Banks strode across the cobbled market square and started to climb the hill that wound up to the Norman castle overlooking the river Swain. It was a fine day for a walk, and the fresh air and exercise helped clear his foggy mind. On his way he passed the burgundy facade of the Café de Provence, where he had enjoyed his first date with Sophia. It seemed so long ago now, but it had only been last March. So much had happened in a mere six months. Now this: thrown straight back to work in the thick of a crisis. The only thing to do was to carry on.
He turned off Castle Hill onto Lamplighter’s Wynde, just past the café, and looked for number seven. It was a narrow cobbled street which wound back down to York Road in a steep curve, not even wide enough for cars, and the limestone terrace houses there were among the oldest in Eastvale, dating back in their foundations to Norman times, when the castle was built. In later years, they had been wealthy local merchants’ houses, and now they were a tourist attraction and a source of accommodation. Like many houses on the street, the one where Erin was staying had originally consisted of two separate dwellings, which had been knocked into one. The doorway was low enough that Banks had to be careful walking through it, but inside he found a greater sense of space, and far more light, than he had expected.
The landlady inspected his warrant card and pointed upstairs to where Erin was staying. Room 5. She called after Banks as he walked toward the stairs. “She hasn’t been out once, poor thing,” she said. “And she won’t eat. She just stays up there in her room fretting all day long.”
“Where is Ms. Yu?” Banks asked, thinking he should talk to the Family Liaison officer before he talked to Erin.
“She’s out.” The landlady lowered her voice. “I think she’s visiting the poor girl’s mother.”
Banks made sympathetic noises and carried on up the narrow creaking flight of stairs. The landing wasn’t quite flat, as in so many of these old houses. One of the floorboards wobbled, and the walls were out of true. Miniature watercolors of local landscapes hung on the flock-patterned walls, and Banks recognized Hindswell Woods, Lyndgarth village green, Eastvale Castle at sunset, and the little stone bridge in his own tiny village of Gratly.
He knocked on the door, heard nothing, then knocked again. “Erin?” he called. “Erin, it’s Alan, Alan Banks. Can I come in?”
Nothing happened for a few moments, then the door swung slowly open, as if of its own accord, on squeaky hinges. Erin, who must have got up to open it, had gone back to sitting on the window seat staring out at the view, her head turned. Banks shut the door behind him and sat on the only chair by the small writing desk. The room was stuffy, the window shut tight.
At first he didn’t speak, leaving an opening for Erin to have the first word, but she kept her gaze averted and her mouth closed. “Erin,” he said finally. “I’m so sorry about your dad. He was a good mate.”
At first Erin said nothing, but Banks thought he noticed her head move slightly. Then, in a small voice, she said, “It was my fault, you know. It was all my fault.”
“I don’t think-”
“You weren’t here! You don’t know!” The sudden fury of her reaction stunned Banks. “You weren’t here,” she said again, quieter this time, as she stood up to face him, her face streaked with tears, hands curled into tight fists.
“I’m so sorry.”
Her body relaxed and her shoulders slumped. She gave him a sad glance. “Oh, I’m not blaming you. That’s not what I mean. How could you know? But I was there. I was the one who…I…”
There seemed only one thing to do. Banks got up, moved forward and took Erin in his arms. At first she stiffened and resisted, then she went limp and threw her arms around him, holding on for dear life, and started to sob convulsively. When she managed to take control of herself she broke away, embarrassed, and took a tissue from the box on the bedside table to wipe her face. “Look at me,” she said. Then she turned to face Banks again. “I must be a sight. I am glad to see you. Really. It’s been awful. Nobody’s been to see me except Patricia. She’s nice, but it’s not the same. Nobody understands. I’ve got nobody to talk to.”
“What about your mother?”
Erin started to bite her thumbnail. Banks noticed that all her fingernails were chewed into ugly half moons, raw and bloody around the edges.
“Erin? I know you must be angry with her for what she did, but she is your mother.”
“She reported me to the police.” The anger was gone, replaced by disbelief and pain. “How could she do that? How could my own mother do that when she knew I’d go to jail?” She looked directly at Banks, her blue-gray eyes disconcerting. “Would you do that? If it was Tracy?”
“I don’t know what I’d do,” Banks said. “The law against handguns is there for a good reason.”
“But she’s my mother.”
“She was concerned,” Banks said. “She didn’t know what to do. And she wasn’t thinking about the consequences. She certainly didn’t intend you to go to jail.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she asked for me. She didn’t know how to cope with finding a gun in your room. She was scared. So she came to me.”
“But you’re a policeman. What did she expect you to do?”
“I’m also a friend of the family. What do you think I would have done?”
“I suppose you’d have followed the rules.”
“I might have been able to help her. To help you, too.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“I haven’t had a chance yet. I will. But you have to promise me you’ll try to forgive her. I must at least have something positive to tell her. Something to give her hope. Think how she must be feeling. Her daughter hates her. Her husband’s dead. You can’t expect her to make all the moves. You’ve got to try to meet her halfway.”
“She moved quickly enough to turn me in.”
“She was scared, confused. Have you never felt that way?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Erin turned away and rubbed the tears from her eyes.
“Look,” said Banks, “you’ve been cooped up here for ages. Do you fancy a walk, a bit of fresh air? Maybe get a bite to eat? A drink?”
Erin nodded. “A walk would be good,” she said. “Just let me wash my face first. I must look a mess.”
Banks gazed out of the window as Erin went over to the washstand and bent over. The houses opposite were almost close enough to touch, and just beyond their flagstone roofs he could see the jagged top of the castle keep. Every once in a while a cloud would obscure the sun, casting a shadow over the scene.
Erin tied her hair back in a ponytail, grabbed a light jacket and put it on over her T-shirt. She was wearing jeans torn at the knees and a battered pair of trainers. Banks guessed that most of her good clothes were either back at Laburnum Avenue or in Leeds. She hadn’t been taking care of herself; that much was obvious. She had purple-black bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, her eyes were dull and her complexion pasty. She also seemed listless and tired, no doubt from shock and lack of food.
They left the B-and-B and walked back up to Castle Road. Just a few yards farther ahead a flagged pathway led up to the castle itself, and another branched off along the crest of the hill, circling the castle’s outer walls and looking out over the woods down the hill to the river. There were plenty of tourists enjoying a day out, and couples and families were picnicking far below on the grassy riverbanks by the terraced falls. Birds twittered in the trees. Some of the leaves were already turning at the edges. Banks remembered his first months in Eastvale, also around this time of year; how he had walked here many times with Sandra, Brian and Tracy, slowly getting used to their new home, watching the leaves change color day by day until at last they broke free and drifted down into the river.