Strange Affair

“I see,” said A

“If you ask me,” Kate said, lowering her voice, “I think he’s married.”

That made sense, A

“No. I’m sorry.”

“How did they meet?”

“I don’t even know if I’m right about any of it,” said Kate. “My mother always said I have too much imagination for my own good.”

“Guess. Where might Je

“No, I’ve already told you she wasn’t like that. Besides, she was usually too tired when she got back from work. She often worked late at the center. I mean, she’d go for a drink or a meal with friends from work now and then, and maybe the two of us would go to the pictures once in a while. Then there was her friend Melanie.”

“Could it have been someone she met at work?”

“It might have been. That’s the most likely place, isn’t it?”

A

“I don’t know,” said Kate. “She just said she was stopping in. She did say she was expecting a phone call at some time, but she didn’t know exactly when.” Her face started twitching again as if she was about the cry. “Should I have known? Should I have stopped her?”

A

“But I feel so useless. Some friend I’ve turned out to be.”

“It’s not your fault. The best thing you can do is try to answer my questions as clearly and calmly as possible. Okay?”

Kate nodded but continued to sniffle and dab at her eyes and nose.

“This phone call came between half past ten and a quarter to eleven?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“What about Je

“Fine, as far as I know,” said Kate. “I mean, she didn’t visit them that often, but they live in Shrewsbury. You don’t when they’re so far away, do you?”

“No,” said A

“Of course,” said Kate. “I’ve got that one in my PDA. You know, in case of emergencies or anything. I never thought I’d need it for something like this.” She dabbed at her eyes again, fetched her shoulder bag and gave A

A

CHAPTER FIVE

Banks left his car parked in Cori

After he had finished at the post office, he dropped in at the first newsagent’s he saw and bought another packet of Silk Cut.

While he was paying he noticed one of the headlines in the evening paper and looked closer. A young woman, as yet unidentified, had been found shot dead in a car outside Eastvale, North Yorkshire. No doubt if he’d been on duty he would have caught the case, but as things were, it would be A

Banks lit a cigarette and started to walk. He had often done so when he worked on the Met, and sometimes it helped him sort out his feelings or solve a problem. Whether it did or not, he had always enjoyed walking around the West End at night, no matter how much it had changed in character since his early days on the beat.

Outside the pubs, knots of people stood clutching pint glasses, laughing and joking. In Leicester Square, jugglers and fire-eaters entertained the crowds of American tourists in shorts and T-shirts who milled around drinking water from plastic bottles.

It was a sultry evening and the square was bustling with people: long queues for the Odeon, metal barriers up, some premiere or other and everyone hoping to catch a glimpse of a star. Banks remembered doing crowd duty there once as a young PC in the early seventies. One of the Bond films, The Man with the Golden Gun, he thought. But that had been a cold night, not far off Christmas, as he remembered, he and his fellow PCs linking arms to keep back the onlookers as flashbulbs popped (and they were flashbulbs back then) and the stars stepped out of their limos. He thought he saw Roger Moore and Britt Ekland, but he could have been wrong; he never was much of a celebrity spotter.

Banks had loved going to the cinema back then. He and Sandra must have gone twice a week before the kids, if he was on the right shift, and sometimes, if he was on evenings or nights, they’d go to a matinee. Even after Brian was born they got a neighbor to babysit now and then, until undercover work made it too difficult for him.

These days, he hardly ever went at all. The last few times he’d been to see a film, there always seemed to be someone talking, and the place was sickly with the smell of hot buttered popcorn, the floors sticky with spilled Coke. It wasn’t so much like going to the cinema anymore as it was like hanging out in a café where they showed moving pictures on the wall. There was a new multiplex in Eastvale, an extension of the Swainsdale Centre, but he hadn’t been there yet and probably never would go.

Banks made his way into Soho. It was going on for nine now, still daylight, but the sun was low, the light fading, and he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since that wretched curry round the corner from Roy’s place. Here the streets were just as crowded, outdoor tables at the restaurants and cafés on Old Compton Street, Greek Street, Dean Street, Frith Street overflowing. A whiff of marijuana drifted on the air, mingling with espresso, roasting garlic, olive oil and Middle Eastern spices. Neons and candlelight took on an u

Banks made it to Tottenham Court Road before the electronics shops closed and after little deliberation bought a laptop with a DVD-RW/CD-RW drive. It was light enough to carry easily in a compartment of his briefcase, and it would do everything he needed it to do and more. It also didn’t break his bank account, still bolstered by the insurance money from the fire. He took out the manual and various extra bits and pieces, put them in his briefcase, too, and left the packaging in the shop, After that, feeling hungry, he headed back to Soho.

On Dean Street, Banks found a restaurant he had eaten at once before, with A