“Do you remember anything about Justin?”
“Just something Jaff said. I think he was showing off, and he said something to me about Justin being the man to know if you needed a new passport. Justin didn’t like it, I remember. He gave Jaff a nasty look. But I thought maybe he was involved in forging stuff and maybe smuggling people into the country.”
“That sounds like the sort of person Jaff might want to contact right now,” Banks said. “Do you know where he lives?”
“No. We didn’t go back to his place. We went on to a couple of clubs in the West End, I don’t remember where. I’m afraid I was a bit drunk by then.”
“Did you get his surname?”
“No. We just used first names.”
“What was his girlfriend called?”
“Martina.”
“Did this Justin have any sort of accent, too? How was his English?”
“His English was excellent, sort of posh, like Jaff’s. He did have a slight accent, though, but you really had to listen.”
“What accent?”
“I don’t know. I’m not good at that sort of thing.”
“Eastern European? Same as his girlfriend?”
“Maybe.” Erin shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“And you’ve no idea where they live?”
“I do remember we were talking about property values once, back in the restaurant. Jaff was thinking about buying a flat in London, and he was asking this Justin about it. He said something about Highgate, but that’s all I remember. I got the impression that was where he lived. But it’s big, isn’t it, Highgate?”
“Big enough,” said Banks. But he felt a rush of excitement. There was every chance that if this Justin was involved in people-smuggling and dodgy documents, one or other of the Met’s intelligence units would have a watching brief on him, and even pinpointing him as living in Highgate might help them narrow their search. Banks hardly had any points with the intelligence services, but he knew that Dirty Dick Burgess would help him out at a pinch, especially if Tracy was in danger.
“Did Jaff ever talk much about his family, his background?” Banks asked. “I’m just trying to get a better sense of who I’m dealing with.”
“Not a lot. Jaff’s a mummy’s boy, really, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s not a nancy boy or a sissy or anything. But I think he really loved his mother, and his father was more distant, tougher, less involved with him emotionally when he was growing up. Jaff didn’t talk about his family or his background much when we were together, except sometimes if the mood came on him. You know, the right combination of booze and E or whatever. Then he tended to ramble, and you had to sort of piece it together. I could be wrong. Anyway, he wasn’t too happy about ending up back with his dad after his mother died, and when he went off to boarding school and then university, that was his opportunity to make the break, to grab for his independence. He’s got a photo of his mother in the flat. You should see it. She was beautiful. There are none of his dad.”
“Thank you,” Banks said. “You’ve been a great help.”
Erin shrugged. “What’s going to happen to me now? I don’t mean to be selfish or anything, but I couldn’t stand going to jail.”
“Nothing’s going to happen. Not for a while. When’s your court date?”
“Next month.”
“Get a good solicitor,” Banks said. “It’s true that the law comes down hard on possession of firearms, but you’ve got a better chance than most. You haven’t been in trouble before, you’re from a good family, you have character witnesses. It could be worse.”
“Hard to imagine,” said Erin, “but thanks. That helps.”
“I’ll help you as best I can. If you don’t know a solicitor, I can recommend one. And if this business with Jaff and Tracy comes to a satisfactory conclusion and no one gets hurt, that could go in your favor, too. You’ve helped us a lot.”
Erin nodded. They both stood up. “What are you going to do now?” Banks asked.
“I think I’m going to go to the Swainsdale Centre and buy some new clothes and makeup. I can’t believe you’d allow yourself to be seen with me looking like this.”
Banks laughed.
“It is all right, isn’t it?” she asked. “What?”
“To go to the Swainsdale Centre. You know. I don’t have to go straight back to the B-and-B and report in, do I? You’re not going to put an electronic tag on my ankle, are you?”
“Of course not,” said Banks. “You’re on police bail. You report when you’re told to and you’ll be fine. I wouldn’t advise leaving town, though. Believe me, there will be more questions. A lot more. But you can go anywhere you want in Eastvale.”
“Except home,” said Erin. “Except home.”
13
BANKS LEANED BACK IN HIS SEAT AND CLOSED HIS EYES as the car slowed to a crawl at the roadworks on the A1 just north of Wetherby. Winsome had offered to drive him to Leeds. Normally he would have preferred to go alone and drive himself, but this time he had accepted her offer. He didn’t trust himself behind the wheel; he was too wired and too anxious. They hadn’t spoken much on the way down, but he was glad of her company and that she had tuned the radio to Radio 3. Vaughan Williams’s “Variation on a Theme by Thomas Tallis” was playing at the moment.
Banks had never felt so weary. Lights danced behind his eyelids. He felt as if he could see the electrical pulses jumping around in his brain projected there, flashing, arcing, short-circuiting. There was simply too much to take in, too much to comprehend, and it was getting more and more difficult for him to focus. Every moment spent tracking down nuggets of valuable information meant more time in fear and danger for Tracy.
But it had to be this way. The real problems might only begin once they had located Jaff and Tracy, and he needed to go into that situation with as much information as he could get. It was his only weapon, his only armor. After all, Jaff had a gun and a hostage.
It was the tail end of rush hour, and the traffic on the Leeds Ringroad slowed them down. Luckily they didn’t have far to go. Victor Mallory’s house turned out to be between West Park and Moortown Golf Club. It was seven o’clock when Winsome pulled up outside the rambling detached house with its cream stucco facade, large garden, gables and mullioned bay windows.
“Not bad,” said Winsome. “Not bad at all for a thirty something.”
“Maybe we’re in the wrong business?” Banks suggested.
“Or maybe his business is wrong.”
“More like it,” Banks agreed. “If he’s a mate of McCready’s. There’s a lot you can do with a Cambridge degree in chemistry, and it doesn’t all involve teaching or working for pharmaceutical companies. But that’s for the locals to worry about.” Banks gestured to the silver Skoda parked down the street. “They’ve been keeping a discreet eye on him.”
“Hard to appear inconspicuous in a Skoda in a neighborhood like this,” said Winsome.
They got out and walked over to the parked car. The window was open and Banks caught a whiff of fresh cigarette smoke. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, the way it used to be. “Anything?” he asked, flashing his warrant card as discreetly as possible.
“Nor a sausage,” replied the driver. “Waste of bloody time, if you ask me.”
“Anyone come or go?”
“No.”
“He in there?”
“No idea.”
“Right. You can get off to the pub now.”
“We go when our guv says to go.”
Banks rolled his eyes and looked at Winsome, who shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.
“Anyone would think they enjoyed sitting there doing nothing,” said Winsome as they walked toward the house.
“Don’t assume everyone shares your work ethic, Winsome. Besides, they’re sitting on their brains, so maybe that cramps their thinking style. I suppose we got what we asked for, though-a watching brief. I mean, we didn’t ask for politeness or intelligence, did we?”