Peter Robinson - Friend of the Devil

“About toyboys.”

Annie put her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t, did I?”

“You did.”

“But that’s terrible of me. I shouldn’t tell tales out of school.”

“What do you mean?”

“Another drink?”

“I’d better not. I’m driving.”

“I think I will.”

“It’s your house.”

Annie hurried into the kitchen and refilled her glass. It also gave her a moment to think and let her heart calm down. The last thing she wanted was Banks messing around in her personal life again like some knight in shining armor. She could handle the Eric situation herself, thank you very much. She didn’t need anyone to go and beat him up for her, or warn him off.

She sat down again and said, “What I said the other night. It was just… Look, if you must know, I’d had an argument with my boyfriend and I—”

“I thought you’d been out for dinner with Winsome?”

“Before that. I was angry and upset, that’s all. I said some things I should never have said. I regret them now.”

Banks sipped some wine and Annie could see that he was thinking, the frown line etched in his forehead. “Is that this toyboy you were talking about?” Banks asked. “Your boyfriend?”

“Yes. He’s young. Twenty-two.”

“I see.”

“We had a row, that’s all.”

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“It’s quite recent.”

“And you’re fighting already?”

“Well…”

“Maybe it’s the age difference?”

Annie jerked upright in the armchair. “What age difference are you talking about, Alan? The one between me and Eric, or the one between me and you? Don’t be a hypocrite; it doesn’t suit you.”

“Touché,” said Banks, gently putting his wine down on the glass table. There was a good mouthful left, and smooth legs down the side of the glass, Annie noticed. “So you’re not in any trouble?” he went on.

“No. Of course not. What makes you think that?”

“Everything’s okay? Nobody’s bothering you? Stalking you? Threatening you?”

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Just because I made one bloody silly mistake before, it doesn’t mean I need a big brother or someone looking out for me. I can manage my own life, thank you very much. Boyfriends and all.”

“Right, then.” Banks stood up. “I suppose I’d better go. Busy day tomorrow.”

Annie got up and walked with him to the door. She felt in a daze. Why had she lied to him, misled him so? Why had she spoken so harshly? “Are you sure you won’t stay awhile?” she asked. “Another half glass won’t do you any harm.”

“Better not,” said Banks, opening the door. “Besides, I think we’ve said all there is to say, don’t you? You take care of yourself, Annie. I’ll see you soon.” Then he leaned forward, pecked her on the cheek and was gone.

As she heard his car drive away, Annie wondered why she felt so sad, so much like crying. He hadn’t stayed long. Alice Coltrane was still on the CD player, only now she didn’t sound so calming after all. Annie slammed the door shut and said fuck over and over to herself until she did cry.

The market square had a different character at lunchtime, Banks thought as he walked toward the Fountain with Winsome, especially on a Friday when the weather was fine. All the pretty young girls from the banks and estate agents offices were out window-shopping, ID tags hanging from their blouses, having coffee and a sandwich with their boyfriends or a pub lunch in groups of three or four, laughing and talking about their weekend plans. The schoolkids descended en masse, shirts hanging out, ties askew, laughing, pushing and shoving, eating pies and pasties outside Greggs.

They found Jamie Murdoch behind the bar of the Fountain, and the pub was doing nice business. The menu was interesting, adding curries and Thai dishes to the usual burgers, fish and chips and giant Yorkshires stuffed with mince or sausages. Banks was hungry, but decided it would be best to eat elsewhere afterward, maybe the Queen’s Arms. Jamie had help both at the bar and in the kitchen, so he was able to take a quick break when Banks called him over to a corner table. The jukebox, or digital radio setup, was playing “Sultans of Swing.” The air smelled of curry sauce, smoke and hops.

“What is it this time?” Jamie asked, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“Just a few more questions,” Banks said.

“Questions, questions. I told your Mr. Templeton everything the other day. Besides, it says in the paper this morning that some ex-boyfriend probably did it.”

Banks had seen the article. Irresponsible journalism, he thought. Someone in the station had no doubt let it slip that they’d questioned a couple of Hayley’s ex-boyfriends and the story had grown legs and started running.

“I wouldn’t believe everything I read in the papers, if I were you,” Banks said. “The way you told it to DS Templeton, Hayley Daniels came in late with a group of rowdy friends—”

“They weren’t that rowdy.”

“Let’s say high-spirited, then. You’d already had some trouble with a gang from Lyndgarth who had wrecked the pub toilets.”

“That’s right.”

“So far so good. Hayley and her friends were the last to leave, right?”

Murdoch nodded.

“And that would have been about a quarter past twelve?”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do next?”

“I locked up.”

“As soon as they left?”

“Of course. I’ve heard about robbers busting in just as you’re closing up.”

“Very sensible,” said Banks. “Did you know where they were going?”

“Who?”

“Hayley and her friends.”

“Someone had mentioned the Bar None. It’s the only place left open at that time, anyway, except the Taj.”

“Right,” said Banks. “Did Hayley say anything about not going with them?”

“Not that I heard.”

“I understand she got stroppy with you.”

“Not really.”

“But she did mouth off when she found out the toilets were closed?”

“Well, she was upset, I suppose,” said Jamie, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “Why? I mean, it’s not important, is it?”

“It might be,” said Banks. “What did she say?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Gave you quite a mouthful, I heard.”

“Well, she wasn’t pleased. She might have said something about pissing on the floor.”

“The way I hear it is that you’re not exactly God’s gift to women, and here comes this snooty bitch telling you to get down there in the toilet on your hands and knees and clean it up or she’ll piss on your floor. How did it make you feel?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jamie said.

“But you didn’t get angry and follow her out to give her what for?”

Jamie edged back in the chair. “What do you mean? You know I didn’t. You’ve seen me on the cameras. It was as I said. I locked up, and then I spent the next couple of hours cleaning the toilets and replacing the bulbs, sweeping up the glass.”

“I understand your help didn’t turn up on Saturday,” Banks said.

“Jill. That’s right. Said she had a cold.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Not much choice, had I?”

“Did she do that often, call in poorly?”

“Once in a while.”

A group of office workers sat at the next table and started talking loudly. “Do you mind if we had a quick word with you in the back?” Banks asked.

Jamie seemed nervous. “Why? What do you want?”

“It’s all right,” Winsome assured him, “we’re not going to beat you up.” She glanced around at the busy pub. “It’s just more quiet and private, that’s all. We wouldn’t want the whole place to know your business.”