Strange Affair (30 page)

“It is,” said Annie, standing up to leave. “And I’m going to find out what was behind it, with or without your help.”

“Please, you don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?”

Dr. Lukas paused, rubbing her hands together. “Please. I’m telling you the truth.”

“I think you’re telling me part of the truth,” Annie said, “and I’m going to leave you to think over your position. When you’ve made your mind up you can call me at this number.” Annie scribbled her mobile number on the back of her card and left it on the coffee table. “I’ll show myself out.”

Well, you can’t win them all, Banks thought, after a wasted trip to Chelsea. One of the problems with paying surprise visits was that sometimes the object of your visit wasn’t at home, and such was the case with Gareth Lambert that wet Tuesday evening, though Banks had even hung around in a shop doorway over the street for about an hour waiting. Burgess had said that Lambert was elusive.

The humidity and damp clothing made the crowded underground carriage smell like wet dog, and Banks was glad to get off at Green Park for the Piccadilly Line. The second carriage was half empty and he passed the short trip reading the adverts and trying to suss out the language of the newspaper that the person opposite him was reading. The letters were Roman, but it definitely wasn’t anything he recognized. Sometimes the depths of his own ignorance appalled him.

When he got to Corinne’s flat he was soaked and she gave him a towel for his hair, made him take off his raincoat and his jacket and hung them up in the bathroom under an electric fire to dry them out. His trousers were stuck to his thighs and shins and he thought of asking her to dry those, too, but she might get the wrong idea. Besides, it would be rather undignified carrying out an interview, albeit a friendly one, sitting around in his underpants.

“Warm drink?”

“Tea, if you’ve got any. No milk or sugar for me.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Despite, or perhaps because of, the rain, it was a close, muggy evening. Sweat filmed Corinne’s upper lip and forehead, and she looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her hair was tangled and her eyes had dark circles under them. So Roy had the power to make a woman feel this way, no matter what he’d done to her. What the hell was it about him? Sandra
wouldn’t give Banks the time of day, and even Annie couldn’t get away quick enough if he talked about anything other than the case at hand. Banks also thought of Penny Cartwright again and her revulsion at the idea of dinner with him. She would probably have jumped at the chance if Roy had asked her.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get here sooner,” Banks said, when he had a warm cup of tea in his hand. “You can imagine what it’s been like.”

“Have you seen your parents? How are they? Your mother was very nice to me. Not that your father wasn’t…but you know what I mean.”

Banks remembered that last October, much to his surprise, his mother had taken Corinne into the kitchen to help her prepare the anniversary spread and in no time they had been chatting away to one another like old friends.

Thinking of his parents, he also remembered the message that the thug in the red Vectra had given him.
We know where your parents live.
How did they know? From Roy? When it came right down to it, though, it wasn’t that difficult to find out such things. Most likely they had followed Banks to Peterborough the day before and he hadn’t spotted them. He would ring his father before it got too late and make sure everything was all right there. He would also ring the Peterborough police again to make sure they had someone watching the house at all times. If this man with the ponytail had killed Jennifer Clewes, as Annie seemed to think he had, then he and his friends didn’t make idle threats. Banks wished he could arrange for his parents to go away for a while, but they would never agree to it. Not at a time like this.

“They’re coping,” Banks said finally. “My mother took it rather hard, as you can imagine. Dad’s trying to be a rock but the strain’s beginning to show.”

“I hope they get through it. Do you think I should give them a ring?”

“It wouldn’t do any harm,” Banks said. “Maybe in a couple of days.” He sipped some tea – a pleasant, scented Earl Grey – then leaned forward and set the cup and saucer down on the low table. “Look, Corinne, this probably isn’t anything to do with what happened to Roy but in a murder investigation you have to follow up all the loose ends.”

“I understand.”

“A couple of months ago, in April, you went with Roy to the Berger-Lennox Centre.”

Corinne looked away. “That’s right. It was a private matter.”

“I’m not here to judge you, either of you. Whose idea was it?”

“Was what?”

“To go to the Berger-Lennox.”

“Oh, Roy’s. He’d invested in it. He’d also visited the centre before, checked it out. He said it was a good place.”

So Roy had probably already met, or at least seen, Jennifer Clewes on a previous visit. “And was it?”

“They treated me well enough.”

“The woman on reception thought you were Roy’s daughter.”

“Well, I used my own name. I wasn’t trying to pretend or anything.”

“There’s plenty of reasons these days for a girl having a different name from her father.”

“I suppose so.”

“So you went through with the procedure?”

Now she looked directly at him. “Yes. I had an abortion. Okay?”

“I assume you’re sure it was Roy’s baby?”

“Yes, of course. What do you think I am?”

“Why didn’t you want to keep it?”

“I…I didn’t feel ready.”

“What about Roy?”

“He’d already made it clear he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t much interested in me, either. He thinks I didn’t see him chatting up that redhead in the reception area, but I did.”

“Jennifer Clewes?”

Corinne put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. Is that who it was? The girl who got shot? I’ve read about her in the papers. What happened?”

“That’s where he met her, the centre. Perhaps you can see now why I’m asking all these questions. There are too many connections and similarities here, but I’m missing something.”

“I don’t think I can help you. I mean, I saw him talking to her, but he’s always like that, flirting with girls. And I knew there was someone. I just didn’t put two and two together. Story of my life.”

“No reason you should. So you and Roy were splitting up when you found out you were pregnant?”

“It happened at the worst possible time.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Like these things always do.”

“And you discussed it and both agreed abortion was the way to go?”

“Yes. Look, it’s nothing to do with what happened. It can’t be. It was a private matter. You’re not trying to say I killed him because I had an abortion and he found a new girlfriend, are you?”

“Of course not,” said Banks, though the thought had crossed his mind. Rejection and jealousy, coupled with the emotional trauma of abortion, could be a lethal mix. She hadn’t done it herself, Banks knew, but maybe she had enough money to hire someone, and maybe she even knew how to find someone to hire. After all, she was an accountant to the entertainment
world, and that was full of villains, or celebrities who liked to rub shoulders with them. But Banks had dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come into his head. Wronged lovers usually go for a more direct method, as any cop who has responded to a domestic will tell you. “Roy was chatting up his new girlfriend while you were in the doctor’s office,” Banks said. “How does that make you feel?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How do you think it makes me feel?” she said. “He always was a bastard. I knew that. But I loved him.”

And this time there was no stopping her. The dam burst and the flood was unloosed. Banks went over and sat beside Corinne on the sofa, putting his arms around her. She didn’t resist. She just melted against him, buried her head in his already wet shoulder and let it all pour out. Banks held her and stroked her hair. After a few minutes the tears subsided and she gently extricated herself from his arms. Banks went back to the armchair and picked up his tea. It was lukewarm now but it was something to hide behind in the awkward moments that follow an emotional outburst. The cup rattled against the saucer as he picked it up.

Corinne went and fetched some tissues. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “It’s the first time…I was just bottling it all up. It feels better.”

“I’m glad,” said Banks, “and I’m sorry if I sounded abrupt or rude.”

“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 your 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, if it’s any consolation, he was probably telling the truth. Did he say anything about it afterwards?”

“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 was 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 A1(M) 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?