Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

Banks had complained to her that when you’re trying to sell a Porsche, people either assume that you’re loaded already, or that you really need the money. Consequently they think they can get away with a quick deal at a low price. He wasn’t loaded, but neither did he need the money. He just wanted to sell the car. Annie suspected it might be because it still reminded him too much of his brother, whom it had belonged to, even though Roy Banks had been dead for some time now. Banks had never really got used to it. But even if he had sold it, he wouldn’t have bought a banged-up Ford Focus. He’d have probably gone for a Volvo, or even an Audi, she thought. He wasn’t exactly a Top Gear kind of bloke-he had driven an old Cortina until it practically fell apart, for crying out loud-but he wouldn’t be seen dead driving a car like this. She had a quick peek into the garage and, indeed, the Porsche was still there.

Which raised a question: Whom did the Focus belong to? Annie made a note of the number, then she dug in her bag for Banks’s front door key and put it in the lock. When it was open, she stood on the threshold and shouted, “Hello! Hello! Is anybody there?” There was no pile of letters on the floor, so she knew that someone must have been in since she was last there.

Nothing happened at first, then the music got quieter and the door to the entertainment room to her left opened. Out walked Tracy, carefully shutting the door behind her.

“Tracy,” said Annie. “I didn’t know you had a Ford Focus.”

“I don’t,” said Tracy. “I just borrowed it from a friend.”

“I see.”

Tracy did look different, but not that much, Annie thought. It was the haircut, mostly, a little punkish. She wore little or no makeup, perhaps a trace of pink lipstick, and was dressed in a simple outfit of blue jeans and a light blue sleeveless V-neck top, leaving an inch or two of bare midriff. The piercings weren’t extreme, just a ring at the edge of one eyebrow and a stud under her lower lip, like thousands of other young women. She did look older than Annie remembered, though, and there was a certain sophistication about her she hadn’t noticed before. Tracy also seemed nervous.

“Is something wrong?” Annie asked.

“No. What could possibly be wrong? What do you want? Nothing’s happened to Dad, has it?”

“No,” said Annie, shutting the door behind her. “Nothing like that. I said I’d water his plants and pick up the post while he was away, that’s all. How about a cup of tea or coffee or something?”

“Cup of tea?”

Annie gestured toward the kitchen. “Yes. You know, the little bag you put in a pot and add water to. In there.”

“Oh, right. Sure.”

Annie followed Tracy to the kitchen, noticing how she wasn’t entirely steady on her feet. Her voice had seemed a little slurred, too, her eyes unfocused, and her concentration didn’t seem what it normally was. Annie suspected drugs, or perhaps it was just booze. “Anyway,” she said, “it’s a stroke of good fortune finding you here. I was getting a bit worried about you.”

“Worried? Why?”

“Surely you must know about Erin, your housemate?”

“There’s still some coffee left in the pot. I don’t know how long it’s been there. Will that be okay?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Annie. “Plenty of milk and sugar, please.”

Even the milk and sugar didn’t disguise the bitterness of the burned coffee oils, but Annie sipped politely and leaned against the kitchen doorjamb. “It’s a nice evening,” she said. “Shall we go into the conservatory? That’s where the plants are, too. I still have to water them, unless you’ve done it?”

“Plants?”

“Yes, the ones I came to water. Green things in pots.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.”

Annie filled an empty jug by the sink and walked through to the conservatory. Tracy followed her. The room was a mess. Unwashed plates and cups sat on the low table along with half-full wineglasses, one on its side, sticky red wine drying on the glass surface. “Been having a party?” Annie asked.

“That. Oh, no. Just an accident. I was meaning to clean it up. Just haven’t got around to it yet.”

“Want some help?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it later. Do you want to sit down?”

“I think I will, if that’s okay.” Annie set her water jug on the table and sat. “I was saying, about Erin-”

“That’s nothing to do with me,” Tracy said quickly, biting on a fingernail. “I saw it on the news.”

“But you already knew what had happened before that, didn’t you?”

“How? What do you mean?”

“Rose told you when you got home from work the other evening.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. She said the police had been round, or something like that. She didn’t seem to know much.”

“You don’t seem very clear about it yourself.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing to do with me, is it?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I just came to get a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all. What’s wrong with that? I’m entitled. It’s my dad’s house.”

Annie held her hand up. “All right. Hold your horses, Tracy. Nobody’s saying you’re not. Did you come straight here after you left the house in Headingley?”

“Of course I did. Where else would I go?”

“It’s just that I got the impression you were rather concerned about Erin’s boyfriend. Jaff.”

“Jaff? But how do you…?” Tracy let her sentence trail off. “I should have known. You’ve been spying on me for Dad, haven’t you?”

“I had no idea you were here,” said Annie. “As I told you, I came to bring in the post and water the plants.” She cast her eyes over the various pots and hanging baskets. “It looks as if they could do with it, too.”

“I’m not very good with plants. They all seem to shrivel up and die if I go near them.”

“So I see.” Annie paused, and Tracy showed no interest in prolonging the conversation. Annie picked up the jug and began to water the plants. “Where is he, Tracy?” she asked casually, over her shoulder.

“Who?”

“You know who. Jaff. Is he here?”

“Here? Why would he be here? I told you, I came for a bit of peace and quiet.”

“Maybe you fancy him? Maybe you thought you’d help him hide out for a while, until the spot of bother he’s in passes over.”

“Bother? What bother? I don’t understand.”

“It was his gun Erin had, wasn’t it?”

“I know nothing about any gun.”

“It was used in a murder six years ago, Tracy. A young lad by the name of Marlon Kincaid. Ring any bells? We need some answers here.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Erin’s father’s dead. Did you know that?”

“Well, Jaff didn’t kill him. It was you lot who did that. The police.”

“Fair enough,” said Annie.

“Anyway, I liked him,” Tracy said in a soft voice. Annie thought she could see tears in her eyes. “He was always good to me, Mr. Doyle. I’m sorry he’s dead.”

“Look, I’m not here to throw blame about,” Annie said, “but I don’t think this is the answer, do you?”

“I haven’t done anything. You’d better go.”

“I know you haven’t done anything, but don’t you think it’s time you went back home? Maybe your friend needs you. Erin. Have you thought about her?”

Tracy bit her lower lip.

Annie stood up. “Okay, Tracy,” she said. “No more messing about. I know Jaff is here with you, and he’s wanted for questioning in the murder of Marlon Kincaid.”

“I’ve never heard of any Marlon Kincaid.”

“That’s probably a good thing. I’ll bet Jaff’s heard of him, though. Look, the only issue is, are you both going to come with me, peacefully, or do I have to send for a patrol car?”