One of the features of the Ottershaw burglary that led Banks to believe it was the work of the same youths who had been robbing the old women was the wanton destruction of property: the urine and feces that had defaced Ottershaw's paintings, music center, television and VCR.
It was slim evidence to base a decision on, Banks realized, but it confirmed the hunch he already had about the Matlock killing. If the same youths had been responsible, they would, according to form, have smashed the ship in the bottle, the snowstorm and any other fragile object on display. But no, this thief had only made a straightforward utilitarian search for cash and such things as could be easily translated into money; the gratuitous element was entirely missing.
Pulling his collar up against the breeze, Banks set off, deep in thought, back to the station.
II
'I'm worried, Gray,' Andrea said as they dipped into a dessert of cherry pie and ice cream after a main course of lasagne and salad. It was Monday evening-Andrea's husband was off in Bristol for the week and it was Trevor's youth-club night-so Graham and Andrea could actually have dinner together like a normal couple. The romantic peace of their candle-lit dinner was spoiled, however, by her obvious distress.
'What is it?' Graham asked, spooning up another mouthful of pie. 'Don't tell me Ronnie's getting suspicious?'
'No, it's not that,' Andrea reassured him quickly. 'But it could lead to that.' She looked beautiful across the table. Her breasts pushed at the tight black blouse, which revealed tiny ovals of olive skin between the buttons, and her glossy hair, equally black, swept down across her shoulders and shimmered every time she tossed her head. Her red lipstick emphasized her full lips, and her dark eyes reflected the candle flames like brightly polished oak. Graham was excited, and Andrea's preoccupied mood irritated him.
'What's happened, then?' he asked, sighing and putting his spoon down. Andrea leaned forward on the table, cupping her chin with her hands. 'It's that man next door.'
'Wooller?'
'Yes, him.'
'What about him? I know he's a bit of a creep, but…'
'Remember last week I told you I thought he'd been looking at me funny?'
'Yes.'
'Well, he actually spoke to me this morning. I was just going to the shops and he caught up with me at the end of the street and walked along beside me.'
'Bloody cheek! Go on,' Graham prompted her, curious. 'Did he try to pick you up?'
'No, it wasn't like that. Well, not really like that.' She shivered. 'He makes my skin crawl, those thin, dry lips of his, and that weird smile he's always got on his face, as if he knows something you don't. He knows about us, Gray, I'm sure of it.'
'Did he say so?'
'Not in so many words. He wasn't direct about it. First he just went on about how lonely it must be with my husband away so much, then he said it was so nice that I'd found a friend, that nice Mr. Sharp from the shop. He said he'd seen you coming and going out of the back window, and he thought it was so good of you to keep me company, especially when you had a son to look after, too. It was the way he said it, though, Gray. His voice. His tone. It was dirty.'
'Is that all he said?' Graham asked.
'What do you mean?'
'About seeing me visit you.'
'Yes. I told you, it wasn't what he said but the way he said it, as if he knew much more.'
'Go on.' Graham started chewing on his bottom lip as Andrea continued her story.
'He said that not everyone was as sympathetic as him, and maybe my husband wouldn't be so understanding-he might worry about people talking, for example, even though there was nothing really going on. But he was leering at me all the time, as if he was nudging me and saying, 'We both know there's something going on, don't we?' I just ignored him and tried to walk faster, but he kept up with me and even turned the corner when I did. He went on about what a pity it would be if my husband did find out and wasn't understanding-then I'd be all lonely again, and I'd never have any nice friends again, however innocent their intentions were. I asked him to get to the point, to tell me what he was getting at, and he pretended to take offense.'
'What does he want?' Graham asked impatiently. 'Money?'
'I don't think so, no. I think he wants to go to bed with me.'
'He what?'
'He wants me himself. I couldn't bear it, Gray. I'd be sick, I know I would.' She was almost in tears now.
'Don't worry,' Graham comforted her. 'It won't come to that, you can be certain. What did he say?'
'He just said that there was no reason why I shouldn't have another friend, like him, for example, and what a good friend he could be and all that. He never really said anything, you know, explicit, nothing you could put your finger on. But we both knew what he was talking about. He said how pretty he thought I was, what nice legs I had, and I could feel his eyes crawling all over my body while he spoke. Then he said we should all have tea together soon, and he'd be happy just to sit there and watch us-Oh, he's disgusting, Gray! What am I going to do?'
'You're not to worry,' Graham said, moving his chair next to hers and stroking her hair. 'I'll take care of him.'
'Will you?' She turned her face so that it was close to his. He could smell the cherries on her breath. 'What will you do?'
'Never you mind about that, love. I've told you I'll deal with him. Don't I always keep my word?' Andrea nodded.
'Then you've nothing to worry about, have you? You won't hear anything from him again. He won't even so much as glance in your direction if he sees you in the street, I promise you that.'
'You won't hurt him, will you Gray? I don't want you to get into trouble. You know what that might lead to.'
'At least then,' Graham said wearily, 'we'd be out in the open. We could go away together.'
'Yes,' Andrea agreed. 'But it wouldn't be a good start, would it? I want things to be better than that for us.'
'I suppose so,' Graham said, sitting back.
'But you'll really deal with him, will you? And not make any trouble?' Graham nodded and smiled at her. Andrea caught his look and stood up to clear the table. 'Not yet, you goat,' she said. 'Wait till I've cleared the dishes.'
'They can wait,' Graham said, reaching out for her. 'I can't.'
She moved away playfully and his hand caught the collar of her blouse. As she stepped back, the material ripped down the front and the buttons flew off, pinging against wine glasses and plates. The blouse hung open, revealing Andrea's semi-transparent black brassiere, the one that stood out in clear relief against her pale skin and exposed a great deal of inviting cleavage.
Graham froze for a second. He didn't know what her reaction would be. Perhaps it was an expensive blouse-it felt soft, like silk-and she would be angry with him. He was all set to apologize and offer to buy her another when she laughed and reached forward to pull at his shirt.
'Come on, then,' she said, smiling at him. 'If you really can't wait.'
And they rolled to the floor, laughing and tearing at each other's clothes.
Afterwards, sweaty and out of breath, they lay back and laughed again, then went up to the bedroom to continue making love in a more leisurely way for another two hours.
Finally, it was time to go. Trevor was due back in about half an hour, and Graham had promised to drop in on Wooller on his way home.
'Remember,' Andrea said, kissing him as he left, 'no trouble. Ask him nicely. Tell him there's nothing in
