Strange Affair

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I remember now. In the water.” She closed her eyes and seemed to drift off.

Banks leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the cheek, then said good night and went back downstairs.

“She’s in and out,” he told his father.

Arthur Banks had pulled himself together. “Yes,” he said. “It’s probably those tablets the doctor gave her.” He looked at Banks. “You said before you wished there was something you could do, and there is, you know. I’ve been thinking while you were up with your mother.”

“What’s that, Dad?”

“You’re supposed to be a detective, aren’t you? You can do your job and go back to London and catch the bastard that killed our Roy.”

Banks sat down, picked up his mug of tea and reached for a sandwich. “Yes,” he said. “You’re right. And that’s exactly what I intend to do first thing tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Late on Tuesday morning, after breakfast and a brief meeting with Brooke to review their progress so far, A

She wondered what Banks was up to as she waited for a taxi. She hadn’t tried to ring him again the previous evening, deciding it was probably best to leave him and his parents in peace. From what she could remember Banks telling her, they had doted on Roy. And even though he and Roy hadn’t been close, she knew he must be distraught. Though she wasn’t unduly worried about him, he had been depressed lately, and something like this could push him over the edge. She would like to talk to him, anyway, to see him, if only to reassure herself and offer her condolences. A taxi pulled up and A

“King’s Cross, please,” she told the driver.

“Right you are, madam.”

They had hardly got over Lambeth Bridge when her mobile rang.

“A

“Dave. What is it?”

“Thought you might be interested. I’ve just got the pathologist’s report on Roy Banks. Can you talk?”

“It’s okay,” said A

“Fair enough. Bottom line is the shot to the head killed him outright. It’s a twenty-two-caliber bullet, just like the one that killed Je

“Anything on time of death?”

“He’d been in the water about forty hours. Had to have been to get in the state he was and end up on that patch of shingle, so the tide experts tell me.”

“So it can’t have been the same killers.”

“No. They couldn’t possibly have got back from Yorkshire in time.” Brooke paused. “DCI Banks isn’t going to like hearing this, but it also appears that his brother was tortured before he was shot.”

“Tortured?”

“Yes. There’s evidence of serious bruising to the body and cigarette burns on the arms and soles of the feet. Some of the fingernails have been pulled out, too.”

“Jesus,” said A

“Or wanted to know how much he knew, or had given away.”

“Either way, you’re right. Alan won’t like that at all. The press-”

“They’re not going to find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not from us. We’re keeping this to ourselves. All the press will be told is that he was shot. That will be enough for them. I can see the gun-crime editorials right now.”

“True enough,” said A

“Just a couple of things,” said Brooke. “Remember the digital photo that came through on Roy Banks’s mobile?”

“Yes. Alan mentioned it to me.”

“As we suspected, it came from a stolen phone. Technical support didn’t have much trouble enhancing the image. They’ve got all sorts of fancy software that can filter and stretch and make predictions based on pixel statistics. The upshot is, though, that it doesn’t tell us a hell of a lot. We still can’t be absolutely certain whether the man in the chair is Roy Banks. They did manage to get something from the wall in the background.”

“What?”

“It looks as if there were two rows of letters, or words, stenciled on the rough brick. The first ends in NGS and the second in IFE. We’ve no idea how long the lines were or how many words. We’re getting a list of all abandoned factories in the Greater London area, and the experts are working on identifying some of the rusted machines. It might help figure out what sort of a factory it was. If the tide experts can come up with a general idea of where Roy Banks might have been dropped in the river, we should be able to put it all together and pinpoint where the murder took place.”

“That sounds promising,” said A

“We’ve turned up a couple of iffy names from his business correspondence. Oliver Drummond and William Gilmore. Ever heard of them?”

“No,” said A

“Well, they’re definitely in our bad books. The first one’s been involved in a couple of frauds and we think the second’s been ru

“What about the men in the photograph DCI Banks gave you?”

Brooke paused. “Gareth Lambert,” he said. “He’s got no form. The other one we don’t know.”

“Doesn’t it seem important, though? Roy Banks did think it necessary to take and then hide the photo. Maybe blackmail was involved?”

“Give us time, A

“Okay, Dave. Hold your horses. I was only trying to be helpful.”

“I’m sorry, I know. Only we’re stretched to the limit.”

“I understand. Best of luck, then, and thanks for bringing me up-to-date. I’ll see what’s happening up north and probably be back in a day or so. Keep in touch?”

“Absolutely. Oh, by the way, our artist’s finished with Seaton now. The impression doesn’t look bad. Want a copy?”

“Thanks. It might be useful.”

“I’ll get it faxed to you.”

The traffic slowed to a crawl as the taxi got closer to the chaotic and seemingly endless construction of the Cha

About three minutes before the train was due to set off, a decidedly nervous a

Everyone sat there for a moment, stu