“THE OFFICE” meant the Queen’s Arms. If Banks had meant his office at the station, he would have said “my office.” It was going on for eight o’clock, and the pub was starting to fill up, which no doubt brought cheer to the heart of Cyril the landlord. The usual oldies selection was a bit loud, so they had to raise their voices to talk. Still, Banks thought it was pleasant enough to hear occasional fragments of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” or “She’s Not You” in the background. A lot of pubs used themed satellite radio feeds, but not the Queen’s Arms. Cyril was an intrepid pop fan, still stuck in the late fifties and early sixties, and he played his iPod through the pub’s music system. If anyone didn’t like it, they were welcome to drink elsewhere.
Banks noticed that Lisa Gray was working that night. She had short hair now, and most of the facial metal was gone. He knew that Winsome had developed a close relationship with Lisa during their previous case, and that they kept in touch. She smiled from behind the bar and he gave her a quick wave. Annie came back with the drinks.
Annie sipped some of her beer. “I still can’t see Michael Lane as the villain,” she said. “All he ever did before was take a joyride because he was mixed up and upset after his mother left. Since then, he’s found a serious relationship. He has a kid to think about, too.”
“Maybe all that was too much for him?” Banks argued. “Maybe he felt stifled and had to get out? Or maybe he just cracked under the responsibility? You said they don’t have much money, that they’re struggling.”
“Yeah, but at least they’re trying. They weren’t doing so badly. And if that was the case, if Michael suddenly couldn’t take the pressure anymore, then Alex Preston wasn’t aware of it.”
“I never expected Sandra to walk out on me for another bloke,” said Banks. “But she did. These things happen, Annie.”
In the silence that followed that remark, Lisa Gray approached the table with two plates. “Who wanted the salad and who wanted burger and chips?”
Banks and Annie exchanged a few moments’ small talk with Lisa until she returned to her position behind the bar. Once they had settled down to their food, Banks went on. “I know you’re emotionally involved and you don’t want to think ill of Alex Preston or Michael Lane,” he said, “and I’m sure they are trying their best to make a go of it, but we’re not in the business of rehabilitation.” He nodded toward Lisa. “Sure, Winsome took a damaged young woman under her wing and worked miracles, but let’s not get carried away with the social work. Don’t you think Alex might be just a little naive, especially when it comes to Michael Lane? Don’t they say love is blind? Let’s not allow it to blinker your judgment.”
“I’m not.”
“All I’m saying, Annie, is that we can’t always save their souls, and we shouldn’t expect to. Half the time we can’t even save their bodies. Believe me, I’ve met plenty of deserving cases in my time, and sometimes I’ve even helped them, but sometimes I haven’t. Sometimes it even worked. Often it didn’t, and they went on to commit more serious crimes. We’re not psychologists or miracle workers.”
“I’m not blinkered,” said Annie. “I fully accept that Michael Lane might have made a mistake, that he was probably involved at some level. I realize that being perpetually short of cash might have pushed him into doing something illegal, no doubt with Morgan Spencer’s encouragement. He may even have seen the tractor as just a one-off to get him back on his feet, and to thumb his nose at John Beddoes. I’m not dismissing those possibilities. But I’d also like to point out that right now he’s a missing person, possibly in danger, or already come to harm, not a suspect.”
“But he is a suspect as well,” said Banks.
“In what? The bloody tractor theft?”
“In that, yes, and in Morgan Spencer’s murder, until we prove otherwise.”
“Rubbish,” said Annie.
“Maybe so. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.”
Annie returned to her salad for a moment. “It’s open,” she muttered, when she looked him directly in the eye again. “She’s got a broken finger,” she said. “Alex Preston has. All right?”
“You never mentioned this before. What happened?”
“She said she trapped it in the door.”
“You don’t believe her?”
Annie paused before answering. “No,” she said, then washed a mouthful of salad down with her beer. “Something’s going on. I could tell by the way she was behaving. She was lying. You asked me if I thought Alex was being a bit naive. Well, maybe she is. Or was. I think she’s getting a few quick lessons in the harsh realities of life right now. She’s frightened as well as worried.”
Banks sighed. “All right. I want you to keep on top of Alex Preston,” he said. “Short of shadowing her. You think she’s holding something back. It’s no good thinking you’re protecting her by keeping it to yourself.”
“She might have let slip to Michael about Beddoes being on holiday,” Annie said. “She did know he was going. She booked the trip for him. And we know there’s no love lost between Michael Lane and John Beddoes. Also, if Michael found out that Morgan Spencer had made a pass at his mother, that might have given him a motive for Spencer’s murder, too. How’s that for an open mind?”
“But you said that was what, three years ago? Why would he find out just now?”
“I don’t know. I’m not saying he did. I’m keeping an open mind. Maybe it’s so open the dust’s blowing in. I’m just saying it’s another thing to consider when you look at Michael Lane as a suspect. Or his father, for that matter.”
“Frank Lane?”
“Yes. Have we checked his alibis? Do we know for sure he’s telling us the truth about everything? He’s certainly not rolling in money, and he’s no great love for Beddoes. What if the father had something to do with the tractor theft? Have we forgotten about that possibility?”
“Hmm, not entirely,” said Banks. “We’ll keep it on the back burner. What do you think happened to Alex?”
“Dunno. I suppose someone might have been warning her to keep quiet, if she knew anything, or perhaps they think she knows where Lane is and tried to get it out of her. Maybe they saw me and Doug call by her flat the other day.”
“You don’t believe she does know where Lane is, do you?”
“No, Alan, I don’t. The poor woman’s beside herself. That much I accept as true. You can’t fake that, not unless you’re an exceptional actress. Tears, yes, but it’s much more than that.”
“OK.” Banks held his hands up in surrender. “Let’s assume she doesn’t know where he is. Someone thinks she does and comes to ask her? Breaks a finger when she won’t, or can’t, tell?”
“Which raises another important question,” said Annie.
“Oh?”
“How did whoever did it know who she was and where she lived?”
“Through Michael Lane, I’d guess.”
“That’s right. Meaning that Lane probably is involved with whatever’s been going on. Involved enough that the people he works for know where he lives and who with.”
“There is another possibility,” said Banks.
“What’s that?”
“That it’s Alex they know, Alex who’s working with them. And she’s spinning you a line.”
“No way,” said Annie, looking down into her dish.
“The question is,” said Banks, “do we put someone on her 24/7?”
Annie looked up again. “Do you think Madame Gervaise would authorize that?”
“Hell, we got to use the new helicopter today, didn’t we? It seems since we got our new home secretary and police commissioner, we only have to ask. Enjoy it while you can. It won’t last. What I’m saying is that if you think Alex Preston is in danger, then we obviously need to keep an eye on her.”