'Could I? What about?'
'None of your… Oh,' he sighed and turned up his hands, 'why not? She wanted to be alone, that's all. I wanted her to come with me as usual.'
'Where did the two of you usually go?'
'To my place.'
'Did you spend the night there?'
'Sometimes, yes.'
'Why didn't you go there last Monday?'
'I told you. She wouldn't. Said she had a headache. You know women.'
'But you pressed her to stay at the club?'
'Of course I did. I was enjoying her company.'
'Even though she didn't feel very well?'
'It didn't look like anything to me. I think it was just an excuse. She seemed fine physically, just a bit upset about something.'
'Any idea what?'
'No. She wasn't very communicative. She just stormed off.'
'After you'd tried very hard to persuade her to stay and to accompany you to your house? Is that right?'
'What are you getting at?'
'Nothing. I'm just trying to establish the facts, that's all.'
'Well, yes. Naturally, I wanted her to stay with me.
I'm a man, like any other. I enjoy the company of attractive women.'
'So Thelma Pitt isn't the only one?'
'We're not engaged to be married or anything, if that's what you're getting at. Come on, I've had enough of this pussyfooting around. What's it all about?'
'Know anyone else at the Golf Club?'
'One or two. It is a social place for professional men, you know.'
'Maurice Ottershaw?'
A look of fear flashed in Moxton's eyes. It didn't last long, but Banks saw it.
'Maurice Ottershaw?' he repeated. 'I know him. I mean, we've had a few drinks together. I wouldn't really say I know him. What is it you're getting at?'
'I'll tell you, Larry,' Banks said, leaning forward on the desk and holding Moxton's eyes with his. 'I think you've been fingering jobs for someone, that's what I think. You know when your rich friends at the club are likely to be away, and you tip someone off. But it went wrong with Thelma Pitt, didn't it? You couldn't keep her away from home long enough.'
Moxton looked really frightened now. 'What's happened to her? You've got to tell me. She isn't hurt, is she?'
'Why would she be?'
'After what you said… I thought…'
'Don't worry about it.'
'You can't prove anything, you know.'
'I know,' Banks admitted. 'But I also know you did it.'
'Look, I wouldn't shit on my own doorstep, would I?'
'A creep like you would shit anywhere, Moxton. We're going to be watching you, keeping an eye on you.
You won't be able to crap anywhere without being watched, understand?'
'That's intimidation, harassment!' Moxton yelled, jumping to his feet in exasperation.
'Oh, piss off,' Banks said, and pointed to the door.
Chapter FOURTEEN
I
When Trevor awoke on Monday morning, he knew something was wrong.
'Trevor!' his father shouted as usual. 'Breakfast's on the table! If you don't hurry up you'll be late for school.'
At least he knew there would be no row over the table this morning. All day Sunday he had stayed in like a dutiful son; he'd helped his dad with the stock and had even done some homework. Such gestures as that could earn him a few days' peace, if not more.
Pity about the homework, he thought. It was a waste really because he wouldn't be there to hand it in. He was taking the afternoon off to go and discuss future plans with Mick. Just because Lenny had told them to lay off the break-ins for a while didn't mean they couldn't find some other ways of amusing themselves- perhaps out of town.
But something was wrong. He didn't feel right. He lay there with the sheets pulled up and looked at the glossy posters of pop stars on his walls, wondering if the stickiness he felt meant that he'd had a wet dream. Cautiously, he pushed the bedclothes aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. The front of his pajamas was stained, and when he looked more closely he noticed a kind of yellowish discharge.
Alarmed, Trevor rushed to the bathroom and washed himself. When he stood to urinate, the fear really took hold of him. It hurt like hell. It felt as if he was pissing red-hot needles. He leaned against the wall in a cold sweat, pressing his forehead against the tiles. When he'd finished, the pain faded and all that remained was a lingering throb, the echo of an ache.
Trevor washed his face and stared at himself in the mirror. The dark patch between his teeth was spreading quickly, and he had two spots: one, still embryonic, wedged between the edge of his nostril and his upper lip; the other, yellow and juicy, exactly at the point where his chin curved under to become his throat. But they were the least of his worries. He was pale and his eyes were dull. He knew what he'd got; he'd got the clap. That fucking cunt had given him the clap.
With a great effort, Trevor pulled himself together. He finished washing, then returned to his bedroom to get dressed.
'Hurry up,' our Trev!' his father called. 'Your bacon and eggs are going cold!'
'Coming, dad,' he yelled back. 'Won't be a minute.'
He pulled his white shirt and gray slacks on, picked out a sleeveless, V-neck pullover with a muted pattern of gray and mauve, and he was ready. They ate breakfast together quickly, Graham beaming at his son.
'It was a good day we had yesterday, wasn't it?' he asked.
'Yes,' Trevor lied.
'Got a lot of work done.'
'We did, didn't we?'
'And all your homework, too.'
'That's right.'
'Believe me, Trevor, it's worth it. You might not think so now, but you'll be grateful in the future, mark my words.'
'I suppose so,' Trevor mumbled. 'Look at the time! I'll be late.' 'Off you go, then,' Graham said, ruffling Trevor's hair and smiling at him. 'And don't forget to hand that homework in.'
'Don't worry, I won't,' Trevor said, forcing a grin and picking up his satchel.
'And you'd better get that tooth seen to, too, lad,' Graham added, 'or it'll only get worse. See if you can get an appointment with the school dentist.'
'All right, dad,' Trevor replied, and rushed off.
He had no intention of making any appointment with the school dentist, or with any other dentist, for that
