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Oh, why, she told herself, after ru
IT HAD been a useful meeting, Banks thought, as he tossed his briefcase on his computer desk, picked up the post and hung his coat up on the rack behind the door, but he still felt that he lacked a coherent picture of recent events. No defining pattern had emerged from the vast collection of data and pooling of ideas.
Vic Manson’s contribution had probably been the most valuable: the identification of the man who had threatened Alex Preston. He would see the complete file in the morning, but he already knew the man’s name was Ronald Ta
Banks walked through the hall passage to the kitchen. There was a small dining-table-cum-breakfast-nook that could seat four, in a pinch, and a TV on one of the shelves on the wall beside it, where he usually watched the news or listened to the radio as he drank his breakfast coffee. He flicked on the remote, found nothing of interest and switched it off again, then he poured himself a glass of wine and sat at the table in silence.
The post was uninteresting, apart from the latest issue of Gramophone, which he flipped through idly as he drank. Then he realized he was hungry again. The only thing he had to eat in the fridge was some leftover pizza with pork, apple and crackling saved from the quick lunch he and A
The headache that Banks had first felt during the meeting began to get worse when he concentrated on thinking about the case. He left his wine for a moment and went into the entertainment room to pick some music, finally settling on Agnes Obel’s Aventine. The gentle, repetitive piano figures and cello and violin accompanying her soaring voice would soothe him better than paracetamol.
But even with the music playing, he felt restless; random thoughts continued to swirl around his mind, and his head throbbed steadily. He thought of breaking the pledge and ringing Oriana to ask if she wanted to meet up for a quick drink, but soon changed his mind. They had a great relationship, he felt, as long as neither of them tried to push it too far. Right now, even if her body was still in Eastvale, her mind would already be in Australia.
He could always wander down to the Dog and Gun, he supposed. There was bound to be someone he knew in there, maybe even Pe
Banks had just started attempting to remove the cellophane wrapping when his phone rang. It was Joa
“Alan, I think I might have something for you.”
Banks put the DVD aside, picked up his wine and sat down. “Fire away. Every little bit helps right now.”
“I can’t be specific about visits to the hangar, or anything like that, but basically we have someone on our radar who’s come off or on the A1 at Scotch Corner or Darlington.”
“It’s a start.”
“He made a visit to the area on the Sunday in question. We’ve had our eye on him for a while—Operation Hawk, that is. He’s involved in international investments, but he’s often seen visiting rural areas. He also has a lot of overseas contacts, Eastern European in particular. Some of them are not entirely wholesome. Frequent traveler to the Balkans and Baltic states. Knows all the palms to grease. He calls himself Montague Havers, but his real name’s Malcolm Hackett.”
“Maybe he’s expecting a knighthood for services to crime?” Banks suggested. “I think the ‘sir’ would go better with Montague, don’t you?”
Joa
“What time did he leave the A1 on Sunday?”
There was a pause as Joa
“That’s not far north of Eastvale or Drewick, but it’s a bit late for what we’re looking at,” Banks said. “Still, he wouldn’t be the trigger puller. If he’s southern based, the odds are he’s one of the top brass and would want to keep himself as far away as possible from the rough stuff. And if for some reason he had to get there from London in a hurry, maybe he was there for the mopping up. Do you know when he set off back?”
“He entered via the Catterick junction at 3:05 on Tuesday afternoon.”
“Tuesday? That’s just after Caleb Ross’s van went over the pass. Anything definite on Mr. Havers?”
“No. That’s the problem. The NCA are working with us on this, too.”
“Can I talk to him?”
Joa
Banks laughed. “As if I would. Thanks, Joa
“He works out of an office building just off the Euston Road. That dodgy part to the north between St. Pancras and Regent’s Park.” She gave Banks an address. “Apparently he used to be something in the City back when the Conservatives took away all the trading restrictions in the eighties.”
“What a coincidence. Just like John Beddoes. How does rural crime come into it?”