I just can’t seem to talk to her these days. I mean, you know, before…Anyway, what do you want to know?”
