Neither Banks nor Erin talked at first. Erin kept her head down and her hands in her pockets. She seemed a slight and vulnerable figure to Banks, far more frail than he had expected, even given the circumstances; more like a little girl again. But then he reminded himself of the problems she had to face-not only her father’s death and her mother’s blame, but the gun charges, the unfaithful boyfriend, her best friend’s treachery. It would be more than enough for anyone.
At the end of the path a chip van stood outside the car park, and Banks asked Erin if she would like a burger or a hot dog. She chose the hot dog, and he got one for himself, too, piling on the fried onions and hot chili sauce, along with a couple of cans of cold Coke. Queuing at the van reminded him of buying ice cream for Erin and Tracy when they were kids.
They found an empty bench below the castle walls and sat down to eat, looking out over the treetops. The foliage almost obscured the East Side Estate and the railway lines beyond, but not quite. Even so, it was an idyllic scene, and from that height, far in the distance, on a clear day like this, he could see the long anvil of Sutton Bank rising across the Vale of York.
Banks pulled the tab on his tin and the Coke foamed and fizzed over his hand. He laughed. Erin offered him a tissue from her pocket, and he wiped it off. The tin had felt cold, but the Coke was too warm. Still, the sugar hit was so good it made him feel a bit giddy at first. Tourists wandered by, and a few curious dogs, attracted by the smells, sniffed and strained at their leads.
Food finished, Banks collected the rubbish and dropped it in the bin beside the bench. “I’ve got to ask you a few questions,” he said, sitting beside Erin again and crossing his legs.
She gave him a sly sideways smile. “I should have known there was a price to pay for that hot dog.”
“The hot dog’s free, talking’s optional.”
Erin sat silent a moment, lips pursed, looking out over the panorama, her eyes squinting shut against the sun. Finally she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, propping up her head. “Why not? It’s a nice place for it. I was just thinking. Do you remember that time we went swimming in the river, in the shallows over there by the woods?” She pointed in the general direction of Hindswell Woods, to the west. “There was me, Tracy, Brian, Mum, Mrs. Banks, and you and Dad keeping an eye on us. We had a picnic, too. Potted-meat sandwiches and dandelion and burdock. And Blue Riband chocolate biscuits. They tasted so good.”
“Yes,” said Banks. “But I’m amazed you remember. You can’t have been more than six or seven.” He remembered the day well. He and Patrick Doyle were just getting to know each other then, typically enough, through their children. Patrick had said he was happy to have a police detective living in the street. Now he’d know where to go if he ever got a parking ticket or had a problem with the law. They had all walked through magical woods dappled with sunlight filtered between fluttering leaves, and at that riverside picnic Sandra had chilled a bottle of white wine in the water, and they had sipped it from colored plastic cups with chunks of old cheddar and soft Brie on baguettes.
The spot was also close to where some schoolchildren had found a man hanging earlier in the summer, and that had marked the start of the case that had almost finished Banks. But it was behind him now, along with the rest of that troubled time. “Do you remember Blackpool Illuminations?”
“Vaguely,” said Erin. “It’s not quite as clear. I think I fell asleep in the car. Brian was with us then, too, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Erin shook her head sadly. “She won’t even mention his name anymore. I talk about the Blue Lamps, she doesn’t want to know.”
“Who? Why?”
“Tracy. I mean, if I had a rock star like Brian for a brother, I’d be telling, like, everyone. I do, anyway. Tell them I grew up with him. The Blue Lamps are so cool. Do you know she likes to call herself Francesca now because she thinks Tracy’s too Corrie?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” said Banks. And somehow, knowing it hurt him to the quick. Her name. The name he and Sandra had given her. “Why won’t she mention Brian?” he asked.
“She’s jealous, I’d say, but she won’t admit it. Because he’s successful and she’s…well, let’s face it, she didn’t do very well in her exams, did she? I mean, she knew how much was expected of her, and she feels she’s let everyone down, especially herself. Ever since then she’s been on hold, sort of dithering. She likes working at the bookshop well enough, but she doesn’t see it as a career, or as what she thought she’d be doing by now.”
“But she can still take her academic career further if she wants. She mentioned teaching once. Surely she could still do that?”
“Sure, if she had the will. But she’s changed. There’s a lot of negative stuff there. Anger. Low self-esteem. I don’t know. I just can’t seem to talk to her these days. I mean, you know, before…Anyway, what do you want to know?”
“It’s hard to know where to begin,” said Banks, still trying to digest what he had just heard about Tracy. He had failed her. He should have paid more attention to her when she needed it, spent more time with her, instead of getting bogged down in his own personal and professional problems and feeling sorry for himself. “I’m not sure myself, yet,” he went on. “I just arrived back from my holidays this morning, and I’m still jet-lagged. You’ll have to help me a bit.”
“Where did you go?”
“America. Arizona, Nevada and California, mostly.”
“L.A.? San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“Wicked. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
Banks smiled. “Me, too. And it really is ‘wicked.’” Erin paused a moment, then began, “My father-”
“You don’t have to talk about him,” said Banks quickly. “That’s not my case. I mean, I’m not saying that I’m not interested, or I don’t care, but because armed police officers were involved, we have to have a special investigation, and I’m not allowed to interfere. Do you understand?”
“I understand. That makes sense.”
“But you shouldn’t blame yourself. Nobody could have foreseen that combination of circumstances.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been trying to convince myself. It’s just that whenever I think about it I can’t help but feel that upsurge of guilt. It just floods through me like a dam’s burst, and I don’t have the strength to hold it back.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” said Banks. “My psychologist friend always told me it wasn’t a good idea to hold things back.”
“But you have to sometimes, don’t you? Anger? Hatred? Disapproval? Otherwise we’d all be at each other’s throats half the time.”
“What about love?” said Banks. “Should we hold that back too?”
“Sometimes,” she said. “It might not be a bad thing. In some circumstances. When you think about it, love probably causes more trouble than hate.”
She sounded far too wise for one so young, thought Banks, who had been patiently waiting for years now for the wisdom that was supposed to come with age; to no avail, it seemed. “Anyway,” he said, “no matter how bad things seem now, your mother’s going to need you before long. Do you think you can cope?”
“Dunno,” said Erin, waving away a troublesome wasp. “Not much I can do from jail, is there?”