Strange Affair

Mercedes frowned. “I don’t really know why he came,” she said. “He wanted to talk to me about a girl called Carmen and her baby, but I said I didn’t know her. Carmen sounds very Spanish, I know, but you also find it in other countries.”

“What did he say next?”

“He told me this Carmen was pregnant and he understood that she was selling her baby to me for adoption.” Mercedes frowned. “He said Gareth told him this was so.”

“Are you adopting Carmen’s baby, Mrs. Lambert?”

“No, of course not. That’s what your brother asked me. I didn’t understand why he would think such a thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, as I told your brother. Then a very strange thing happened.”

“What?”

“Little Nina cried, and I showed her to him and told him all about her, and Mr. Banks said he was sorry he’d made a mistake, and he left very quickly.”

“I’m sorry,” said Banks. “I don’t understand. Who’s little Nina?”

And then he heard it himself. A baby crying upstairs. Mercedes Lambert smiled. A few moments later, a na

“She is sick,” she explained to Banks. “This is what I told your brother. There is a problem with her heart. It is, what do you say? Con… con…”

“Congenital?”

“Yes. Congenital. And if she does not get a new one very soon, she will die.” Then her expression brightened. “But Gareth says we are high on the list. He has arranged with a clinic in Switzerland – the best in the world, he says – to be ready at a moment’s notice. So maybe my Nina will be lucky, yes?”

“Are you sure you have no intention of adopting another baby?” Banks asked, feeling his blood start to turn cold.

Mercedes smiled. “No. Of course not. Nina will have her new heart and she will become strong. I know it. Do you think so?”

Banks looked at Mercedes Lambert, saw the desperate hope in her face, and he looked at the pale face buried in the blankets. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, maybe she will.”

The train ride did A

When A

“I hear you’ve been in the wars,” Gristhorpe said, looking up as she entered.

A

“Congratulations,” said Gristhorpe.

“Anything new, Stefan?” A

“I was just telling the superintendent here that we got a quick match on the fingerprints found on DCI Banks’s door: Artyom Charkov. He doesn’t have a record but the prints match the body in the mortuary in London, the one who was shot this morning in the second raid. And they also match the partial we found on the door of Je

“That’s what got him shot,” said A

“Well, I’d have used something with a bit more stopping power than a twenty-two.”

“It’s just as well for the officer concerned that he didn’t. Anyway, it’s all a bit academic now he’s dead, isn’t it?” said A

Stefan looked disappointed.

“Oh, Stefan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle your efforts. There’s always the other one, Boris, the driver.”

“Essex technical support got his print from the crashed Mondeo,” said Stefan, suppressing a smile. “From inside the glove box.”

“Excellent. Things have been happening, then.”

“How’s Alan?” asked Gristhorpe.

“He’s doing okay, as far as I know, sir,” said A

The door opened behind A

“We’ve got him,” Susan said. “Cropley. He’s down in the custody suite under arrest for the murder of Claire Potter. All by the book. We’ve taken a DNA swab and it’s on its way to Derby. We’re also getting three DCs to do the motorway service stations with his photo. But the DNA itself will be enough.”

Templeton was beaming, too, A

Templeton gri

“Right, then,” said Gristhorpe. “Seeing as we’ve got two reasons to celebrate, who’s going for the beer?”

Banks worked most of it out on his drive back from

Quainton, but he still needed some answers. He tracked Gareth Lambert down at the travel agency on Edgeware Road, leaving his Renault parked outside. Lambert seemed surprised and more than a bit put out at being manhandled into the street as his staff looked on openmouthed, but he went without putting up a struggle.

Banks opened the passenger door and shoved him in. “Buckle up,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve got something to show you.” Banks made his way through the traffic down the side of Hyde Park to Chelsea Bridge, then across the river and along to the old Midgeley’s Castings factory. If Lambert realized where they were going or recognized the place when they arrived, he didn’t show it.

Banks pulled up on the weed-cracked concrete in front of the door and got out. He opened Lambert’s door and practically dragged him out. Lambert was heavier, but he was in poor shape, and Banks’s wiry strength was enough to propel him toward the factory door.

“What the hell’s going on?” Lambert protested. “There’s no need to rough-handle me this way. Roy’s brother or no, I’ll bloody report you.”

Banks pushed Lambert through the door and into the factory. Birds took off through the holes in the roof. The police had finished with the scene, and the chair and ropes were gone, but there were still bloodstains visible on the floor. Roy’s bloodstains. The lab had confirmed it. Banks stopped and shoved Lambert down on a pile of broken pallets and rusty, twisted scrap metal. Lambert groaned as something sharp stuck into his back.

“I’ll have your fucking job for this,” he yelled, red-faced, struggling to get up.

Banks put a foot on his chest and pushed him back. “Stay there,” he said. “And listen to me. This is where they brought Roy. You can still see his bloodstains here.” Banks pointed. “Look at that, Gareth; that’s my brother’s blood.”

“That’s nothing to do with me,” said Lambert, sitting up and rubbing his back. “I’ve never seen this place before. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re rambling.”