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Glende
2
Banks pulled up outside A
The man who answered his ring, John Billings, looked awful. Normally, Banks guessed, he was a clean-cut, athletic type, at his best on a te
‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Billings, turning on the gas fire. ‘I didn’t…’
‘It’s understandable,’ Banks said, leaning forward and rubbing his hands.
‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ Billings asked. ‘I mean, the police…?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Banks said. ‘Just some questions.’
‘Yes.’ Billings flopped onto the sofa and crossed his legs. ‘Of course.’
‘I’m sorry about what happened,’ Banks began. ‘I just want to get some idea of how. It all seems a bit of a mystery to the doctors.’
Billings sniffed. ‘You can say that again.’
‘When did A
‘About four in the morning. She complained of a headache, said she was feeling dizzy. Then she was up and down to the toilet the rest of the night. I thought it was a virus or something. I mean, you don’t go ru
‘But it got worse?’
‘Yes. It just wouldn’t stop.’ He held his face in his hands. Banks heard the hissing of the fire and the pellets of hail against the curtained window. Billings took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. At the end she was bringing up blood, shivering, and she had problems breathing. Then… well, you know what happened.’
‘How long had you known her?’
‘Pardon?’
Banks repeated the question.
‘A couple of years in all, I suppose. But only as a business acquaintance at first. A
‘That’s how you met her?’
‘Yes.’
Banks looked around at the entertainment centre, the framed Van Gogh print. ‘Who owns the house?’
If Billings was surprised at the question, he didn’t show it. ‘A
‘How long had you been going out together?’
‘Six months.’
‘Living together?’
‘Three.’
‘Getting on all right?’
‘I told you. We were going to get married.’
‘You say you’d known her two years, but you’ve only been seeing each other six months. What took you so long? Was there someone else?’
Billings nodded.
‘For you or her?’
‘For A
‘And they split up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any bitterness?’
Billings shook his head. ‘No. It was all very civilized. They weren’t married. A
‘What did the two of you do last night?’
‘We went out for di
‘I really can’t say. What did you eat?’
‘The usual. Egg rolls, chicken chow mein, a Szechuan prawn dish. We shared everything.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. We usually do. A
‘Then you came straight home?’
‘No. We stopped for a drink at the Red Lion. Got home just after eleven.’
‘And A
‘Yes. Fine.’
‘What did you do when you got home?’
‘Nothing much, really. Pottered around a bit, then we went to bed.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Yes. I must admit, I felt a little unwell myself during the night. I had a headache and an upset stomach, but Alka-Seltzer soon put it right. I just can’t believe it. I keep thinking she’ll walk in the door at any moment and say it was all a mistake.’
‘Did A
He shook his head. ‘She couldn’t stand Horlicks. No, neither of us had anything after the pub.’
Banks stood up. The room was warm now and his blotched raincoat had started to dry out. ‘Thanks very much,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘And again, I’m sorry for intruding on your grief.’
Billings shrugged. ‘What do you think it was?’
‘I don’t know yet. There is one more thing I have to ask. Please don’t take offence.’
Billings stared at him. ‘Go on.’
‘Was A
He shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no. Quite the opposite. She was happier than she’d ever been. She told me. I know what you’re getting at, Inspector – the doctor suggested the same thing – but you can forget it. A
Banks nodded. If he’d had a pound for every time he’d heard that about a suicide he would be a rich man. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Just for the record, this Owen, where does he live?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know. He works at that big garden centre just off North Market Street, over from the Town Hall.’
‘I know it. Thanks very much, Mr Billings.’
Banks pulled up his collar again and dashed for the car. The hail had turned to rain again. As he drove, windscreen wipers slapping, he pondered his talk with John Billings. The man seemed genuine in his grief, and he had no apparent motive for harming A
The marvellous fourth movement of the symphony began just as Banks turned into his street. He sat in the parked car with the rain streaming down the windows and listened until Otto Edelma