Peter Robinson - Blood At The Root

“But you can get a job somewhere else,” Pamela said. “I mean as a policeman. In a different region. Can’t you?”

“I suppose so. I don’t mean to be negative, Pamela, I just haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“I understand.” She leaned forward and put her hand on his. Candlelight glittered in her diamond stud, made shadows of burnished gold and lit the fine down between her breasts.

Banks swallowed and felt his excitement rise. He wanted to take her home and lick every inch of her golden skin. Or did he? There would be consequences, confidences shared, a relationship . He didn’t think he could handle anything like that right now.

Pamela sat back and flipped a long tress of hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand. “What about this case you were working on?” she asked. “You seemed to imply that it’s not over.”

“Everyone thinks it is.”

“And you?”

Banks shrugged.

She toyed with a gold bracelet on her arm. “Look, Alan, this person you talked about earlier. Mark Wood. Did he do it?”

“I don’t know. He might have done. But not, I don’t think, the way he said he did, or for the reason he claimed.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. It could mean the difference between manslaughter and murder. And if someone else was behind it, say Neville Motcombe, I’d hate to see him get away with it while Mark Wood takes the fall alone.”

“If you were still on the force, would you be working on this case?”

“Probably not. The chief constable’s got his confession. Everybody’s happy. Case closed.”

“But you’re not on the force.”

“That’s right.”

“So that means you can still work on it if you want.”

Banks smiled and shook his head. “What impeccable logic. But I don’t think so. I can’t do it, Pamela. I’m sorry. It’s over.”

Pamela sat back and studied him for a moment. He reached for another cigarette, thought twice about it, then lit up anyway.

“Remember when I was hurt?” she said.

“Yes.”

“And thought I might never play again?”

Banks nodded.

“Well, if I’d taken your negative attitude, I wouldn’t have played again. And, believe me, there were times when giving up would have been the easiest thing in the world. But you helped me then. You encouraged me. You gave me strength and courage when I was at my lowest. I’d never had a friend like… someone who didn’t want…” She turned away for a moment. When she looked back, her eyes were deeply serious and intense, glistening with tears. “And now you’re giving up. Just like that. I don’t believe it. Not you.”

“What else can I do?”

“You can follow up on your ideas. On your own.”

“But how? I don’t have the resources, for a start.”

“Someone will help you. You’ve still got friends there, in the department, haven’t you?”

“I hope so.”

“Well, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” Banks gestured for the waiter and paid, waving aside all Pamela’s attempts to contribute. “My idea, my treat,” he said.

“So you will do something? You promise me you won’t just sit around at home and mope?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll do something.” He scraped his chair back and smiled. “Now, come on. Let me take you home.”

The first thing Banks needed to do, he realized in the cold light of Wednesday morning, was spend a few hours going over all the paperwork on the Jason Fox case – especially that which had been generated in his absence. He realized he had missed a lot over the weekend, and there were things he needed to know if he was to make any progress on his own. But how could he get hold of it? Nobody was going to kick him out of Eastvale station, he didn’t think, but neither could they let him just walk in and take what he wanted.

There wasn’t even a crust of bread left in the house, and he didn’t fancy eating Sandra’s leftover cottage cheese, so he made do with coffee and Vaughan Williams’s “Serenade to Music” for breakfast.

As he let the sensuous music flow over him, he thought about last night. When he had dropped Pamela at her flat, he had half hoped she would invite him up for a drink, but she just thanked him for the lift, said she was tired and hoped she would see him again soon. He said he would call and drove off with a pang of disappointment about not getting to do something he probably wouldn’t have done anyway, even if he had had the chance. But seeing her had been good for him. At least she had persuaded him to keep working on the case.

When the music finished, he picked up the phone and called Sandra in Croydon. He had been thinking of calling last night when he got in, but decided it was too late.

Her mother answered.

“Alan? How are you doing?”

“Oh, not so bad, considering. You?”

“About the same. Look, er, I’m really sorry about what’s happened. Do you want to speak to Sandra?”

“Please.”

“Just a minute.”

She sounded embarrassed, Banks thought as he waited. Not surprising, really. What could she say? Her daughter had left her husband and come home to sort herself out. Banks had always got on well with his mother-in-law, and he didn’t expect she was going to see him as a monster now, but nor was she going to chat with him about his feelings over the telephone.

“Alan?”

It was Sandra’s voice. She sounded tired. He felt the icy hand squeeze his heart. Now he had her on the line, he didn’t know what to say. “Yes. I… er… I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. I wish you hadn’t called.”

“But why?”

“Why do you think? I told you. I need time to work things out. This doesn’t help.”

“It might help me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I spent the weekend in Amsterdam.”

“You did what ?”

“In Amsterdam. It was strange. It brought back a lot of memories. Look, do you remember-”

“Alan, why are you telling me this? I don’t want to talk about it. Please. Don’t do this to me. To us.”

“I’m only-”

“I’m going now.”

“Don’t hang up.”

“Alan, I can’t deal with this. I’m going now.”

“Can I speak to Tracy?”

There was silence for a while, then Tracy came on the phone. “Dad, it’s you. I was worried.”

“I’m okay, love. Your mother…?”

“She’s upset, Dad. Honest, I don’t understand what’s happening any more than you do. All I know is Mum’s confused and she says she needs some time away.”

Banks sighed. “I know that. I shouldn’t have called. She’s right. Tell her I’m sorry. And tell her I…”

“Yes?”

“Never mind. Look, does Brian know about all this? I’m sorry, I haven’t been very organized. Other than you, I haven’t called anyone else.”

“It’s all right, Dad. You don’t have to apologize to me. I suppose it’s hard to know what to do when something like this happens. I mean, it’s not exactly something you can take a course on, is it?”

God, she sounded suddenly so mature, Banks thought. Much more mature than he felt right now. “Does he?”

“Yes. We talked to him over the weekend.”

“How’s he taking it?”

“Cool. You know Brian. He’s okay.”

“When am I going to see you?”

“I’m staying the rest of the week down here. But I’ll come up for the weekend if you want.”

“You will?” The icy hand relaxed its grip and Banks’s heart warmed a little.

“Of course. You know I love you, Dad. I love you both. I told you yesterday, I’m not taking sides. Please don’t think because I came down here that I think any less of you.”