Not Safe After Dark (50 page)

In the Queensgate Centre, Banks bought an expensive golden anniversary card and some gold candles, then he browsed around for a while and picked up a CD he thought Kay would enjoy listening to
on their way to dinner. It was one oldie he didn’t have, and he had been aware of the gap in his collection for some time.

He looked at his watch. Four o’clock. He thought he just had time for a quick walk by the river before driving back to his parents’ house.

As he walked down Bridge Street past the Magistrates’ Court and the police station, he realized that he hadn’t been able to put Geoff Salisbury out of his thoughts completely.
Something about the man was still nagging away at him. Mrs Green had been partly right; of course he felt guilty that Geoff was doing all the things for his ageing parents that a good and dutiful
son ought to be doing. But also, as the astute Mrs Green had realized, there was more to it than that. If nothing worse, he certainly got the impression that Geoff Salisbury was a petty thief.

He glanced towards the old Customs House with its light on top to guide the ships navigating the River Nene, then he made his way down to the footpath that ran along the Nene Way. There he found
a bench and, away from the crowds, took out his mobile and phoned the detectives’ room back at Eastvale. DI Annie Cabbot and DC Winsome Jackman were on weekends at Western Area HQ, and it was
Annie who answered.

‘DCI Banks, what a pleasant surprise. Can’t leave us alone for a minute, can you, sir?’

‘I take it you’re not alone in the office?’

‘That’s right, sir. Just Winsome and I, as per the duty roster.’

‘Everything all right?’

‘Fine. Business as usual. Couple of fights after closing time last night and a sexual assault on the East Side Estate. We’ve got a man in for questioning.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Honestly, we’re on top of it. Relax. Enjoy yourself.’

‘I’m trying, Annie, I’m trying. Actually, I wasn’t calling to check up on you. I’m sure everything’s under control. I need you to do a little detective work
for me.’

‘Detective work?’

‘Yes. I want you to check on a name for me. See if you come up with anything.’

‘I don’t believe it. Even at your parents’ golden wedding anniversary you’re still on the job?’

‘You know the rules, Annie, we can’t ignore wrongdoing whether we’re on or off duty.’

‘Oh, what a load of bollocks. OK. Go ahead.’

Banks gave her Geoff Salisbury’s name and address, along with the number of his Fiesta, which he had memorized, for good measure.

‘What’s it about?’ Annie asked.

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Banks. ‘Probably nothing. Just a suspicious character in the neighbourhood. I want to know if he’s got form, first of all, then anything
else you can dig up on him.’

‘Will do. Where can I get in touch with you?’

‘Call my mobile number. I’ll leave it switched on.’ Banks didn’t want the call arriving at his parents’ house. ‘If there’s no answer, don’t worry.
Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

‘OK. Will do.’

Feeling vaguely guilty, though he had done nothing to feel in the least bit guilty about, Banks put the phone in his pocket and walked back towards his car.

10

Bath water was
always at a premium, even now they had a house with a real bathroom, and Banks had to be careful not to use all the hot water. After a short soak and
a shave, he was ready. Not expecting to be going out on a date, he hadn’t brought a great selection of clothes with him, so he had to settle for some casual grey cotton trousers and a blue
button-down Oxford shirt. He first checked the pockets of his sports jacket for car keys and wallet, then slipped in the copy of
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
he had found in his bookcase
before he went downstairs.

Annie hadn’t rung back yet, and given that it was past seven on a Saturday evening, Banks guessed she probably wouldn’t until tomorrow. He certainly didn’t want his mobile
ringing in the restaurant, so he turned it off for the evening. There was no real urgency about the matter, anyway; he just wanted to know if Geoff Salisbury had form.

‘Here,’ his mother said, ‘you’d better take a key. You’ll probably be late back.’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Banks.

‘Take one anyway. I don’t want you hammering on the door waking us up at some ungodly hour in the morning.’

Banks pocketed the key. ‘We’re only going out for dinner.’

‘And be quiet when you do come in,’ his mother went on. ‘You know your father’s a light sleeper.’

The only thing Banks knew was that his
mother
had always complained of being a light sleeper, but he said nothing except goodnight and that he wouldn’t be late.

11

Kay came to
the door in a long, dark, loose skirt, white blouse tucked in the waistband, soft suede jacket on top. Banks complimented her on her appearance, feeling
for all the world like that awkward teenager taking her to the ABC to see
Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.
The film had only exacerbated his teenage angst about living in a provincial
town – and a ‘New Town’ at that – but the music, mostly by Traffic and the Spencer Davis Group, was as good as it got and, what’s more, a young and lovely Judy Geeson
starred in it.

