Peter Robinson - Not Safe After Dark

i skimmed across

your life

like a pebble

on the water’s surface

i sank

quickly

the tide went out

What had he been thinking of? There was another image about her being ‘naked/on a sheepskin/by the crackling fire’, but as far as Banks could remember, they had never lain on a sheepskin rug, and electric fires, which everyone on the estate had, didn’t crackle. Poetic licence?

He remembered that first time up in this same room while his parents were out. The event was awkward and far less momentous for both of them than his imagination had convinced him it would be, but it went well enough in the end and they decided they liked it and would certainly try again. They got better and better over the next few months, stealing an hour or two here and there while parents were absent. Once they almost got caught when Kay’s mother came home sooner than expected from a dental appointment. They just managed to get their clothes on and tidy up the bed in time to tell her they’d been listening to records, though judging by the expression on Mrs Summerville’s face when she saw her daughter’s dishevelled hair, Banks didn’t think she was convinced. Kay told him later that that very evening she had got a lecture about the dangers of teenage pregnancy and what men think of women who haven’t ‘saved themselves’ for marriage, though no overt mention was made of Banks or that afternoon’s events, and nobody tried to stop them seeing one another.

Smiling at the memory, Banks slipped the exercise book of poetry into his overnight bag, determined to remember to feed it to the fire when he got back to his Gratly cottage. As he moved it, a newspaper cutting slipped out from between some of the unfilled pages. It was a report in the local paper on the disappearance of Graham Marshall, a school friend of Banks’s, and the reason for his visit home in the summer. Alongside the article was a photograph of Graham with his fair hair, melancholy expression and pale face, like some fin de siècle poet.

Banks moved on to the bottom of the box, where he found more old forty-fives, ones he had forgotten he had: Procol Harum’s ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’, ‘Juliet’ by the Four Pennies, ‘Hippy Hippy Shake’ by the Swinging Blue Jeans, the Lovin’ Spoonful’s ‘Summer in the City’, ‘Devil in Disguise’ by Elvis Presley and ‘Still I’m Sad’ by the Yardbirds.

Banks put the box back on top of one marked Roy and tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen for a cup of tea. His heart almost stopped when he saw Geoff Salisbury sitting at the kitchen table eating buttered toast.

‘Morning, Alan,’ Geoff said. ‘I’ve come to do some cleaning up. Already took your em and pee a cup of tea up, bless ’em. It’s a big day for them, you know. Like a cuppa yourself?’

Banks felt like saying he would make his own tea, but he remembered he hadn’t been able to find the tea bags. Instead, he got himself a mug. ‘Thanks,’ he grunted.

‘Not much of a morning person?’ Geoff asked. ‘Still, I imagine after a late night like you had you must be feeling even more tired. Your poor old mum was lying awake worrying where you’d got to.’ Salisbury winked. ‘Having a good time with that Summerville girl, were you?’

So Banks’s mother had already told Geoff that her son had been out with Kay Summerville and had not returned home until the early hours of the morning. He knew all this, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Geoff Salisbury was starting to get really annoying. Even though Banks hadn’t had a chance to call Annie back about criminal records, he decided that now would be as good a time as any to go on the offensive and make a couple of things clear to him.

‘I’m glad you’re here, actually,’ Banks said. ‘I’ve been wanting to have a quiet word with you.’

‘Oh? What about?’

‘Your sticky fingers.’

‘Come again?’

‘You know what I’m talking about. Don’t come the innocent. It doesn’t work with me.’

‘I understand that your job must make you cynical, but why are you picking on me? What have I done?’

‘You know what you’ve done.’

‘Look, if it’s that business about the change, I thought I’d already made it clear to you it was a genuine mistake. I thought we’d put it behind us.’

‘I might have done if it hadn’t been for a few other interesting titbits I’ve heard since I’ve been down here.’

‘It’s that Summerville girl, isn’t it? If she’s been saying things, she’s lying. She doesn’t like me.’

‘Well,’ said Banks, ‘that at least shows good taste on her part. It doesn’t matter who’s been saying what. The point is that I’ve been hearing from a number of independent sources about things sort of disappearing when you’re in the vicinity. Money, for example.’

Salisbury turned red. ‘I resent that.’

‘I should imagine you do. But is it true?’

‘Of course it isn’t. I don’t know who’s-’

‘I told you, it doesn’t matter who.’

Salisbury stood up. ‘Well, it does to me. You might not believe it, but there are people who have it in for me. Not everybody appreciates what I do for the decent folk around here, you know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Never you mind. Now, if you’ve finished with your groundless accusations, I’ve got work to do. Your parents’ golden wedding might not be important to you, but it is to me. Arthur and Ida mean a lot to me.’

Before Banks could say another word, Salisbury had gone into the front room and started up the vacuum. Irritated both by Salisbury’s reaction and his own fumbling accusation, Banks went across to the newsagent’s to see if he could pick up a Sunday Times .

Banks went to the Bricklayer’s Inn by himself for a quiet pint on Sunday lunchtime, taking the newspaper with him and promising to be back by two o’clock for lunch. It felt like his first real break that weekend, and he made the most of it, even getting the crossword three-quarters done, which was good for him without Annie’s help. On his way home he took cover in the rain-lashed bus shelter by the gates of the derelict factory to call Annie in Eastvale. Though the shelter hadn’t been there all those years ago, Banks still couldn’t help but think of Mandy, with her Julie Christie lips and the faraway look in her eyes. He wondered what had happened to her, whether she had ever found that distant thing she had seemed to be dreaming of. Probably not; most people didn’t. Though it seemed like another age, she would only be in her early fifties, after all, and that no longer sounded very old to Banks.

DC Winsome Jackman answered his ring. ‘Is DI Cabbot not in?’ Banks asked.

‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ said Winsome. ‘She’s out on the East Side Estate interviewing neighbours about that sexual assault.’

‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’

‘No, sir. Sorry, but you’ll just have to make do with me.’

Banks could hear teasing humour in her voice, the way it tinged her lilting Jamaican speech. Did she know that Annie and he used to have a thing? He wouldn’t be surprised. No matter how much you try to keep something like that a secret, there are always people who seem able to pick up on it intuitively.

‘DI Cabbot did leave a message for you, though, sir,’ Winsome went on.

‘Yes?’

‘That man you were asking about, Geoffrey Salisbury.’

‘Right. Any form?’

‘Yes, sir. One conviction. Six years ago. Served eighteen months.’

‘What for?’

‘Fraud, sir. To put it in a nutshell, he tried to swindle a little old lady out of her life savings, but she was a lot smarter than he reckoned on.’