Strange Affair (22 page)

The front door was painted green, Banks noticed, which was surely different from his last visit. The tiny lawn looked a little overgrown and some of the flowers in the bed didn’t look in peak condition. That wasn’t like his mother. He knocked
and waited. His mother answered and was, naturally, surprised to see him. She had lost weight, Banks noticed, and looked tired and drawn, with dark crescents under her eyes. God only knew what the news of Roy’s murder would do to her.

He could tell that she knew something was wrong by her ceaseless nervous chatter as she led him into the living room, where his father sat in his usual armchair, newspaper on his lap.

“Look who it is, Arthur. It’s our Alan come to call.”

Maybe it was Banks’s imagination, but he thought he sensed just the slightest air of neglect about the place – a patina of dust on the TV screen, a picture frame out of alignment, a teacup and saucer on the floor beside the settee, a slight bunching of the rug in front of the fire.

“Hello, Son,” said Arthur Banks. “Just happened to be passing, did you?”

“Not exactly,” said Banks, perching on the edge of the sofa. His mother fussed about, heading for the kitchen to put on the kettle for that great English cure-all, tea. Banks called her back. There would be time and need enough for copious quantities of tea later. On his way he had rehearsed what he was going to say over and over, how he was going to handle it, but now the time had come he couldn’t remember what he had decided would be best.

“It’s about Roy,” he began.

“Did you find him?” Ida Banks asked.

“In a way.” Banks leaned forward and took his mother’s hand. This was even harder than he had imagined it might be; the words seemed stuck deep inside him and when he spoke they came out as little more than a whisper. “He wasn’t at home and I looked for him all weekend. I did my best, Mum, honestly I did, but I was too late.” He felt the tears brim in his eyes and let them course down his cheeks.

“Too late? What do you mean, too late? Where’s he gone?”

“Roy’s dead, Mum.” There, he’d said it. “I’m afraid he’s gone.”

“Are you sure?” Ida Banks asked. “Maybe he’s only joking.”

Banks thought he’d misheard. “What?” he asked, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

Ida Banks laughed and touched her hair. “Don’t you understand?” she said. “It’s a joke. Our Roy’s a great practical joker, isn’t he, Arthur? He’s playing a joke on us.”

Arthur Banks said nothing. Banks noticed he had turned pale and seemed to be clutching the newspaper tightly by its edges. It was already ripped. “Dad, can I get you anything? Do you need a pill or something?”

“No,” Arthur Banks managed. “Nothing. I’m all right. Go on. What happened?”

“There’s not much more to say,” Banks said, turning back to his mother. “They found him last night in the river.”

“Swimming in the river?” Ida Banks said. “But surely the water’s too dirty to swim in? I always told him he had to be careful. You can get terrible diseases from dirty water, you know.”

“He wasn’t swimming, Mother,” said Banks. “He was dead.”

His mother took a sharp breath. “Don’t say that,” she said. “You shouldn’t say things like that. Tell him, Arthur. You’re only trying to upset me. You never did like Roy. If this is supposed to be some sort of joke then it isn’t very funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

Arthur Banks stood up with some difficulty and shuffled over to his wife. “I think we’d better have that tea now, love,” he said. “Then our Alan can explain it all over a nice cuppa.”

Ida Banks nodded, happy to have a purpose in life. “Yes,” she said, “that’ll be best. I’ll make some tea.”

When she had gone to the kitchen, Arthur Banks turned to his son. “There’s no mistake, then?”

“Sorry, Dad.”

His father grunted and glanced towards the kitchen. “She’s not been well. She’s got to go in for tests and stuff. We didn’t want to worry you. Doctors haven’t figured out what’s wrong with her yet, but she’s not been well. She’s not eating properly. She gets confused.” Arthur Banks pointed to his newspaper. “It’s that story in the paper, isn’t it? The body pulled out of the Thames. It’s on the front page. That’s our Roy, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Banks. “We’ve managed to keep his identity from the media so far, but it’ll have to come out. It’s going to get worse, Dad. Our Roy was shot. We don’t know why yet. But it’s a big story. Reporters will be around.”

