“It’ll do. Go on.”
“That’s about all really. No beauty spots or anything. She was wearing long dangly earrings, too. Lapis lazuli. No rings, I don’t think.”
“That’s a very good description, Tom. Do you think you could work with a police artist on this? I think we’d like to have a talk with this woman, and your description might help us find her.”
Tom nodded. “No problem. I could paint her myself from memory if I had the talent.”
“Good. We’ll arrange something, then. Maybe this evening.”
Tom took his watch out again. “I suppose I’d better be going home. Mum and Alison need my support.”
“Did you ever challenge your father about what you saw?” Susan asked.
Tom shook his head. “I came close once, when he kept going on about how disappointed he was in me, how sick I was. I told him I was disappointed in him, too, but I wouldn’t tell him why.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. Just carried on as if I hadn’t spoken.”
“Does your mother know?”
He shook his head. “No. She doesn’t know. I’m sure of it.”
“Do you think she suspects?”
“Maybe. Who knows? She’s been living in a bit of a dream world. I’m worried about her, actually. Sometimes I get the feeling that underneath all the lies she knows the truth but she just won’t admit it to herself. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes. What about Alison?”
“Alison’s a sweet thing really, but she hasn’t got a clue. Lives in her books. She’s Brontë mad, is Alison, you know. Reads nothing but. And she’s got notebooks full of her own stories, all in tiny handwriting like the Brontës did when they were kids. Made up her own world. I keep thinking she’ll grow out of it, but… I don’t know… she seems even worse since… since Dad… ” He shook his head slowly. “No, she doesn’t know. I wouldn’t confide in her. I kept it all to myself. Can you imagine that? I still do. You’re the first person I’ve told.” He stood up. “Look, I really must be off.”
“We’ll be in touch about the artist, then.”
“Yes. Okay. And… ”
“Yes?”
“Thanks,” he said, then turned abruptly and hurried off.
Susan watched him go down the path, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped. She poured herself another cup of tea, stewed though it was, and looked out at the river. A beautiful insect with iridescent wings hovered a few feet above the water. Suddenly, a chaffinch shot out from one of the trees and took the insect in its beak in mid-air. Susan left her lukewarm tea and headed off to meet Sergeant Hatchley. The porn hunt awaited.
3
After Banks had gone for a swim in the hotel pool, taken a long sauna, and put away three cups of freshly brewed coffee and a plateful of bacon and eggs, courtesy of room service, he was feeling much better.
As he made a few phone calls, he tried to remember something that had been nagging away at him since the early hours, something he should do, but he failed miserably. At about the same time that Susan Gay was talking to Tom Rothwell, he went out for his first appointment, with Melissa Clegg.
The morning sun had burned off most of the rain, and the pavements had absorbed the rest, leaving them the color of sandstone, with small puddles catching the light here and there. As wind ruffled the water’s surface, golden light danced inside the puddles.
It wasn’t as warm as it had been, Banks noticed. He had left his torn sports jacket at the hotel. All he wore on top was a light blue, open-neck shirt. He carried his notebook, wallet, keys and cigarettes in his briefcase.
A cool wind whispered through the streets, and there were plenty of dark, heavy clouds now lurking on the northern horizon behind the Town Hall. It looked like the region was in for some “changeable” weather, as the forecasters called it: sunny with cloudy periods, or cloudy with sunny periods.
He could drive to his appointment, he knew, but the one-way system was a nightmare. Besides, the city center wasn’t all that big, and the fresh air would help blow away the cobwebs that still clung to his brain.
Banks had grown quite fond of Leeds since he had been living in Yorkshire. It had an honest, slightly shabby charm about it that appealed to him, despite the new “Leeds-look” architecture – redbrick revival with royal blue trim – that had sprouted up everywhere, and despite the modern shopping centers and the yuppie developments down by the River Aire. Leeds was a scruff by nature; it wouldn’t look comfortable in fancy dress, no matter what the price. And then there was Opera North, of course.
Avoiding City Square and the scene of the previous evening’s debacle, he cut up King Street instead, walked past the recently restored Metropole Hotel, all redbrick and gold sandstone masonry, and along East Parade through the business section of banks and insurance buildings in all their jumbled glory. Here, Victorian Gothic rubbed shoulders with Georgian classicism and sixties concrete and glass. As in many cities, you had to look up, above eye level, to see the interesting details on the tops of the buildings: surprising gables where pigeons nested, gargoyles, balconies, caryatids.
As he walked along The Headrow past Stumps and the art gallery, he became aware again of the sharp pain in his knee, with which he had probably chipped a cheekbone or broken a jaw the previous evening.
He arrived at the Merrion Centre a couple of minutes early. Melissa Clegg had told him on the phone that she had a very busy day planned. She was expecting a number of important deliveries and had appointments with her suppliers. She could, however, allow him half an hour. There was a quiet coffee bar with outside tables, she told him, on the second level, up the steps over the entrance to Le Phonographique. She would meet him there at half past ten.
Banks found the coffee bar, and an empty table, with no trouble. At that time on a Wednesday morning, the Merrion Centre was practically deserted: especially the upper level, which seemed to have nothing but small offices and hairdressers.
Melissa Clegg arrived on time with all the flurry of the busy executive. When she sat down, she tucked her hair behind her ears. Today, she wore a pink dress cut square at her throat and shoulders.
The last thing on earth Banks felt he needed was another cup of coffee, but he took an espresso just to have something in front of him. Also, by the feel of his chest, he didn’t need a cigarette, either, but he lit one nonetheless. The first few drags made him a bit dizzy, then it tasted fine.