Aftermath

“Not yet.”

“The bastard killed De

“I know. And when a man’s partner is killed he’s supposed to do something about it, right? If you don’t, it’s bad for business, bad for detectives everywhere.”

Janet looked at him as if he were crazy. “What?”

Banks looked up at Bogart as Sam Spade. Clearly the posters were there for show, not as a result of any great passion for the films themselves, and his pathetic attempt at lightening things up fell flat. “Never mind,” he said. “I was just wondering what went through your mind.”

“Nothing. I didn’t have time to stop and think. He’d cut De

“What was it like?”

“I told you. A blur. I disabled the killer, handcuffed him to one of the pipes and then I tried to keep De

“What do you mean?”

“We’d been arguing, that’s all. Just before we got to the house. I told him his mole was probably cancerous. It was cruel of me. I know he’s a hypochondriac. Why did I do that? Why am I such a horrible person? Then it was too late. I couldn’t tell him I didn’t mean it.” She cried again and Banks thought it best to let her get it all out. It would take more than one tearful session to purge her of her guilt, but at least it was a start.

“Have you been in touch with the Federation?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it tomorrow. Talk to your rep. They’ll be able to help with counseling, if you want it, and…”

“Legal representation?”

“If it comes to that, yes.”

Janet got to her feet a bit more unsteadily and went to pour herself another drink.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Banks asked.

Janet poured herself a stiff measure and sat down again. “Tell me what else I should be doing, sir. Should I be going to sit with De

Banks realized that she had a point. He had felt that way himself more than once, and had even given in to the urge to go out on the town and pick a fight. It hadn’t helped. He would be a hypocrite if he said he didn’t understand plenty about finding oblivion at the bottom of a bottle. There had been two periods in his life when he had sought solace that way. The first was when he felt he was fast approaching burnout those last few months in London, before the transfer to Eastvale, and the second was more than a year ago, after Sandra had left him.

The thing was, people said it didn’t work, but it did. As a short-term solution, for temporary oblivion, there was nothing to match the bottle, except perhaps heroin, which Banks hadn’t tried. Maybe Janet Taylor was right, and tonight drinking was the best thing she could do. She was hurting, and sometimes you had to do your hurting by yourself. Booze helped dull the pain for a while, and eventually you passed out. The hangover would be painful, but that was for tomorrow.

“Right you are. I’ll let myself out.” On impulse, Banks leaned over and kissed the top of Janet’s head as he left. Her hair tasted of burned plastic and rubber.

That evening, Je

Working so closely with Banks had made Je

One of the reasons she had spent so much time away, she had finally admitted to herself after coming back from California this last time with her tail between her legs, was to get away from Banks, from the easy proximity to him that tormented her so much while she pretended to be casual about the whole thing, and much cooler than she felt. And now they were working closely together.

With a sigh, Je

Her main problem thus far, she realized, had been an almost complete lack of forensic and crime scene information, and without them, it was damn near impossible to produce a decent threshold analysis – an initial review that could serve as an investigative compass, help the police know where to look – let alone a more complex profile. About all she had been able to work on was the victimology. All this, of course, had given her detractors on the task force – and they were legion – plenty of ammunition.

England was still in the dark ages as far as the use of consultant psychologists and criminal profiling went, Je

The dark ages.

When it came right down to it, Je

Looking at pictures on a screen just didn’t do it for Je

There had been too many assumptions for Je