Peter Robinson - Not Safe After Dark

‘Well, don’t. It’s simple really. I know twenty years hardly compares with five, but do you believe people can just disentangle their lives from one another and carry on with someone new as if nothing had happened?’

‘Maybe they could’ve done in 1967,’ Sandra answered. ‘And maybe some people still can, but I think it cuts a lot deeper than that, no matter what anyone says.’

‘Anna said it was fine,’ Banks muttered, almost to himself. ‘But Anna’s dead.’

‘Is this that investigation you’re doing for Dr Glendenning, the reason you stood me up last night?’

‘I didn’t stand you up. I phoned to apologize. But, yes. I’ve got a nagging feeling about it. Something’s not quite right.’

‘What do you mean? You think she was poisoned or something?’

‘It’s possible, but I can’t prove it. I can’t even figure out how.’

‘Then maybe you’re wrong.’

‘Huh.’ Banks chomped on his Big Mac again. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ He explained about his talks with John Billings and Owen Doughton. Sandra thought for a moment, sipping her Coke through a straw and picking at her chips, sandwich abandoned on her tray. ‘Sounds like a determined woman, this Anna. I suppose it’s possible she just made a seamless transition from one to the other, but I’d bet there’s a lot more to it than that. I’d have a word with both of them again, if I were you.’

‘Mmm,’ said Banks. ‘Thought you’d say that. Fancy a sweet?’

‘The tests are going to take time,’ Glendenning said over the phone, ‘but from what I could see there’s severe damage to the liver, kidneys, heart and lungs, not to mention the central nervous system.’

‘Could it be food poisoning?’ Banks asked.

‘It certainly looks like some kind of poisoning. A healthy person doesn’t usually die just like that. I suppose at a pinch it could be botulism,’ Glendenning said. ‘Certainly some of the symptoms match. I’ll get the Board of Trade to check out that Chinese restaurant.’

‘Any other possibilities?’

‘Too damned many,’ Glendenning growled. ‘That’s the problem. There’s enough nasty stuff around to make you that ill if you’re unlucky enough to swallow it: household cleaners, pesticides, industrial chemicals. The list goes on. That’s why we’ll have to wait for the test results.’ And he hung up.

Cantankerous old bugger, Banks thought with a smile. How Glendenning hated being pinned down. The problem was, though, if someone – Owen, John or some undiscovered enemy – had poisoned Anna, how had he done it? John Billings could have doctored her food at the Chinese restaurant, or her drink in the pub, or perhaps there was something she had eaten that he had simply failed to mention. He certainly had the best opportunity.

But John Billings seemed the most unlikely suspect: he loved the woman; they were going to get married. Or so he said. Anna Childers was quite well off and upwardly mobile, but it was unlikely that Billings stood to gain, or even needed to gain, financially from her death. It was worth looking into, though. She had only been thirty, but she might have made a will in his favour. And Billings’s consultancy could do with a bit of scrutiny.

Money wouldn’t be a motive with Owen Doughton, though. According to both the late Anna and to Owen himself, they had parted without rancour, each content to get on with life. Again, it might be worth asking a few of their friends and acquaintances if they had reason to think any differently. Doughton had seemed gentle, reserved, a private person, but who could tell what went on in his mind? Banks walked down the corridor to see if either Detective Constable Susan Gay or Detective Sergeant Philip Richmond was free for an hour or two.

Two hours later, DC Susan Gay sat in front of Banks’s desk, smoothed her grey skirt over her lap and opened her notebook. As usual, Banks thought, she was well dressed: tight blonde curls; just enough make-up; the silver hoop earrings; black scoop-necked top; and a mere whiff of Miss Dior cutting the stale cigarette smoke in his office.

‘There’s not much, I’m afraid,’ Susan started, glancing up from her notes. ‘No will, as far as I can discover, but she did alter the beneficiary on her insurance policy a month ago.’

‘In whose benefit?’

‘John Billings. Apparently she has no family.’

Banks raised his eyebrows. ‘Who was the previous beneficiary?’

‘Owen Doughton.’

‘Odd that, isn’t it?’ Banks speculated aloud. ‘A woman who changes her insurance policy with her boyfriends.’

‘Well she wouldn’t want it to go to the government, would she?’ Susan said. ‘And I don’t suppose she’d want to make her ex rich either.’

‘True,’ said Banks. ‘It’s often easier to keep a policy going than let it lapse and apply all over again later. And they were going to get married. But why change it so soon? How much is it for?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

Banks whistled.

‘Owen Doughton’s poor as a church mouse,’ Susan went on, ‘but he doesn’t stand to gain anything.’

‘But did he know that? I doubt Anna Childers would have told him. What about Billings?’

Susan gnawed the tip of her Biro and hesitated. ‘Pretty well off,’ she said. ‘Bit of an up-and-comer in the consultancy world. You can see why a woman like Anna Childers would want to attach herself to him.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s going places, of course. Expensive places.’

‘I see,’ said Banks. ‘And you think she was a gold-digger?’

Susan flushed. ‘Not necessarily. She just knew what side her bread was buttered on, that’s all. Same as with a lot of new businesses, though, Billings has a bit of a cashflow problem.’

‘Hmm. Any gossip on the split up?’

‘Not much. I had a chat with a couple of locals in the Red Lion. Anna Childers always seemed cheerful enough, but she was a tough nut to crack, they said, strong protective shell.’

‘What about Doughton?’

‘He doesn’t seem to have many friends. His boss says he’s noticed no real changes, but he says Owen keeps to himself, always did. I’m sorry. It’s not much help.’

‘Never mind,’ Banks said. ‘Look, I’ve got a couple of things to do. Can you find Phil for me?’

‘Did you know that Anna had an insurance policy?’ Banks asked Owen Doughton. They stood in the cold yard while Doughton stacked some bags of peat moss.

Doughton stood up and rubbed the small of his back. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘What of it?’

‘Did you know how much it was for?’

He shook his head.

‘All right,’ Banks said. ‘Did Anna tell you she’d changed the beneficiary, named John Billings instead of you?’

Doughton paused with his mouth open. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, she didn’t.’

‘So you know now that you stand to gain nothing, that it all goes to John?’

Doughton’s face darkened, then he looked away and Banks swore he could hear a strangled laugh or cry. ‘I don’t believe this,’ Doughton said, facing him again. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You think I might have killed Anna? And for money? This is insane. Look, go away, please. I don’t have to talk to you, do I?’

‘No,’ said Banks.

‘Well, bugger off then. I’ve got work to do. But remember one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I loved her. I loved Anna.’

John Billings looked even more wretched than he had the day before. His eyes were bloodshot, underlined by black smudges, and he hadn’t shaved. Banks could smell alcohol on his breath. A suitcase stood in the hallway.