Peter Robinson - Sleeping in the Ground

‘Did your wife know about the affair?’ he heard Annie ask.

‘She suspected that I was seeing someone else. I think she might have followed me once and seen us meet up.’

‘She never broached the subject with you?’

‘Rosie doesn’t work like that. She stores it all up until the dam bursts, and then there’s no stopping her.’

‘But she hadn’t reached that stage yet?’

‘No.’

‘Though you think she knew?’

‘Suspected.’

‘Boyd,’ Annie said. ‘This isn’t a personal inquisition into your morals. It’s a murder inquiry. Do you think Rosie knew enough about the affair, was angry enough about it, to harm Katie?’

‘Good God, no. She wouldn’t do anything like that. If anyone was going to suffer for it, it would have been me.’

‘OK. Where was she on Saturday?’

‘At home with the kids. Like I said, I had a business meeting. It was in Wakefield, by the way, and I can tell you the names of the clients. You can check.’

‘That might be useful,’ said Annie. ‘And we’ll need some corroboration of your wife’s whereabouts. Would anyone else have been there? Might she have taken the children shopping or to the playground? Would anyone be likely to have seen her?’

‘It’s possible. I’m sure someone would, but... oh, God...’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘You’re going to have to ask her, aren’t you? You’re going to have to tell her everything. I’ve lost Katie, and now I’m going to lose Rosie and the kids. Please can’t you—’

Banks couldn’t tolerate any more. He walked away from the window and left his office. He didn’t trust himself to stand there and listen to Farrow’s cringing self-pity. When he found himself out in the corridor, he didn’t know what to do, so he just stood at the far end looking out over the car park at the back of the station.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing like that when he heard his office door open and shut behind him. He turned to see Annie standing there with Farrow. A few seconds later, a uniformed constable entered from the stairwell to show Farrow out.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ Annie demanded, following Banks back into his office.

‘Don’t you start, Annie.’

‘What you do you mean, “don’t you start”? What the hell did you think you were up to?’

‘I was trying to push him,’ Banks said, sitting behind his desk.

‘You mean you seriously think he had something to do with the massacre?’

‘I’m not saying that. I—’

‘You were out of bounds, Alan.’ Annie’s tone softened. ‘No matter what you think of him, Farrow is a witness and a victim, not a suspect. You had no right to treat him like that. I don’t know what it was all about, what’s going on in your mind, but you were way out of bounds. What were you thinking of?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘He just pushed all the wrong buttons.’

‘Oh, bugger it, come here, you daft sod.’ Banks stood up and walked over to her. She took him in her arms and gave him a firm hug then held on to his shoulders and faced him.

Banks felt himself relax a little. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You’re right. I lost it in there. Is Farrow planning on making a formal complaint?’

‘No. He feels far too guilty for that. And I think I managed to calm him down after you’d left the office. In the end, he was more worried about what he was going to say to his wife when he gets home than about anything you might have said to him. You surprised me, though. You were cruel, Alan. I never thought of you as cruel.’

‘I suppose we can all act a little out of character at times. Forgive me?’

‘Of course.’ Annie went over to the coffee machine. ‘Want some?’

‘Please.’

‘Feeling OK now?’

‘Much better.’

Annie handed him the coffee and they sat down at the glass table again. ‘Farrow might be a creep,’ she said, ‘but he didn’t do it. Or his wife.’

‘I know that. It’s just...’

‘What?’

‘Oh, never mind.’

‘You never struck me as being the moralistic kind. I mean, he’s not the only married bloke to have an affair. I’ve been with a married man or two in my time, and you—’

‘It was once, before I came up here.’

‘I know. You did it, though, didn’t you?’

‘You’re saying people in glass houses...’

‘Or “let him who is without sin...” Pick your cliché.’

Banks laughed. ‘It’s a fair cop.’ He put his coffee cup on the table. ‘And thanks for the pep talk. I wasn’t being moralistic, really, though. I was trying to get his goat. I’m sorry, I just lost it. It won’t happen again. And now I think I’m going to go home and have an early night.’

‘Not if Ray has anything to do with it, you won’t,’ said Annie.

When Banks got home to Newhope Cottage later that evening, the rain was still pouring down, and Gratly Beck was close to full spate. Normally a steady, soothing trickle of water over the terraced falls outside his cottage, tonight it roared down the daleside, swollen with the flow of countless becks, burns and rills from higher up in the hills, flecked with foam that caught the light of the half moon like whitecaps out at sea. But the beck was deep and its banks were high. He knew he would be safe from flooding here, so far up the side of the valley, but Helmthorpe and The Leas below might have serious problems. It wouldn’t be the first time. The worst his cottage had ever suffered from protracted wind and heavy rain was a leak where the conservatory joined the older part of the building, which he had caulked the previous spring, and a little dampness had managed to seep its way through the thick stone walls to darken the bedroom wall in patches. After the previous winter, he’d had one of the local handymen around to fix a few gaps in the flagstone roof and spray the back wall with silicon, which was supposed to seal the porous limestone against the elements. The way things were going, he would soon find out whether it worked.

The cottage felt more welcoming than it had on Saturday night, with smoke coming out of the chimney, a light visible from the entertainment room and Ray’s ancient Honda Civic parked outside. As soon as Banks got inside, he could hear Billie Holiday singing ‘Lover Man’. Even though it was his own home, he tapped gently on the entertainment room door before entering, so as not to surprise Ray if he happened to be asleep or lost in thought.

‘Alan, nice to see you,’ Ray said, rising and shaking hands. ‘As you can see, I’m making myself at home. I do appreciate this. I’m not a particularly large man, but I must confess that in Annie’s place, I felt rather like Alice when she was ten feet tall after taking that pill.’

‘No problem.’ Banks dropped his keys on the sideboard beside an open bottle of Laphroaig. Ray must have bought it, he realised, as he hadn’t had any in the house for ages. Ray had also managed to light the wood stove, and the room felt warm and cosy.

‘Why don’t you join me?’ Ray said, pointing to the bottle. ‘Nightcap.’

Banks hesitated. He had lost his taste for the peaty whisky since he had come to associate it with a fire at the cottage, but he had tried a drop now and then over the past couple of years, and his tolerance was improving. Besides, after the day he’d had, he felt he needed a drink or two to help him unwind. He helped himself to a wee dram and topped up Ray’s glass.

‘ Slainte ,’ Banks said, clinking glasses.

‘ Slainte . Hope you don’t mind the music.’

‘Billie? Never,’ said Banks.

‘They said she could tell a story in a song, but as far as I’m concerned she can tell a story in just one note.’