The main attraction of the evening, of course, had been Kay Summerville.

There, on the back row with the other would-be lovers, Banks had somehow found the bottle to put his arm around Kay, and she hadn’t seemed to mind. After a while, though, his arm had
started to ache like hell, then he had felt it going numb, but he was damned if he was going to remove it after all the courage it had taken to put it there in the first place. Some of his school
friends had told him that they had unbuttoned their girlfriends’ blouses and felt their breasts in that very cinema, but Banks hadn’t the nerve to try that. Not on their first time out
together.

On their way home, they had held hands and necked for a while in the bus shelter, and that was as far as things had gone that night. Banks remembered it all vividly as Kay arranged herself next
to him in the car: the warm, slightly hazy evening smearing the city lights; noise from a nearby pub; the fruity, chemical taste of her lipstick; the softness of her neck just below her ear; the
way it made him tingle and turn hard as he touched her; the warmth of her small breasts crushed against him.

‘Any ideas?’ Kay asked.

‘Ideas? What ideas?’

‘About where to go. I’m almost as much a stranger to these parts as you are.’

‘Oh, that. I thought I’d just drive out Fotheringhay way. It’s not too far, and we ought to be able to find somewhere decent to eat.’

Kay laughed. ‘It’ll probably be called the Mary Queen of Scots or something.’

‘She certainly did get around, that woman.’

‘Didn’t have much choice, did she? What a miserable existence.’

‘Never wanted to be royalty?’

Kay shook her head. ‘Not me. I’m happy being a commoner.’

Banks slipped the Blind Faith CD he had bought that afternoon into the stereo and Stevie Winwood’s ‘Had to Cry Today’ came out as crisp and heart-rending as the day it was
cut.

‘That’s not—’ Kay began, then she put her head back. ‘My God, I haven’t heard that in decades. You still listen to this sort of stuff?’

‘A lot of old sixties and early seventies stuff, yes,’ said Banks. ‘I reckon those eight or nine years or so between “Love Me Do” and the time everyone died
produced about the best rock we’ll ever hear.’

‘That’s a very sweeping statement. What about punk?’

‘Too much noise and not enough talent. The Clash were all right, though.’

‘Roxy Music? Bowie? REM? The Pretenders?’

‘There are exceptions to every rule.’

Kay laughed. ‘And what else, these days?’

‘I’m a hip-hop fan, myself. What about you?’

Kay nudged him in the ribs. ‘Seriously.’

‘Mostly jazz and classical. But I still listen to a fair bit of rock and folk: Sheryl Crow, Lucinda Williams, Beth Orton.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t listen to much at all these days,’ said Kay. ‘Don’t have the time. I have the radio on sometimes while I’m in the bath, but I hardly
notice what’s being played. I suppose if I had to pick something I’d choose a string quartet or some sort of chamber music. Schubert, perhaps.’

‘Nothing wrong with old Franz. What about this place?’

By the time the band had got to ‘Can’t Find My Way Home’, one of Banks’s favourites, he had wandered off the main road, and they were passing through a small village of
grey stone, thatched cottages clustered around a broad green. Lights shone behind curtains, and here and there a television set flickered. The pub was not called the Mary Queen of Scots but a far
more lowly Fox and Hounds. Banks parked the car out front and turned off the music.

Banks and Kay ducked as they walked under the low beam of the door. Already the place was busy, emanating that rosy glow of a village pub popular with the city crowd. They went up to the bar,
where Banks ordered a pint of bitter and Kay a vodka and tonic, then a young girl, who looked no more than about sixteen, seated them in the dining area and pointed out that the evening’s
menu was written on the blackboard by the window. Just one glance told Banks they’d come to the right sort of place: a wide selection of real ale and good food beyond basic pub fare, but
nothing too ambitious. The noise level was perfect, only the buzz of conversation from other tables, the thud of darts in the board at the opposite end, sometimes accompanied by a mild oath or a
cheer, and the sounds of the cash register.

‘Cheers,’ said Banks when they’d sat down and had a good look at the blackboard. ‘To – to—’

‘To times gone by,’ said Kay.

‘To times gone by.’

They clinked glasses and each took a sip. Banks felt the need for a cigarette, partly from nerves and partly from habit – he
was
in a pub, after all – but he rode out the
craving and soon forgot about it.

