Banks shook his head. 'There would be too much unfavorable publicity all around. Not only for Sandra but for the department, too. That Wycombe woman would just love to get her hands on something like this. If it were made public and we solved the case quickly, according to her it would only be because a policeman's wife was among the victims. No, I'd rather keep it quiet.'
'But what about interviews, questioning people?'
'Sandra and I will do that locally. We'll ask if anyone has seen any strangers hanging around.'
Jenny looked at him quizzically. 'I'm not judging you, you know. I'm not the authorities.'
'I know,' Banks said. 'I needed to tell someone. I couldn't think of anyone else who'd…'
'Automatically be on your side?'
'I was going to say 'understand,' but I suppose you're right. I did count on your support.'
'You have it, whether you need it or not. And your secret's safe with me.'
'There is something a bit more technical I want to ask you, too,' Banks went on. 'This new incident, the fact that it was Sandra, my wife. Do you think that means anything?'
'If he knew who it was, and I think he probably did, then yes, I do think it's a development.'
'Goon.'
'It means that he's getting bolder, he needs to take greater risks to get his satisfaction. Unless he's some kind of hermit or human ostrich, he must have read about reactions to what he's been doing, probably with a kind of pride. Therefore, he must know that you've been heading an investigation into the case. He does a bit of research on you, finds you have an attractive blond wife-'
'Or knows her already?' Banks cut in.
'What makes you think that? He could simply have watched the house discreetly, seen her come and go.'
'It's just a feeling I've got.'
'Yes, but what basis does it have? Where does it come from?'
Banks thought as deeply as he could, given that the pop group had started its set with a carbon copy of the ancient Searchers' hit, 'Love Potion Number Nine.'
'We were talking about the Camera Club Sandra belongs to,' he answered slowly. 'Sometimes they have nude models, and I said that most of the men probably don't even have films in their cameras. It was just a joke at the time, but could there be any connection?'
'I'm not sure,' Jenny replied. 'A Camera Club does grant permission for its members to look at the models, though if someone really didn't have film in his camera, it might give the illusion of peeping, of doing something vaguely wrong. That's a bit farfetched, I'm afraid, but then so is your theory. We can at least expect our man to be interested in naked women, although it's spying on them that gives him his real thrills. What happened about this other fellow you got onto?'
'Wooller?'
'If that's his name.'
'Yes, Wooller. Lives on Gallows View. We did a bit of very discreet checking, and it turns out that he was on a two-week library sciences course in Cardiff when two of the incidents took place. That lets him out, however much pornography he's got hidden away.'
'Sorry,' Jenny said, glancing at her watch, 'but I've got to dash. The department head will have apoplexy if I'm not there to greet our eminent visitor.' She patted Banks's arm. 'Don't worry, I think you made the right decision. And one more point: I'd say that our man's recent actions also show that he's got a sense of humor. It's a bit of a joke to him, leaving you with egg on your face, wouldn't you say? Call me after the weekend?'
Banks nodded and watched Jenny walk away. He noticed Richmond glancing over at him and wondered how bad it looked-a Detective Chief Inspector spending Saturday evening in The Oak with an attractive woman. He saw Jenny in his mind's eye just as she had looked on Thursday night after telling him she knew he wouldn't sleep with her. Was it being predictable that annoyed him so much? If so, he could console himself with thoughts of having won a small victory this time. Or was it guilt over what he had really wanted to do? Maybe he would do it anyway, he thought, sauntering out into the chilly October evening. It wasn't too late yet. Surely a man, like a woman, could change his mind? After all, what harm would it do? 'No strings,' Jenny had said.
Banks turned up his collar as he walked back to the Cortina. He needed cigarettes, and fortunately there was an off-license next door to the pub. As he picked up his change, he paused for a moment before pocketing it. Hatchley might have questioned the barmaids at The Oak, but he hadn't said anything about talking to the local shopkeepers.
Banks identified himself and asked the owner's name.
'Patel,' the man answered cautiously.
'What time do you close?'
'Ten o'clock. It's not against the law, is it?' Mr. Patel answered in a broad Yorkshire accent.
'No, not at all. It's nothing to do with that,' Banks assured him. 'Think back to last Monday night. Did you notice anybody hanging around outside here during the evening?'
Mr. Patel shook his head.
It had probably been too early in the evening for the peeper and too long ago for the shopkeeper to remember, as Banks had feared.
'A bit later, though,' Mr. Patel went on, 'I noticed a* bloke waiting at the bus stop for a bloody long time. There must have been two or three buses went by and 'ee were still there. I think that were Monday last.'
'What time was this?'
'After I'd closed up. 'Ee just sat there in that bus shelter over t'street.' Banks looked out of the window and saw the shelter, a dark rectangle set back from the road.
'Where were you?' he asked.
'Home,' Mr. Patel said, turning up his eyes. 'The flat's above t'shop. Very convenient.'
'Yes, yes indeed,' Banks said, getting more interested. 'Tell me more.'
'I remember because I was just closing t'curtains when a bus went by, and I noticed that bloke was still in t'shelter. It seemed a bit odd to me. I mean, why would a chap sit in a bus shelter if 'ee weren't waiting on a bus?'
'Why, indeed?' Banks said. 'Go on.'
'Nothing more to tell. A bit later I looked again, and 'ee were still there.'
'What time did he leave?'
'I didn't actually see him leave, but 'ee'd gone by eleven o'clock. That were t'last time I looked out.'
'And the time before that?'
'Excuse me?'
'When was the last time you looked out and saw him?'
'About 'alf past ten.'
'Can you describe the man?'
Mr. Patel shook his head sadly. 'Sorry, it were too dark. I think 'ee were wearing a dark overcoat or a raincoat, though. Slim, a bit taller than you. I got the impression 'ee were youngish, some'ow. It was 'ard to pick him out from the shadows.'
'Don't worry about it,' Banks said. At least the color of the coat matched the description that Sandra and the other victims had given. It had to be the man. They could talk to other people in the street: shopkeepers, locals, even the bus drivers. Maybe somebody else would have noticed a man waiting for a bus he never caught on Monday night.
'Look,' Banks said, 'this is very important. You've been a great help.' Mr. Patel shrugged and shook his head shyly. 'Have you ever seen the man before?'
'I don't think so, but how would I know? I couldn't recognize him from Adam, could I?'
'If you see him again, or anyone you think looks like him, anyone hanging about the bus stop without catching a bus, or acting oddly in any way, let me know, will you?' Banks wrote his number on a card and passed it to Mr. Patel, who nodded and promised to keep his eyes skinned.
For the first time in days, Banks felt quite cheerful as he drove home to the delightful melodies of The Magic Flute.
