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“Oh, stop it!” A
Phil held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop.”
“Besides,” A
“Still stumped?”
“We don’t have a lot to go on. Even the rented car turned out to be a dead end. Literally. The man who rented it died six months ago.”
“Oh,” said Phil. “Then how…?”
“Don’t ask. All I know is it’s a real bloody headache, and it’s nice to take my mind off it even for a few hours. Christ, I even had to spend last night in a motel outside Redditch fighting off the attentions of two traveling salesmen from Solihull.”
Phil laughed. “Successfully, I hope.”
“Yes. I had Winsome with me. She can be quite fearsome when she wants.” A
The waiter returned with their credit card receipts to sign. A
“Ooh,” said A
“Come on,” Phil said. “My car’s just around the corner. Where did you park?”
A
“Leave it there, then. I’m perfectly okay to drive.”
And he was, A
“Look,” he said, “I’ll take you home, if you like. Or, if you want…”
A
“Well, you could come back to my place, if you like.”
“But how will I get to work in the morning?”
“Maybe you won’t. Maybe I’ll keep you there. My love slave.”
A
“Seriously,” he said. “I’ll drop you off there in the morning. I have to pick up the Turners to take them to London, anyway.”
“You’re going back down?”
“Have to.”
“Pity.”
“Work goes on. Anyway, how about it?”
“You’ll bring me back in the morning? You’ll do that?”
“Of course. Unless I decide to keep you prisoner.”
“Go on, then.”
“But I’m warning you. I know you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and I might take advantage of you.”
A
“Well, I’m sure we’ll find some way of keeping your mind off your work for a few hours more, at least.”
A
“Dad? I’m sorry to ring so late, but I just got back in.”
Banks glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. “Where’ve you been?”
“The pictures. With Jane and Ravi.”
“What did you see?”
“The new Lord of the Rings.”
“Was it good?”
“Brilliant. But very long. Look, Dad…”
Banks turned down the old Jesse Winchester CD he was playing and settled back in the armchair with his glass of Laphroaig, his used paperback copy of Ambler’s The Mask of Dimitrius open facedown beside him. The peat fire crackled and filled the small living room with its warmth, the acrid smell harmonizing with the taste of whiskey. He didn’t like the ominous tone of his daughter’s “Look, Dad.” “What?” he asked.
“I was talking to Mum earlier today,” Tracy went on.
“And?”
“She said she saw you. In London.”
“That’s right. I was down there on business.”
“She said she thought you were watching her. Stalking her.”
“I was doing no such thing.”
“Well, she says you were hanging around her house. In the rain.”
“It wasn’t raining. That started later.”
“Dad, she’s worried about you.”
“I don’t see why.”
“She thinks you’re becoming weird.”
“Weird?”
“Yes. Hanging around her house and all. It is pretty weird. You must admit.”
“I had a few questions I wanted to ask her.”
“About a case?”
“As it happens, yes. About an artist she once knew when she worked at the community center. It’s part of a case I’m working on.”
“The burning boats. Yes, I’ve read about it in the paper.” Tracy paused. “She didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, it’s true. What? Don’t you believe me? Do you think I’m getting weird in my old age?”
“Nobody said anything about old age.”
“Still… my own daughter grilling me.”
“I’m not grilling you. Can’t you see, she still cares about you?”
“She’s got a fu
“You scare her, Dad. She just can’t cope with you. You always seem so angry with her. She thinks you hate her. All she can manage is to go cold when the two of you talk to one another.”
Banks remembered that from their marriage. Whenever Sandra couldn’t deal with a situation emotionally, she would just sort of turn off. Sometimes she would even fall asleep in the middle of an argument. It used to infuriate him. “I don’t hate her,” he said.
“Well, that’s how she feels.”
“It’s a fu
“I don’t have any advice to give. And you’re not married anymore. That’s the problem. How’s your girlfriend?”
“Michelle? She’s fine.”
“Seen her lately?”
“No. We’ve both been too busy.”
“There you go, then.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dad, you’ve got to make time to have a life. Stop and smell the roses. You can’t just… Oh, I don’t know. What’s the point?”
“I stopped to smell the roses last summer,” Banks said. “But it didn’t last.” He remembered the two weeks of bliss he had spent on a Greek island, the sun, the light on white and blue planes of the houses straggling down the hill, scents of lavender, thyme, oregano, a whiff of dead fish and salt spray. He also remembered how restless he had felt and how, though it seemed a great wrench at the time, he was secretly pleased to feel himself being called back home to a case. And to the lovely Michelle Hart. How he wished she were with him tonight, but he wasn’t going to let his daughter in on his longings.
“That was because you came ru
“Tracy, Graham Marshall was an old friend of mine. How could I-”
“Oh, I know. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have come back. Of course I’m not. But remember the time before, when we were supposed to be going to Paris for the weekend, and you went off searching for Jimmy Riddle’s runaway daughter instead? There’s always something. Always will be. You just have to… I mean, you can’t solve the world’s problems single-handedly. You’re not the only detective in the country, you know. Sometimes I think you just use your job to hide yourself from yourself. And from everybody else.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, it’s too complicated to go into right now.”
“Quite the philosopher you’ve become. And here’s me thinking you were a history student.”
“You know what Socrates said: ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ ”
“Well, I wouldn’t examine it too closely, if I were you. You never know what you might find.”
“Oh, Dad. You’re just playing word games now.”
Banks felt the urge for a cigarette peak and wane. He took another sip of whiskey. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry for being facetious. It’s just been a long day. A long week, as a matter of fact. I haven’t had much sleep, and I’ve got a lot on my mind.”