Peter Robinson: Strange Affair

Banks was surprised when he got inside the club. The door opened into a spacious low-ceilinged bar, and where he had been expecting dark wainscoting, chandeliers and waiters in burgundy bum-freezers, he found tubular fittings, halogen lighting and waitresses in pinstripe suits, with trousers rather than skirts. Fan-shaped splashes of color from well-hidden lights decorated the walls in shades of blue, pink, green, red and orange. The chrome tables were high, with matching leather-topped stools. This definitely wasn’t one of those old gentlemen’s clubs where the right sort of people stay over when they are down in the city for the weekend; it was primarily an up-market casino with bar and restaurant facilities, the sort of place where you might have found James Bond fifty years ago. Now it played host to a hip young crowd of stockbrokers, investment bankers and the occasional old smuggler like Gareth Lambert.

As it turned out, the dress code was also a lot more relaxed than Banks had expected – he had never been to a club before and he still thought in terms of Lord Peter Wimsey and Bertie Wooster – and he was surprised to see that not everyone was wearing a tie or a suit. Business casual was in. The place wasn’t very busy, but a few people sat around drinking and chatting, and a group of Japanese businessmen had the one large table by the far wall, where they were entertaining some expensive-looking women. Most of the people in the place seemed to be in their thirties, which made Roy and Lambert slightly older than the average member. Nobody paid Banks any undue attention. There was no music.

Banks took one of the stools at the bar and ordered a bottle of Stella. The price was every bit as outrageous as he had expected. The bartender was a woman in her late twenties, by the look of her, about the same age as Corinne and Jennifer. She had very fine short hair dyed pink and blond. She smiled at Banks when she took his order. She had a nice smile; dimples, too.

Banks showed her his card. “Do you work here every night?” he asked.

“Most nights,” she said, scrutinizing the card more closely than the doorman had. “Yorkshire? What brings you down here?”

“Cases can take you all over the place,” Banks said. “People move around a lot more than they used to.”

“You can say that again.”

“Actually, I’m making a few inquiries about Roy Banks. I understand he was a member.”

“Poor Mr. Banks,” she said. “He was a real sweetheart.”

“You knew him?”

“Not really ‘knew.’ I mean, not outside of work. But we talked here occasionally. You tend to do that, in this job. He always had time for the bar staff, not like some of our more stuck-up members.”

“Did he sit at the bar and tell you his troubles?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. That only happens in films.”

“What’s your name, by the way?”

“Maria.”

“Pleased to meet you, Maria.”

“What relation are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your name’s Banks, too. I saw it on that card. Are you his brother?”

“Yes,” Banks said.

“You must be gutted.”

“I am. But I’m also trying to find out what happened. Did you talk to him last Friday?”

“Yes. He and Mr. Lambert were sitting at that table just over there.” She pointed to a discreet corner table. “Mr. Banks always made a point of coming over and saying hello and asking me how I was doing. And he always made sure he left a decent tip.”

“Did he have anything to say that night?”

A waitress appeared asking for drinks. Maria excused herself for a moment and filled the order with graceful efficiency. “What was it you wanted to know?” she asked when she came back.

“Just if Roy had said anything out of the ordinary to you.”

“No. Nothing. Not that that I remember.”

“Did he seem upset or annoyed?”

“Not at first. A bit preoccupied, maybe.”

“Later?”

“After he’d been talking to Mr. Lambert for a while he seemed to be getting uncomfortable, if you know what I mean. I don’t know how to describe it, but you could sort of feel the tension, even from over here.”

“Others noticed?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always been very sensitive to the vibes people give off.”

“And these were bad?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Were they arguing?”

“No. They never raised their voices or anything like that. It was just a sort of tense negotiation.”

Lambert had told Banks that Roy had been pressing him for contacts in the arms business, but Banks didn’t believe that. “What happened next?”

“After he used the telephone, Mr. Banks went through to the casino and I didn’t see him again.”

“Mr. Lambert?”

“He sat by himself for a while, then he went into the casino, too.”

“You say Roy used the telephone?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“There’s a public telephone in the corridor by the toilets,” she said. “Down there.” She pointed directly across the room. Banks turned and saw the phone on the wall. From where Lambert had been sitting, he couldn’t possibly have seen Roy make the call. “Not a lot of people use it because everyone’s got a mobile these days, haven’t they, but he must have forgotten his or the battery was dead or something.”

Banks thought of the mobile sitting on Roy’s kitchen table. “Was it a long phone call?”

“No. Just two or three minutes.”

“How long had he been here when he made it?”

“Not long. Maybe half an hour or so, a bit longer.”

That must have been the call he made to Jennifer, Banks thought, sending her up to Yorkshire. “And how did he seem after that?”

“Like I said, he went into the casino. He didn’t say good-bye, though, and that’s not like him.”

“Did Mr. Lambert make any phone calls?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Could he have done?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, he went to the toilet. He could have used his mobile there, if he had one with him. But I didn’t see him make any calls, that’s all I meant.”

“Thanks very much, Maria,” said Banks. “You’ve been a great help.”

“I have?”

Banks made sure to leave her a decent tip and wandered out onto The Strand. He glanced about him to see if there was anyone watching for him, but if there was, he didn’t notice. According to the doorman and Maria, Roy had left the club around half past twelve. There were plenty of taxis passing by, Banks could see. So what had Roy done? Got in a taxi? Or had someone offered him a lift? It couldn’t have been Lambert, because he was still in the casino. So who?

The sun was up by the time the operation had been approved by the brass in SO19, the Metropolitan Force Firearms unit at Scotland Yard, and the team had been assembled and briefed. Annie and Brooke gathered with the specialist firearms officers outside the house near King’s Cross, in the narrow streets around Wharfdale Road. The house was part of a terrace, and the SO19 team leader had acquired a set of plans. Young girls had been seen by neighbors coming and going, sometimes with men, at all hours. There were eight officers in the team, all wearing protective headgear and body armor and carrying Glock handguns and Heckler and Koch MP5 carbines. Each man had been briefed on what section of the house he was to secure. Three more men watched the back of the house.

It was an eerie sight, Annie thought, and there was something slightly unreal about it. One or two onlookers had gathered at the street corners, held back by the uniformed officers stationed there. It was a humid morning and a light mist hung in the air. There was little traffic in the immediate area but Annie could hear horns and engines in the distance. Another day in the big city was beginning.