Peter Robinson - Aftermath

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses. Banks looked as tired as Jenny had ever seen him. His skin was pale and even his normally sharp and lean features seemed to be sagging on the bone the way his suit sagged on his frame, and his eyes seemed more deeply set than usual, duller, lacking their usual sparkle. Still, she told herself, the poor sod probably hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he was put in charge of the task force. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, smooth away the cares, but she didn’t dare risk rejection again.

“So? To what do I owe the honor?” Jenny said. “I’m assuming it’s not just my irresistible company that’s brought you here?”

Banks smiled. It made him look a little better, she thought. A little. “I’d like to say it was,” he answered, “but I’d be a liar if I did.”

“And God forbid you should ever be a liar, Alan Banks. Such an honorable man. But couldn’t you be a bit less honorable sometimes? The rest of us human beings, well, we can’t help the occasional untruth, but you, no, you can’t even lie to give a girl a compliment.”

“Jenny, I just couldn’t stay away. Some inner force drove me to your house, compelled me to seek you out. I just knew I had to come-”

Jenny laughed and waved him down. “All right, all right. That’s enough. Honorable is much better.” She ran her hand through her hair. “How’s Sandra?”

“Sandra’s pregnant.”

Jenny shook her head as if she had been slapped. “She’s what ?”

“She’s pregnant. I’m sorry to state it so abruptly, but I can’t think of a better way.”

“That’s all right. I’m just a bit gob-smacked.”

“You and me both.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“You sound like a psychologist.”

“I am a psychologist.”

“I know. But you don’t have to sound like one. How do I feel about it? I don’t know yet. When you get right down to it, it’s none of my business, is it? I let go the night she asked for a divorce so she could marry Sean.”

“Is that why…?”

“Yes. They want to get married, make the kid legal.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No. Tracy told me. Sandra and I… well, we don’t communicate much anymore.”

“That’s sad, Alan.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s still a lot of anger and bitterness?”

“Funnily enough, there isn’t. Oh, I know I might sound a bit upset, but it was the shock, that’s all. I mean, there was a lot of anger, but it was sort of a revelation when she asked for the divorce. A release. I knew then that it was really over and that I should just get on with my life.”

“And?”

“And I have done, for the most part.”

“But residual feelings surprise you sometimes? Creep up behind you and hit you on the back of your head?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Welcome to the human race, Alan. You ought to know by now that you don’t stop having feelings for someone just because you split up.”

“It was all new to me. She was the only woman I’d been with for any length of time. The only one I wanted. Now I know what it feels like. Naturally, I wish them all the best.”

“ Meow . There you go again.”

Banks laughed. “No. Really, I do.”

Jenny sensed that there was something he wasn’t telling her, but she also knew that he guarded his feelings when he wanted to and she would get nowhere if she pushed him. Best move on to the business at hand, she thought. And if he wants to say anything more about Sandra, he’ll say it in his own time. “That wasn’t why you came to see me, either, was it?”

“Not really. Maybe partly. But I do want to talk to you about the case.”

“Any new developments?”

“Just one.” Banks told her about the identification of the three bodies and how he found it puzzling.

“Curious,” Jenny agreed. “I would have expected some sort of sequence, too. They’re still digging outside?”

“Oh, yes. They’ll be out there for a while.”

“There wasn’t much room in that little cellar.”

“Just enough for about three, true,” said Banks, “but that still doesn’t explain why it isn’t the most recent three. Anyway, I’d just like to go over some stuff with you. Remember when you suggested, quite early on, that the killer might have had an accomplice?”

“It was only a remote possibility. Despite the inordinate amounts of publicity your Wests and Bradys and Hindleys get, the killer couple is still a rare phenomenon. I assume you’re thinking of Lucy Payne?”

Banks sipped some wine. “I talked to her at the hospital. She… well, she said she didn’t remember much about what happened.”

“Not surprising,” said Jenny. “Retrograde amnesia.”

“That’s what Dr. Landsberg said. It’s not that I don’t believe in it – I’ve come across it before – it’s just so damn…”

“Convenient?”

“That’s one way of putting it. Jenny, I just couldn’t get over the feeling that she was waiting, calculating, stalling in some way.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Waiting to see which way the wind was going to blow, as if she can’t work out what to say until she knows what’s happening with Terry. And it would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“What would?”

“The way the girls were taken. A girl walking home on her own would be most unlikely to stop and give directions, say, to a male driver, but she might stop if a woman called her over.”

“And the man?”

“Crouched down in the backseat with the chloroform ready? Jumps out the back door and drags her in? I don’t know the details. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it makes sense. Have you got any other evidence of her complicity?”

“None. But it’s early days yet. The SOCOs are still going through the house and the lab boys are working on the clothes she was wearing when she was assaulted. Even that might come to nothing if she says she went down in the cellar, saw what her husband had done and ran away screaming. That’s what I mean about her waiting to see which way the wind blows. If Terence Payne dies, Lucy’s home free. If he lives, his memory could be damaged irretrievably. He is very badly hurt. And even if he recovers, he might decide to protect her, gloss over what part she played.”

“If she played a part. She certainly couldn’t rely on his memory being damaged, or his dying.”

“That’s true. But it might have given her the perfect opportunity to cover up her own involvement, if there was any. You had a look around the house, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What was your impression?”

Jenny sipped some wine and thought about it: the magazine perfect decor, the little knickknacks, the obsessive cleanliness. “I suppose you’re thinking of the videos and books?” she said.

“Partly. There looked to be some pretty raunchy stuff, especially in the bedroom.”

“So they’re into porn and kinky sex. So what?” She raised her eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a couple of soft porn videos in my bedroom. I don’t mind a little kinkiness, now and then. Oh, don’t blush, Alan. I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m simply pointing out that a few videos featuring three-way sex and a bit of mild, consensual S and M don’t necessarily make a killer.”

“I know that.”

“And while it is true,” Jenny went on, “that, statistically, most sex killers are into pornography of an extreme kind, it’s false logic to argue the opposite.”

“I know that, too,” said Banks. “What about the occult connection? I wondered about the candles and incense in the cellar.”

“Could be just for atmosphere.”