Peter Robinson - Strange Affair

“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 favorite 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 five hundred pounds in all. Roy had met Jennifer then. Carol remembered them chatting while the daughter went through her meetings with the counselor 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 center 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 each other, 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, hardworking. 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 favor 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 counselor 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.”