Peter Robinson - Not Safe After Dark

In the Queensgate Centre, Banks bought an expensive golden anniversary card and some gold candles, then he browsed around for a while and picked up a CD he thought Kay would enjoy listening to on their way to dinner. It was one oldie he didn’t have, and he had been aware of the gap in his collection for some time.

He looked at his watch. Four o’clock. He thought he just had time for a quick walk by the river before driving back to his parents’ house.

As he walked down Bridge Street past the Magistrates’ Court and the police station, he realized that he hadn’t been able to put Geoff Salisbury out of his thoughts completely. Something about the man was still nagging away at him. Mrs Green had been partly right; of course he felt guilty that Geoff was doing all the things for his ageing parents that a good and dutiful son ought to be doing. But also, as the astute Mrs Green had realized, there was more to it than that. If nothing worse, he certainly got the impression that Geoff Salisbury was a petty thief.

He glanced towards the old Customs House with its light on top to guide the ships navigating the River Nene, then he made his way down to the footpath that ran along the Nene Way. There he found a bench and, away from the crowds, took out his mobile and phoned the detectives’ room back at Eastvale. DI Annie Cabbot and DC Winsome Jackman were on weekends at Western Area HQ, and it was Annie who answered.

‘DCI Banks, what a pleasant surprise. Can’t leave us alone for a minute, can you, sir?’

‘I take it you’re not alone in the office?’

‘That’s right, sir. Just Winsome and I, as per the duty roster.’

‘Everything all right?’

‘Fine. Business as usual. Couple of fights after closing time last night and a sexual assault on the East Side Estate. We’ve got a man in for questioning.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Honestly, we’re on top of it. Relax. Enjoy yourself.’

‘I’m trying, Annie, I’m trying. Actually, I wasn’t calling to check up on you. I’m sure everything’s under control. I need you to do a little detective work for me.’

‘Detective work?’

‘Yes. I want you to check on a name for me. See if you come up with anything.’

‘I don’t believe it. Even at your parents’ golden wedding anniversary you’re still on the job?’

‘You know the rules, Annie, we can’t ignore wrongdoing whether we’re on or off duty.’

‘Oh, what a load of bollocks. OK. Go ahead.’

Banks gave her Geoff Salisbury’s name and address, along with the number of his Fiesta, which he had memorized, for good measure.

‘What’s it about?’ Annie asked.

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Banks. ‘Probably nothing. Just a suspicious character in the neighbourhood. I want to know if he’s got form, first of all, then anything else you can dig up on him.’

‘Will do. Where can I get in touch with you?’

‘Call my mobile number. I’ll leave it switched on.’ Banks didn’t want the call arriving at his parents’ house. ‘If there’s no answer, don’t worry. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

‘OK. Will do.’

Feeling vaguely guilty, though he had done nothing to feel in the least bit guilty about, Banks put the phone in his pocket and walked back towards his car.

Bath water was always at a premium, even now they had a house with a real bathroom, and Banks had to be careful not to use all the hot water. After a short soak and a shave, he was ready. Not expecting to be going out on a date, he hadn’t brought a great selection of clothes with him, so he had to settle for some casual grey cotton trousers and a blue button-down Oxford shirt. He first checked the pockets of his sports jacket for car keys and wallet, then slipped in the copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover he had found in his bookcase before he went downstairs.

Annie hadn’t rung back yet, and given that it was past seven on a Saturday evening, Banks guessed she probably wouldn’t until tomorrow. He certainly didn’t want his mobile ringing in the restaurant, so he turned it off for the evening. There was no real urgency about the matter, anyway; he just wanted to know if Geoff Salisbury had form.

‘Here,’ his mother said, ‘you’d better take a key. You’ll probably be late back.’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Banks.

‘Take one anyway. I don’t want you hammering on the door waking us up at some ungodly hour in the morning.’

Banks pocketed the key. ‘We’re only going out for dinner.’

‘And be quiet when you do come in,’ his mother went on. ‘You know your father’s a light sleeper.’

The only thing Banks knew was that his mother had always complained of being a light sleeper, but he said nothing except goodnight and that he wouldn’t be late.

Kay came to the door in a long, dark, loose skirt, white blouse tucked in the waistband, soft suede jacket on top. Banks complimented her on her appearance, feeling for all the world like that awkward teenager taking her to the ABC to see Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush. The film had only exacerbated his teenage angst about living in a provincial town – and a ‘New Town’ at that – but the music, mostly by Traffic and the Spencer Davis Group, was as good as it got and, what’s more, a young and lovely Judy Geeson starred in it.

The main attraction of the evening, of course, had been Kay Summerville.

There, on the back row with the other would-be lovers, Banks had somehow found the bottle to put his arm around Kay, and she hadn’t seemed to mind. After a while, though, his arm had started to ache like hell, then he had felt it going numb, but he was damned if he was going to remove it after all the courage it had taken to put it there in the first place. Some of his school friends had told him that they had unbuttoned their girlfriends’ blouses and felt their breasts in that very cinema, but Banks hadn’t the nerve to try that. Not on their first time out together.

On their way home, they had held hands and necked for a while in the bus shelter, and that was as far as things had gone that night. Banks remembered it all vividly as Kay arranged herself next to him in the car: the warm, slightly hazy evening smearing the city lights; noise from a nearby pub; the fruity, chemical taste of her lipstick; the softness of her neck just below her ear; the way it made him tingle and turn hard as he touched her; the warmth of her small breasts crushed against him.

‘Any ideas?’ Kay asked.

‘Ideas? What ideas?’

‘About where to go. I’m almost as much a stranger to these parts as you are.’

‘Oh, that. I thought I’d just drive out Fotheringhay way. It’s not too far, and we ought to be able to find somewhere decent to eat.’

Kay laughed. ‘It’ll probably be called the Mary Queen of Scots or something.’

‘She certainly did get around, that woman.’

‘Didn’t have much choice, did she? What a miserable existence.’

‘Never wanted to be royalty?’

Kay shook her head. ‘Not me. I’m happy being a commoner.’

Banks slipped the Blind Faith CD he had bought that afternoon into the stereo and Stevie Winwood’s ‘Had to Cry Today’ came out as crisp and heart-rending as the day it was cut.

‘That’s not-’ Kay began, then she put her head back. ‘My God, I haven’t heard that in decades. You still listen to this sort of stuff?’

‘A lot of old sixties and early seventies stuff, yes,’ said Banks. ‘I reckon those eight or nine years or so between “Love Me Do” and the time everyone died produced about the best rock we’ll ever hear.’

‘That’s a very sweeping statement. What about punk?’