Peter Robinson - Watching the Dark

She grabbed her jacket, thanked Stefan grudgingly and went back down to the car. After she had sat down and taken a few deep breaths, gripping the wheel tight, she phoned Winsome who, as she had guessed, was at the station. ‘You did say to call if I needed anything,’ she said. ‘Are you up for an adventure?’

‘I know you don’t approve of my direction on this,’ Banks said, between tastes of delicious smoked eel, ‘but I just feel that we’ve got so close to solving the mystery of Rachel Hewitt, it would be a disservice to her parents, for a start, if we just turned away now.’

‘I’m not as heartless as you think I am,’ said Joanna. ‘I’m just not used to the ways of... the ways you... I mean, I haven’t been involved in this kind of investigation before. When you explained it to me the other night, that finding out what happened to DI Quinn might depend on finding out what happened to Rachel Hewitt, I understood. It made sense. But we know who killed Bill Quinn now. It’s just a matter of finding him and bringing him in. Rachel Hewitt isn’t your case. Never was. We should go home. But you’re all over the place. Usually things are a lot more focused and straightforward in my job.’

‘True. But you’re here to learn, aren’t you? You do want to make a move out of Professional Standards. We do things differently here.’

‘You’re telling me.’

‘What I was going to say back at the coffee shop was that you lack breadth of vision. That’s the difference between your job and mine. And if you want to make a move, you’re going to have to learn to think in a different way. Yes, you could argue that you’ve solved your case. Or Annie has. We know who killed Bill Quinn and Mihkel Lepikson, and he’ll no doubt soon be in custody. There’s probably enough forensic evidence to put him away even if he doesn’t sign a confession. We also know that Quinn was bent, in thrall to Joosep Rebane, and through him to Warren Corrigan. For you, it stops there. That completes your chain of thought. But Rachel Hewitt hasn’t been found, and we have several leads on what might have happened to her. Now, you might worry about expenses and justification, but I’d pay my own hotel bill and airfare to stay here and settle my curiosity about what happened to Rachel and, with any luck, give her parents a bit of peace. That’s the difference between us.’

‘What? You’re a romantic, a knight in shining armour, a tilter at windmills?’

‘I’ve been called worse.’

‘I’ll bet. But isn’t it someone else’s job now?’

‘Probably. Technically. Officially. But I’m doing it. You can either come along with me, or go back to Eastvale and write your report.’

Banks ate some smoked eel. It was delicious. He had to admit that Erik had done them proud. Not only a reservation, but attentive service, a table for two in a quiet corner far from the kitchen and toilet doors. He must have told the maître d’ that they were VIPs. The restaurant was a joy, with its modern decor, dark orange walls, muted lighting and unusual food. Banks’s smoked eel came with potato cakes and a horseradish sauce, among other things. Joanna Passero’s artichoke soup came with pork crisps and rye bread.

‘What do you think about your precious DI Quinn, now you know a bit more about what happened?’ Joanna asked.

‘Bill Quinn let himself get compromised. He was a fool. He should have known to stay away from Larisa, that she was a honeytrap. It’s not the first time that trick’s been used. They caught him off his guard, just like Robert Tamm did at St Peter’s. Do I feel sorry for him? Yes. Do I condone what he did? No. There were other ways out.’

‘Like telling the truth?’

‘That’s one strategy. Not necessarily the best in his case.’

‘But whatever strategy he used, it got him killed.’

‘Yes. Like too many other people in this case. But we also have to think of the good ones left alive. Rachel’s parents. Erik. Merike. Larisa. Even Curly, if what Annie tells me is true about him wanting to go straight.’

They finished their starters and sipped some more wine, then the mains came: duck fillet for Banks and baked cod for Joanna. Much as Banks spent far too much of his time microwaving Indian takeaways, eating fish and chips on the move and munching on Greggs pies, he loved a fine meal when he got the chance. Joanna made sounds of delight at her first mouthful, then stopped to check her mobile. Whatever it was she saw, it made her frown.

‘What is it with that?’ Banks asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your mobile. I know people get obsessed with checking their email on the go, and all that — it makes them behave rudely at dinner parties — but you’re never off it. It’s as if you’re waiting for the announcement of the end of the world or something. What is it that’s so important?’

Joanna gave a sound halfway between a sniff and a snort. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, snapping the case and putting her mobile away. ‘It’s personal. Private.’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘None of your bloody business.’

‘Don’t you think we know each other well enough by now, even if no one could call us the best of friends? And if we’re working together, it is my business. It’s a distraction.’

Joanna raised her eyes, and Banks saw a vulnerability and pain in them that he had never noticed before. She must have realised because she quickly reasserted her usual ice-maiden manner. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Come on, Joanna.’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘My curious nature.’

‘So you can laugh at me, make fun of me?’

‘What? Why would I do that?’

‘You’ve been doing it right from the start.’

‘So what is it? Come on. Tell me. I promise I won’t make fun of you.’

Joanna toyed with her food, obviously trying to decide whether to tell him or not. In the end, she averted her eyes and said. ‘It’s my husband. I think he’s having an affair.’

‘So who keeps texting you?’

‘A colleague. I asked her if she’d keep an eye on him, see if anything unusual happened.’

‘And has it?’

She nodded. ‘The bastard.’

Banks could tell that she was welling up by the way she kept her eyes down on her food. He didn’t say anything for a while, but when he sensed she was in control again he rested his hand on her arm and said, ‘I’m sorry, Joanna. Really, I am.’

She looked at him then, and he thought she seemed surprised by his words and his tone. At least she didn’t jerk her arm away. ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘I should have seen it coming. He’s Italian. He’s always maintained that it’s perfectly OK for the husband to take a mistress. I feel such a fool. I always thought he was teasing, you know, but...’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve been trying to decide. I’ll have to have it out with him when I get back, of course, then I’m leaving him. We don’t have any children, so that’s one less thing to stand in my way. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear living like this. Some people might be able to put up with such behaviour, but I can’t do it. I’ve got a nice flat in Northallerton, I like it there, so I might as well just stay up north.’ She smiled. ‘I’d still like to work in some other unit. Maybe I’ll chase after your job.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Banks. ‘Do you still love him?’

‘What kind of a question is that?’ Joanna said nothing for a while, just stared down at the tablecloth. Then she spoke so softly that Banks could hardly hear her. ‘Yes.’

They ate on in silence, Joanna quaffing her wine rather quickly now, and needing a refill well before Banks. ‘So now you know everything about me,’ she said, when she was able to manage a cavalier, fuck-it-all tone in her voice.