Then there was Andrew Handley to consider: “Andy Pandy,” Clough’s gofer, the one he had “given” Emily to the night she fled to Banks’s hotel. Such rejection could have driven Handley to revenge, if he was that kind of person. Burgess had said he would put some men on trying to track down Handley, so maybe they would get a chance to ask him soon.
But would Emily have smiled as she got in his car with either Clough or Handley? Christ, why hadn’t Emily told Banks whom she was going to meet? Why hadn’t he asked her? He rested his forehead against the cool glass and felt the vein throb in his temple.
It was no good, Banks decided; he needed far more information before he could even speculate about what had happened. He had found nothing of use in the contents of her handbag, once they had been gathered up and bagged. Nothing but the usuaclass="underline" cigarettes, tampons, electronic organizer, keys, a purse with £16.53 in it, makeup, a crumpled film magazine, an old family photograph – probably the one Ruth Walker had mentioned – Ruth’s driving license, which she hadn’t even really needed anymore, and the fake proof-of-age card.
The SOCOs had turned up nothing of interest from the ladies’ toilet in the Bar None, except for any number of unidentified pubic hairs, and there were no prints except Emily’s on the glassine bag in which the cocaine and strychnine had been kept. There were hundreds of prints around the stall – which testified to the frequency with which the owners thought it necessary to clean the toilets – but Banks suspected they would come to nothing. He was convinced that the killer, whoever it was, hadn’t been in the Bar None toilets either with or without Emily, and had not even been in the club at the time of her death – had probably never been there. This was murder from a distance, perhaps even death by proxy, which made it all the more bloody difficult to solve.
DC Templeton had come up with a lead on the couple seen leaving the Bar None at ten forty-seven. A bartender at the Jolly Roger pub, a popular place for the student crowd on Market Street, seemed to remember them being in the pub earlier that evening. She had seen them before, she said, but didn’t know their names; she only recognized the way they were dressed and thought they were students at the college, like most of her customers.
Next, Banks turned his mind to Charlie Courage’s murder and felt a singular lack of progress there, too. Charlie’s murderer had been at the scene, of course, but Charlie himself had been far from home, in the middle of nowhere. The only solid piece of evidence was the tire track, and that would be no use at all unless a corresponding car could be found. He decided to phone DI Collaton later in the day and see if anything had turned up at the Market Harborough end. Maybe he could have a word with DI Dalton, too, see if he had come up with anything more on PKF Computer Systems.
Banks stubbed out his cigarette in his wastebin, making sure it was completely dead, and tried to clear the air as best he could by opening the window and waving a file folder about.
When someone knocked at the door and walked in, he felt guilty, like the time his mother noticed ash from his cigarette on the outside window ledge of his room and stopped his pocket money. But it was only Annie Cabbot. He had asked her to drop by his office as soon as she had finished handing out actions to the newly drafted DCs that Red Ron McLaughlin had promised.
She looked particularly good this morning, Banks thought, her shiny chestnut hair falling in waves over her shoulders, her almond eyes serious and alert, though showing just a hint of wariness. She was wearing a loose white shirt and black denim jeans, which tapered to an end just above her ankles, around one of which she wore a thin gold chain.
“Annie. Sit down.”
Annie sat and crossed her legs. She twitched her nose. “You’ve been smoking in here again.”
“Mea culpa.”
She smiled. “What did you want to see me about?”
“In the first place, I’d like you to go over to the transportation office at the bus station, see if you can find out who was driving the quarter-to-three bus to York, the one that stops at the roundabout.”
Annie made a note.
“Have a chat with him. See if he remembers Emily being on the bus and getting into a light-colored car near the Red Lion. You might also see if he can give you any leads as to his other passengers. Someone might have noticed something.”
“Okay.”
“And have a chat with that bartender at the Jolly Roger, see if she can come up with anyone who might know where this couple lives, who they are. It’s probably a dead end, but we have to check it out.”
Annie made a note. “Okay. Anything else?”
Banks paused. “This is a bit awkward, Annie. I don’t want you to get the impression that this is in any way personal, but it’s just that since we started this investigation, I don’t feel I’ve had your full cooperation.”
Annie’s smile froze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it feels like there’s a part of you not here – you’ve been distracted – and I’d like to know why.”
Annie shifted in her chair. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
“Look, what is this? Am I on the carpet, or something? Are you going to give me a bollocking?”
“I just want to know what’s going on, if there’s something I can help with.”
“Nothing’s going on. At least not with me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Try.”
“All right.” Annie leaned forward. “You said this wasn’t personal, but I think it is. I think you’re behaving this way because of what happened with us, because I broke off our relationship. You can’t handle working with me.”
Banks sighed. “Annie, this is a murder case. A sixteen-year-old girl, who also happens to be our chief constable’s daughter, was poisoned in a nightclub. I would have hoped I wouldn’t have to remind you of that. Until we find out who did it, this is a twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week job for us, and if you’re not up to it for one reason or another, I want to know now. Are you in or out?”
“You’re blowing this out of all proportion. I’m on the job. I might not be obsessed with the case, but I’m on the job.”
“Are you implying I am obsessed?”
“I’m not implying anything, but if the cap fits… What I will say is that it’s a damn sight more personal for you than it is for me. I didn’t go to London to track her down, or have lunch with her on the day she died. You did.”
“That’s neither here nor there. We’re talking about your commitment to the case. What about Sunday?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sunday morning, when I called in for an update. You were out of contact all morning, and DC Jackman sounded decidedly cagey.”
“I’m hardly responsible for DC Jackman’s telephone manner.” Annie stood up, flushed, put her palms on his desk and leaned forward, jutting her chin out. “Look, I took some personal time. All right? Are you going to put me on report? Because if you are, just do it and cut the fucking lecture, will you. I’ve had enough of this.”
With anyone else, Banks would have hit the roof, but he was used to Annie’s insubordinate manner. It was one of the things that had intrigued him about her in the first place, though he still couldn’t be sure whether he liked it or not. At the moment, he didn’t. “The last thing I want to do is put you on report,” he said. “Not with your inspector’s boards coming up. I would hope you’d know that. That’s why I’m talking to you one on one. I don’t want this to go any further. I’ll tell you something, though: If you keep on behaving like this whenever anyone questions your actions, you’ll never make inspector.”