Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

Winsome studied the sketches. “I can see that you wouldn’t forget them in a hurry. Ugly customers. I wonder why they aren’t more concerned about people giving descriptions of them after a visit?”

“They rely on the implied threat that they’ll come back and take their revenge. Most of the people they deal with are the same sort of scum as they are, so they know that. Rose isn’t from their world.”

“Will they go after her? Should we offer her protection?”

“I don’t think so. She’s not important enough for that. She was a means to an end, whether they got what they wanted out of her or not. It’s my bet they’d have no further interest. They’ve moved on. They don’t care if we know what they look like or find their prints all over the house. They know that, for one reason or another, it won’t go any further. If the worst comes to the worst, they’ll have rock solid alibis. Do you have any leads beyond what happened at the cottage? I need to find this little gobshite who’s abducted my daughter and scrape him off my shoe. If you’ll pardon the crude talk.”

“I’ll pardon it this once, sir,” Winsome said, “because I know you’re upset.”

“Thank you.”

“One thing I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Go ahead?”

“About Tracy being involved. Are you going to call your family and let them know? Sandra? Brian?”

Banks thought for a moment and massaged the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. The caffeine and sugar rushes hadn’t lasted. He felt exhausted again, like lying down right here and now and curling up in the fetal position. Conversations hummed around him, but they were all meaningless drivel. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not yet, at any rate. The last thing I need right now is Sandra on my back, or even Brian running around trying to help. They’d only get in the way. Besides, as far as I know he’s on tour with the band somewhere.”

“But shouldn’t they be informed by you before they read about it in the papers or see it on the TV news? We can’t keep the details of what’s happened from the media forever.”

“I suppose they should. But why worry them at this point? Worst case scenario, I’ll tell them later. Best case, all goes well, and they’ll never need to know.”

“What about your mum and dad. They are Tracy’s grandparents.”

“They’re on a cruise,” said Banks. “They’re always on a cruise these days.”

Winsome shrugged. “It’s your decision. They’ll probably find out when they get back, anyway.”

“Probably. But that’s then, and this is now. What’s the latest?”

“I’m not up to speed,” said Winsome. “Remember, I got the airport detail.”

“Okay. Thanks for doing that, by the way. Let’s head for the station and see what we can find out. What’s my role to be in all this? I can hardly sit at home and twiddle my thumbs, but I doubt that Madame Gervaise will want me on the case.”

“She wants to see you about that as soon as possible,” Winsome said, “I’m sure she’ll find you something to do. And as far as sitting around at home is concerned, I think you’d better organize some alternative accommodation to twiddle your thumbs in as soon as possible”

Banks looked puzzled. “What? Why?”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten the protocol, sir, but your cottage is now a crime scene. It’s locked down. You can’t go home.”

BANKS MADE THE PHONE CALL TO ARRANGE FOR HIS accommodation on the way to Western Area Headquarters in the patrol car Winsome had arranged. Mrs. Haggerty was shocked by the recent shooting in the village. “In a policeman’s house, as well,” she said. “What are things coming to?” And she proceeded to tell Banks that the last, and only other, shooting they had had there was in 1942, when a local farmer mistakenly fired his shotgun at a tramp, thinking he was a German spy. The tramp suffered only minor injuries, and no charges were brought.

Luckily, the flat that she had let to Banks once before, when New-hope Cottage was being rebuilt after the fire, was vacant. An American couple had booked it, she said, but the husband had lost his savings and his job in the recent financial collapses over there, and they had had to cancel at the last minute. At least, Banks thought, he would be on familiar territory, and he did still have all the clothes and toiletries he had taken on holiday with him. There was a washer-dryer unit in the flat, he remembered, so he could have clean clothes again by tomorrow.

Western Area Headquarters seemed much more crowded than usual, but Annie’s shooting had cast a somber pall over the place. A number of officers nodded grimly to Banks as he walked in, and Winsome helped him carry his suitcase and hand luggage upstairs before heading for the Major Crimes squad room to check if there had been any developments.

When Banks opened his office door, he found that the space was already occupied. By this time, the shock and jet lag had eroded his patience to breaking point.

“What the hell are you doing snooping around my office?” he said, dropping the heavy suitcase and carry-on bag on the floor. “Get out.” Superintendent Reg Chambers remained seated behind Banks’s desk. “Welcome home,” he said. “Nobody told me you were coming in today, but now that you’re here we might as well have a little chat.”

Banks glanced around. Everything seemed as he had left it, as best he could remember, and he knew that he had locked his filing cabinets and drawers. There was a master key, of course, but Detective Superintendent Gervaise had that. And Chambers would never be able to guess his computer’s password. “I still want to know what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“My job, DCI Banks. I’m on an active investigation. That means I have the run of the station.”

“I don’t think so.”

Chambers waved his hand and stood up. “Mere technicalities,” he said. “Anyway, let’s not get off on the wrong foot. It’s the only quiet haven in the building. I needed a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all. Don’t worry, I haven’t touched anything. You can have it all to yourself again.” He picked up his folders from the desk. “I’ll go now.” Then he paused in the doorway. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Well, I would like a word with you… We could do it later, of course, but why not do it now, seeing as we’re both here? That is, if you’re up to it? I understand you’ve been on holiday?”

Banks walked over to the window and looked out over the cobbled market square. Reassuringly, it hadn’t changed. Then he turned and rested the backs of his thighs against the cold radiator. “Why do you want to talk to me?” he asked. “I wasn’t here. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Your name was mentioned. You know the people involved. You might be able to help.”

“I doubt it.”

“Even so…Look, I heard what happened to Annie Cabbot,” Chambers went on, a deep frown wrinkling his brow. “I’m really sorry. How is she?”

“Touch and go,” said Banks. He walked back over and sat in his chair, which was still unpleasantly warm from Chambers, and offered the superintendent the seat opposite. “Let’s do it now,” he said. He would rather have waited, but there was also a slim chance that he might pick up a useful scrap of information from a chat with Chambers. Besides, he wasn’t going to show the man weakness or tiredness; that was just the kind of thing Chambers fed on.

Chambers sat down and scratched his head. “Right, well, I suppose you must have some idea of what’s been going on around here in your absence?”

“I know,” said Banks.

“Yes, well, it’s my job to get to the bottom of it.”