“Don’t you worry, Son, I’ll soon send that lot packing.”

“It might not be as easy as you think. I’ll get in touch with the local police, if you like.” Banks knew his father’s attitude to the police, had suffered it all his life, but the need to protect his parents was stronger even than his respect for the old man’s opinion.

“Whatever you think’s best. I just don’t know. I can’t seem to think straight. Our Roy…dead. It’s a terrible thing when your children die before you do. Shot? No. I can hardly believe it.”

Banks felt a sudden chill, a premonition of what he would feel like if anything happened to Tracy or Brian, and it gave him a stronger sense of empathy with what his parents were suffering. For him it was the loss of a brother, perhaps one he never particularly liked and never really knew, but family nonetheless, and it hurt. For his parents, it was the loss of their favourite son.

“I know, Dad,” he said. “And I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you, but I just didn’t want you to find out any other way.”

“I appreciate that,” said Arthur Banks, looking at his son. “It can’t have been easy. Will we have to identify the body?”

“It’s been done.”

“What about the funeral?”

“I’ll deal with all that, Dad, don’t worry yourself.”

“What was he…I mean, would it have been quick?”

“Yes,” said Banks. “He wouldn’t have felt a thing.” Except the fear, the anticipation, he thought, but didn’t say.

“The paper said he was in the river.”

“Yes. He was spotted on a shingle bank just below the London Eye.”

“You don’t know where he went in?”

“Not yet. The tides and currents are pretty strong, especially with the rain we’ve been having. It’s for the experts to figure out.”

“Do you know anything about why? Was he in trouble?”

“I think he was,” said Banks.

“Roy always sailed a bit close to the wind.”

“Yes, he did,” Banks agreed. “But somehow this time I don’t think that’s what it was.”

“Why’s that?”

“Just a feeling. There’s been another murder, a young woman. They might be connected.”

Arthur Banks rubbed his face. “Not that girl he brought around last year, Corinne?”

“No, Dad. Corinne’s fine. It’s someone else. Her name’s Jennifer Clewes. Did Roy ever mention her to you?”

“No.”

“Look, I’ll help around here all I can,” said Banks, “but I might be more use back in London trying to find out what happened. That’s what I do, after all. Right now, though, I’m just worried about you and Mum. Is there someone you’d like me to call? Uncle Frank, perhaps?”

“Bloody hell, no. He’d be more a hindrance than a help, would Frank. No, you leave it to me. I’ll handle your mother. Maybe, if she wants, I’ll ask Mrs. Green to pop over later.”

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure –”

At that moment Banks and his father heard a cup break on the kitchen floor, followed by a long wail of anguish that froze their blood.

Annie mulled over the information she’d got from Carol Prescott as she made her way upstairs to Georgina’s office after a quick word with Lucy, who had nothing much to say except that Jennifer was a good boss and a “nice” person. Annie certainly hadn’t known that Roy Banks had a daughter. It had been in April, Carol said, and the girl, eleven weeks pregnant, had opted for an abortion, which had cost Roy Banks about £500 in all. Roy had met Jennifer then. Carol remembered them chatting while the daughter went through her meetings with the counsellor and doctor. Since then, he had been by a number of times to meet her after work or take her for lunch.

The name Carol gave Annie rang a bell: Corinne. Banks had mentioned that Roy had a girlfriend called Corinne. Either Roy Banks had passed off his girlfriend as his daughter for reasons of his, or her, own, or the people at the centre had simply assumed she was his daughter because of the age difference. But wouldn’t they have seen her name on the forms? Still, for all they knew, she could have been divorced, yet kept her married name, Annie supposed. Perhaps this was a different Corinne? When Annie asked Carol if Roy had specifically mentioned the girl being his daughter, she couldn’t recall, and she said she didn’t really pay attention to the girl’s name.

