‘I was winning, too,’ said Kelly.
‘What?’
‘The darts match.’
Banks smiled. ‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Never mind. We never sleep. Always ready to bring another wrongdoer to justice. I just transferred here from West Midlands, myself. You say you’re from around these parts?’
‘Uh-huh. Long time ago. Came here when I was twelve. Grew up just down the street. Used to go out with the girl whose mother that bastard killed.’
‘They’ll put him in the nut house.’
‘Likely. As long as he’s locked up.’
Kelly looked around and sniffed the air, then he took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew out a long plume of smoke. ‘I grew up on an estate pretty much like this one,’ he said. ‘Barrow-in-Furness.’
‘Not a part of the world I know.’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘Look, while you’re here,’ said Banks, ‘there is another small matter you might be able to help with.’
‘Oh? And what’s that?’
‘The family that lives next to my parents,’ said Banks. ‘I don’t know their names but the bloke looks like Fred West-’
‘Ah, the Wyatts.’
‘Is that their name?’
‘Well, it’s easier that way. To be honest, though, I think he’s the only true Wyatt there. She’s a Fisher. Had kids with a Young and Harrison and a Davies. Need I go on?’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘According to the council, only five. That’s all the place is big enough for.’
‘I saw a sleeping bag on the staircase.’
‘You were in there?’
‘Noise complaint.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, our latest estimation is about twelve, give or take a couple.’
‘Can you do anything?’
‘About what?’
‘Drugs, for a start. And I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those kids are being sexually abused.’
‘Nor me.’ Kelly finished his cigarette and stamped it out on the path. ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ he said. ‘You know how these things can drag on. But we’ve got an eye on them, and the social’s investigating them, too, so sooner or later one of us will come up with something.’
‘And then?’
Kelly laughed. ‘And then? You know as well as I do. Then the farce just begins. They’ll end up on another estate much like this one, most likely, and it’ll start all over again.’
The uniforms came out with Geoff Salisbury, slump-shouldered, between them. ‘Done,’ one of them said. Salisbury gave Banks a look that was half pleading for understanding and forgiveness, and half pure hatred. Banks didn’t know which half he liked less.
‘Right.’ Kelly clapped his hands. ‘Let’s go see what the custody sergeant has to say, shall we? And I’ll say goodnight to you, for the moment, DCI Banks. We might need you again.’
Banks smiled. ‘I’m only a phone call away.’
22
By Monday morning, when Banks awoke to sunshine and the sound of birds beyond his thin curtains, news of Geoff Salisbury’s arrest had spread around the entire estate. When he went down for breakfast, he found his parents sitting quietly at the table. He poured himself a cup of tea. His mother wouldn’t look at him when he walked into the room.
‘You’ve heard, then?’ he asked.
‘About Geoff?’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘Mrs Wilkins came to tell me. That was your doing, wasn’t it?’
‘I’d no choice, Mum,’ said Banks, resting his hand on her arm. She jerked it away.
‘How could you do that? You know what he meant to us.’
‘Mum, Geoff Salisbury was a murderer. He killed Mr Green and he killed Kay’s mother.’ Not to mention his own mother, Banks thought. ‘I don’t see how you can defend him. You knew those people. They were your neighbours.’
Mrs Banks shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. Not Geoff. He wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s gentle as a kitten.’
‘He admitted it.’
‘You must have forced him. Interrogated him until he didn’t know what he was saying.’
‘I don’t work like that, Mum. Believe me, he did it. He might have thought he was doing good, doing the families a favour, but he did it.’
Banks looked at his father, who caught his eye. He knew right away that they were thinking the same thing: who was next?
Banks stood up. ‘Look, Mum, I’ve got to go now.’
‘All you brought was trouble. It was supposed to be a happy occasion. Now look what you’ve gone and done. Spoiled it all, as usual. I wish our Roy was here.’
Banks’s heart felt heavy, but there was nothing more he could say. There was as much point in telling his mother that Roy didn’t give a shit as there was in telling her that Geoff Salisbury was a cold-blooded murderer.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he said, then dashed upstairs to throw his few belongings in his bag. He looked at the boxes of records and exercise books again and decided to leave them. All he took was the poetry.
Let go.
He was standing at the door of his room when he saw his father come slowly up the stairs. They stood on the landing facing one another. ‘She’s upset,’ said Arthur Banks. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying. I’ll take care of her. I’ll make sure she knows what’s what.’
‘What is what, Dad? I’m not even sure I know. Did I do the right thing?’
‘Only you know that for certain, lad. But you did your job. You’d no choice. You’re a copper and he was a bad ’un. Your mother’ll get over it. She really liked him, that’s all. He was useful around the house. And he could be a right charmer.’
‘I know,’ said Banks. ‘His type usually is.’
‘You know she never likes admitting she’s wrong about people. But if he killed those people, you were right. You were only doing your job. I don’t mind a bob or two here and there – and don’t think I didn’t notice, I just kept quiet for your mother’s sake – but I draw the line at killing.’ He laughed. ‘Who’s to say it wouldn’t have been me next, eh?’
They both knew there was a lot more truth in that fear than either cared to explore.
‘Bye, Dad,’ Banks said. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Don’t be a stranger, son. And don’t worry. Your mother’ll get over it. I’ll tell her to ring you in a day or so, shall I?’
‘Please do.’
His father smiled. ‘Or send you an email?’
Banks moved forward impulsively and hugged him. It was quick, and he felt only the slightest pressure of his father’s hand on the back of his shoulder, but it was enough.
Banks dashed down the stairs and walked down the path to his car, tears prickling his eyes. He felt a weight in the side pocket of his jacket and realized it was Kay’s copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Now he decided he might as well keep it. Maybe he would even get around to reading it, over thirty years after he’d borrowed it.
When he got to the driver’s side of his car, he cursed out loud. Some bastard had taken a coin or a nail and made a deep scratch along the paintwork all the way from back to front. He thought he saw someone watching from an upstairs window of the Wyatt house.
Bugger them. Bugger the lot of them, he thought, and got into his car and drove away.
Peter Robinson