‘Do you remember that concert?’ he asked.

Kay’s eyes sparkled. ‘Of course I do. Well, not so much the music . . . I mean, if you asked me I couldn’t tell you what they played or who else was on . . . but the occasion .
. . yes, how could I forget? My mother wouldn’t let me out of the door for a week afterwards, except to go to school.’

Banks laughed. ‘Mine, too.’

On 7 June 1969, earlier on the day Kay had bought
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
at a second-hand book shop on Charing Cross Road, Banks and Kay had taken the train to London for the free
Blind Faith concert in Hyde Park. Through a combination of circumstances – partly to do with going off to smoke dope in a flat in Chelsea with some people they met – they had missed
their train back and ended up getting home very early the following morning. Needless to say, parental recriminations had been severe.

‘So,’ said Kay, ‘tell me about the last thirty years. I suppose you’re married? Children?’

‘Two children: one girl at university, and one boy in a rock band. And don’t say it serves me right.’

Kay laughed. ‘Heaven forbid. Maybe he’ll make enough money to keep you in your old age.’

‘That’s what I’m banking on.’

‘What about your wife?’

The waitress came over, notepad in hand. ‘Have you decided yet?’

Banks glanced at Kay, who nodded and ordered the sole and salad. Banks went for venison medallions in port and mushroom sauce.

‘More drinks?’

Banks looked at his half-full glass and shook his head. Kay asked for a glass of white wine with her meal.

‘You were saying?’ Kay went on when the waitress had gone away. ‘About your wife.’

Banks paused. ‘I’m divorced.’

‘How long?’

‘Two years. She’s already remarried.’

Kay whistled. ‘That’s pretty fast. Usually you’d expect some sort of . . . well . . . I don’t know . . .’

‘Period of mourning?’

‘That’s not the term I was looking for, but I suppose it’ll do.’

‘It took me by surprise too. I can’t say I’m in any hurry to get married again.’

‘Is there someone?’

Banks thought of Michelle and Annie, and experienced another pang of guilt as he said, ‘No one serious. It’s too soon for that.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You?’

‘Me? What?’

‘Are you still married?’

‘Not for the past five years.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You needn’t be. He ran away with his secretary.’

‘That must have been tough.’

‘At the time, yes, I’d say it was a bit of a blow to the old self-esteem. She was much younger than me, of course. But I’m over it now.’

‘Someone new?’

‘No one special.’ Kay smiled and gave a slight blush as she picked up her glass and sipped. It was the same smile and blush Banks remembered from all those years ago when he had
first asked her out. What had happened to them? he asked himself. Why had they split up? But he knew the answer: it had been his fault.

Their meals arrived and Kay’s glass of wine soon followed. Banks stuck with his one pint, as he had to drive. ‘How are you coping about your mother?’ he asked, after they had
both eaten a couple of mouthfuls.

‘Not bad. I think. I’ve got most of it done except the cleaning.’ She smiled. ‘Never was my strong suit, not even in my own home. I’ll probably do it tomorrow.
Anyway, a local dealer’s coming to take away the furniture on Monday morning. Didn’t offer much for it, but what the hell . . . The rest is already packed and ready to go to my
house.’ She shook her head. ‘It was difficult going through someone’s life like that. Your own mother’s memories. Do you know, I found letters to her from a young man
– this was before she and Dad met, of course – but they were love letters. Quite spicy, too, one or two of them.’

‘It
is
hard to imagine your parents having lives of their own, isn’t it?’

Kay nodded. ‘There was lots of other stuff, too. Old photos. Me when I was a kid at the seaside. Letters from me, too, when I was at university. Full of energy and ambition.’ Tears
glistened in her eyes.

‘And now?’

Kay wiped away the tears. ‘Oh, I suppose I’m still ambitious enough. I work practically all the hours God sends. I know I neglected Mum, especially after Dad died.’ Banks
remembered hearing that Kay’s father had been killed ten years ago in a car accident, an accident her mother survived. It had been the talk of the estate for weeks, so his mother had told
him. Kay laughed and made a dismissive gesture. ‘I don’t know, maybe there’s something Freudian about it – I always was Daddy’s little girl – but my career
really started to take off around then, too. Life was exciting at last: lots of travel, parties, financial success. I hardly ever made time to come home and help Mum, even when she was ill. For
crying out loud, I was in Zurich when she died. I barely managed to get back in time for the funeral. Some daughter. Some mother, too. Even my kids say they never see me.’