Well, Annie told herself, it probably meant nothing. She already knew that Roy Banks and Jennifer Clewes were seeing one another, no matter how they first met. It didn’t show Roy Banks in a particularly good light, Annie thought, chatting up his next girlfriend while bringing in last year’s model for an abortion, but worse things happened. He probably got a discount for being an investor, too. And what had Jennifer thought about it? By all accounts she was a “nice” girl, decent, caring, hard-working. She had never mentioned the “daughter” at work. Roy Banks must have a hell of a smooth tongue on him, Annie thought, to explain that one away.

Annie knocked on Georgina’s office door.

“Come in,” called a voice from inside.

Annie entered and found a pleasantly plump woman with dark curly hair and the hint of a double chin sitting behind a desk. She looked as if her normal expression was a smile. Today, though, it was banished in favour of a frown. Annie introduced herself and the frown lines deepened.

“I understand the two of you were quite close?” she said.

“Yes,” Georgina agreed. “I’d like to think we were friends. I’m simply devastated by what’s happened. I know that sounds like a cliché, but I just can’t articulate my feelings any more clearly.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Annie.

“Would you like me to get us some coffee?” Georgina suggested. “It’s really not that bad.”

“No, thanks. I’ve had my ration for today.”

Georgina stood up. “Would you mind if I…It’s not far. I won’t be a minute. Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

“Go ahead.” Left alone, Annie first walked over to the open window, which looked out on the hustle and bustle of the street below. Delivery vans came and went. Taxis stopped to
pick up or drop off fares. Men and women in business suits dashed across the roads before the lights changed.

Annie sat down. The room was painted a soothing shade of blue, and it reminded her immediately of Banks’s old living room at the cottage. Various framed certificates hung on the walls, along with a Monet “Water-lilies” print. There were no family photographs on Georgina’s desk. The room was sparsely decorated – no filing cabinets, bookcases or computer – and Annie guessed its primary purpose was to put people at ease. Georgina no doubt had her files and books stored elsewhere.

Moments later Georgina reappeared with a mug of milky coffee.

“I’ve asked Carol to hold all the calls, so we’re not disturbed,” she said. “Though I don’t see how I can help you.”

“That’s what everybody thinks,” said Annie, “but you’d be surprised. First of all, how long had you known Jennifer?”

“About two years. I was here when she started.”

“What was she like?”

“In what way?”

“Whatever comes to mind.”

“She was good at her job. It was important to her, that’s why I mention it. She was considerate, cared about people. Maybe a bit too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as a counsellor you come into touch with a lot of grief, a lot of people with problems. You learn to sort of separate it out of your normal life, distance yourself a little bit. I don’t think Jenn could have done that so easily. That’s probably why she was in administration.”

“Did she get friendly with the clients here?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘friendly,’ but she did take an interest. We run a very open office. Everybody pitches in. You know, one
day some poor girl would burst into tears and Jenn would be the first one over to comfort her with a clean hankie and a few kind words. That sort of thing.”

“But she didn’t socialize with clients?”

“Not that I know of. Oh, I suppose there was that girl she shares the flat with, Kate. But that was different. Kate wasn’t pregnant. She just had a pregnancy test and that was that.”

“What about Roy Banks?” said Annie. “She met him here, didn’t she, when he was bringing his daughter in.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“She never mentioned how they met?”

“No. Jenn didn’t like to discuss her private life, not in any detail.”

“Didn’t you counsel Corinne?”

“Is that her name? No, it must have been Andrea. I’m afraid she’s on holiday at the moment.”

“Never mind,” said Annie, making a note to ask Banks about how things were between Roy and Corinne. “How had Jennifer been behaving during the past week or so? Did she seem worried, upset, depressed?”

“She certainly had something on her mind last week.”

“But she didn’t tell you what it was?”

“No. I didn’t see much of her. I was worked off my feet, so we didn’t get to have our little chats.”