Annie could tell that the crowd wasn’t happy with the way things had gone. They had wanted blood and had got merely the scent of it. God only knew what they would write now.
McLaughlin was also clearly not happy. On his way out of the door, he leaned toward Annie and Gervaise and said between gritted teeth, “Just what the hell was all that about? What do we know about Erin Doyle’s life in Leeds?”
“Nothing yet, sir,” said Gervaise. “We’ve hardly started our investigation yet.”
“The newspapers obviously have. I suggest you get a move on with it. Let’s bloody well find out what’s going on before the red tops get there, shall we? I want results, and I want them fast. I also want them first.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gervaise. When McLaughlin had gone, she turned to Annie and said, “In my office in an hour.”
This could be interesting, Annie thought. She had planned on going down to Leeds on her own after work to talk to Tracy Banks, anyway, but now the Leeds connection was an official part of the investigation. She should tell Gervaise that Erin Doyle and Tracy Banks shared a house; there was no doubt that she would find out soon enough, anyway. But Annie also thought that she owed it to Banks to keep his daughter out of trouble, if she was in any trouble, if that was at all possible. She decided to tread cautiously and keep her own counsel for the moment, at least until she had a better grasp of exactly what it was they were investigating.
OF COURSE, the inevitable had happened. Tracy and Jaff had stayed up most of the night, first drinking Banks’s Highland Park and smoking joints in the conservatory, laughing and playing Animal Collective, Fleet Foxes, and My Morning Jacket, then ransacking the DVD collection for something to watch. They had settled on one of the Jason Bourne films, basically just a long chase punctuated by close-combat fights and shoot-outs. Again, Jaff had chucked the DVDs he didn’t like on the floor, which was getting quite littered by then. Tracy remembered the jewel cases crunching and splintering under their feet as they stumbled toward the stairs. After that, things had got very blurry.
When Tracy awoke at about half past ten in the morning, she was lying naked under the duvet in her old bedroom, and Jaff was nowhere in sight. Her head ached, but if she tried, she could piece together most of what had transpired…
They had taken the bottle of whiskey upstairs to her father’s bedroom, and there she had tumbled onto the bed with Jaff. Soon he was kissing her and his hands were groping all over her body. She had struggled a bit and thought at one point she might have told him to stop because she didn’t feel well. She remembered that she felt weird about doing it in her father’s bed, and her stomach didn’t feel too good after all the whiskey and wine. But Jaff was urgent. Soon he’d got her blouse off, and his hand wandered down the front of her jeans. Then they were coming off, too, and…well, that was when she was sick.
She had managed to turn away just in time and do it over the edge of the bed. She had thought that would stop him, put him off, especially when she had to go and rinse her mouth and brush her teeth. But when she had come back, jeans all zipped up, blouse straight and buttoned, he had been lying there on his back stark naked, smiling and huge, and he had started all over again. Her head had still been spinning, and she hadn’t been able to find the will or the strength to stop him. Not that she had really wanted to. She didn’t want to be thought a tease, and she was quite flattered by his attentions. She had also felt a little bit better by then, and she had quite liked it; after all, she had fantasized about sex with Jaff often enough, had even kissed him on the dance floor. A lot of girls, Tracy knew, would have swapped places with her in the blink of an eye. And she was doing it in her father’s bedroom.
Tracy couldn’t really remember what it had been like, but she recalled that Jaff hadn’t taken long, despite the amount he’d had to drink. It had all been over in a matter of moments. Jaff had then fallen fast asleep, or passed out. When Tracy had been sure that he wasn’t going to wake up for a while, she had crept out of her father’s room and gone to the other bedroom, the one she used to sleep in when she visited. And that was where she woke up to bright sunshine and bird-song. She had forgotten to close the curtains. For a moment she panicked, not knowing where she was, then she realized. She also remembered what she had done and where her clothes were.
Tracy wandered back into Banks’s bedroom and got dressed. Jaff was nowhere to be seen, and the house was silent. After using the bathroom and taking some of Banks’s paracetamol, Tracy went downstairs, calling Jaff’s name softly. She found him in the conservatory curled up in one of the wicker chairs, a half-full glass of whiskey and an overflowing ashtray on the table by his side. He looked almost angelic, she thought-long eyelashes, moist lips slightly parted, making breathy, snuffling sounds. She felt like kissing him, but she didn’t want to disturb him.
Tracy made some tea and toast in the kitchen as quietly as she could, then she decided to set about tidying up. First, she took a bowl of water and a cloth upstairs to clean the sick off the bedroom floor-thank God it was wood and not a carpet-feeling herself flush with embarrassment-how could she?-then she moved down to the entertainment room. Not sure where to begin there, she wandered back into the kitchen to refill her cup with tea.
That was when she thought of her mobile, and she realized that while Jaff was asleep, she could probably get it back. It could be ages before he found out what she had done. Jaff had put it in his hold-all, she remembered. He was probably right about it being dangerous to use. She had heard about people being traced through their mobile signals-her dad had mentioned it more than once-and Jaff seemed to know what he was talking about. It would be nice just to have it with her, though. It would be a great comfort. And she would keep it switched off. Surely that could do no harm? Surely Jaff couldn’t possibly object to that, even if he did find out?
Tracy was just about to go over and open Jaff’s hold-all on the breakfast table when he emerged in the conservatory doorway, stretching, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Ah, well, Tracy thought, maybe later.
“Morning,” she said. “Cup of tea?”
Jaff grunted. Clearly not a morning person. Tracy made tea anyway. He drank it with milk and two sugars, pulled a face and told her he preferred coffee. She made coffee.
When he had poured his first cup, he said, “I’m starving. Is there anything left to eat?”
Tracy had checked both the fridge and freezer, not to mention the cupboards. There were a couple of tins of baked beans and some soup, but that was it. They ate cold baked beans from the cans.
“After this, we’ve got to go shopping if we plan on staying here,” Tracy said. “There’s absolutely nothing left to eat. We have to go to Eastvale.”
“How long did you say your old man’s going to be away?”
“Until next Monday. We’re all right for a bit. Have you had a chance to think things out yet?”
“Sort of.”
“And?”
“I reckon we should stay here as long as it’s safe,” Jaff said. “Say till the end of the week. We’ll let things quiet down a bit. It’s nice and isolated here, nobody to come around asking awkward questions. And nobody will think to look for me here. Even if someone does come, you can talk to them, tell them everything’s okay and send them packing. After all, it’s your dad’s house. You’ve got every right to be here, haven’t you? There’s even some decent music and movies. Not to mention the booze. I reckon we’ve lucked out.”
“But we can’t stay here forever,” Tracy argued, vague images in her mind of the further damage Jaff might do to her father’s home. She’d enjoyed last night’s careless abandon and wild freedom, but it couldn’t go on indefinitely.