Also, with luck, Arthur Jameson and his accomplice would go down for the murder of Keith Rothwell. But was Burgess telling the full truth? Banks didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t trust the bastard. It all sounded too easy. But what choice did he have?
“All right,” he said.
Burgess reached over and patted his arm. “Good,” he said. “Good. I knew I could depend on you to keep shut when it counts.”
Banks jerked his arm away. “Don’t push it. And if I find out you’ve been buggering me around on this one, my promise is null and void, okay?”
Burgess held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.”
“There is another thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Rothwell’s killers. Lanois and Jackson didn’t do that.”
Burgess shook his head. “I’m not interested in them. They’re not in my brief.”
“So what happens when we catch Jameson, if we catch him?”
“Jameson?”
“Arthur Jameson. One of Rothwell’s killers.”
“I don’t give a monkey’s toss. That’s up to you. I’m not interested. It’s unlikely that this Jameson, whoever he is, knows anything about Churchill’s part in the matter. He was probably just a hired killer working for Clegg, who has conveniently disappeared with a shitload of cash.”
“Any ideas where?”
Burgess shook his head then jabbed his finger in the air close to Banks’s chest. “But I can tell you one thing. Wherever he is, he won’t be there for long. Churchill has the memory of an elephant, the reach of a giraffe and the tenacity of a bloody pit bull. He didn’t get to bleed an entire country dry for nothing. It takes a special talent. Don’t underestimate the man just because he’s a butcher.”
“So we write off Clegg?”
“I think he’s already written himself off by double-crossing Churchill.”
“And Jameson?”
“If he goes to trial, and if he talks – both big ifs, by the way – all he can say is that Clegg hired him to kill Rothwell. I doubt that Clegg would tell him the real reason. He might be a crooked lawyer, but I’m sure he still knows the value of confidentiality. He wouldn’t want to let his hired killers know exactly how much money was involved, would he? It would make him too vulnerable by half. Anyway, I trust you’ll have enough physical evidence to prosecute this Jameson when the time comes. If not, maybe we can fabricate some for you. Always happy to oblige.” He held his hand up. “Only kidding. My little joke.”
Burgess glanced over at the two women, who had got yet another round of drinks and seemed to be laughing quite tipsily. “Look,” he said, “if I don’t strike soon they’ll be past it. Are you sure you won’t join me? It’ll be a laugh, and the wife need never know.”
“No,” said Banks. “No, thanks. I’m going home.”
“Suit yourself.” Burgess stretched back his shoulders and sucked in his gut. “Anything to liven up a miserable evening in Leeds,” he said. “Once more unto the breach.” And with that, he strutted over to their table, smiling, pint in hand. Banks watched them make room for him, then shook his head, drank up and left.
2
“What on earth happened to you?” asked Sandra when Banks walked into the living room at about ten o’clock that evening.
“I had a slight disagreement with a couple of would-be muggers,” Banks said. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.” And he left it at that. Sandra raised her dark eyebrows but didn’t pursue it. He knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the mothering type, and she rarely gave him much sympathy when he whimpered through flu or moaned through a bad cold.
Banks walked over to the cocktail cabinet and poured a stiff shot of Laphroaig single malt whisky. Sandra said she’d have a Drambuie. A good sign. After that, he put on his new CD of Khachaturian’s piano concerto and flopped onto the sofa.
As he listened to the music, he looked at Sandra’s framed photograph over the fireplace: a misty sunset in Hawes, taken from the daleside above the town, all subdued gray and orange with a couple of thin streaks of vermilion. The unusual church tower, square with a turret attached to one corner, dominated the gray slate roofs, and smoke curled up from some of the chimneys. Banks sipped the peaty malt whisky and smacked his lips.
Sandra sat beside him. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
Banks told her about his meetings with Dirty Dick Burgess. “There’s always some sort of hidden agenda with him,” he said. “I’m not sure what he’s up to this time, but there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about it except wait and see. That’s about all we can do now, wait.”
“‘They also serve… ’”
“I was thinking about the Rothwells on the drive home, too. How could a man lead an entire other life, away from his family, under another name?”
“Is that what happened?”
“Yes.” Banks explained about Robert Calvert and his flat in Leeds, his fondness for gambling, women and dancing. “And Pamela Jeffreys said she was sure he wasn’t a married man. She said she’d have been able to tell.”
“Did she? Who’s Pamela Jeffreys?”
“His girlfriend. It doesn’t matter.”
Sandra sipped her drink and thought it over. “It’s probably not as difficult as you think for two people who live together on the surface to lead completely separate lives, one unknown to the other. Lord knows, so many couples have drifted so far apart anyway that they don’t communicate anymore.”
Banks felt his chest tighten. “Are you talking about us?” he asked, remembering what Ken Blackstone had said about his marriage.
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know.”
Sandra shrugged. “I don’t know, either. It was just a comment. But if the cap fits… Think about it, Alan. The amount we see each other, talk to each other, we could both be living other lives. Mostly, we just meet in passing. Let’s face it, you could be up to anything most of the time. How would I know?”
“Most of the time I’m working.”
“Just like this Rothwell was?”
“That’s different. He was away a lot.”
“What about the last couple of nights? You didn’t phone, did you?”
Banks sat forward. “Oh, come on! I tried. You weren’t home.”
“You could have left a message on the machine.”
“You know how I hate those things. Anyway, it’s not as if you didn’t know where I was. You could easily have checked up on me. And it’s not that often I’m away from home for a night or more.”