Gerry felt herself blush. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘That’s David Bowie singing, isn’t it?’
‘Indeed it is,’ said Banks. ‘ “Blackstar”. Do you know it?’
Gerry shook her head. ‘Vaguely, perhaps. From the radio. Mostly I just recognise the voice. My dad likes David Bowie. I never really had much time for music.’
‘You should make some,’ Banks said. ‘It helps keep you sane and human in a crazy world, especially after a night like tonight.’
‘Will you come back through, sir? Join the group?’
Banks smiled. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘That’s a nice drawing Ray did of you. You should be honoured. He’s a bit of a pain in the arse, but he’s got quite a reputation, you know.’
‘I know, sir,’ said Gerry. ‘And I am.’
Banks followed her back into the entertainment room, and Gerry wondered why he had been so sad, though she knew she would never dare ask.
Ray clapped his hands and said, ‘Ah, here they are. Drinks all round? No more champers, I’m afraid, but there’s a nice Macallan here waiting to be finished. Or there’s beer in the fridge.’
For once, Gerry didn’t refuse. She wasn’t driving anywhere tonight. ‘I’ll have a large whisky, if that’s all right.’
She noticed Banks raise his eyebrows. ‘Hidden depths,’ he said approvingly, reaching for the bottle and a glass.
Gerry took the drink Banks handed her and peered at the sketch again. It was a simple head and shoulders, the head slightly tilted, but Ray had caught her all right, and it had only taken him a few strokes. After his previous comment, she had checked out some Pre-Raphaelite paintings and decided she didn’t resemble Jane Morris at all. Or Lizzie Siddal.
‘We should all watch a movie,’ Ray said. ‘Something funny. Something silly.’ He pointed towards Banks. ‘You might not believe it, but this man has a complete box set of Carry On films. Which one shall we start with?’
They watched Carry On Cleo and laughed themselves silly. Just after Kenneth Williams uttered his immortal line, ‘Infamy, infamy. They’ve all got it in for me’, Gerry put her empty glass down. Much as she was having a good time drinking whisky and watching a daft movie with Banks and Annie and Ray, she found the sounds and sights of the world were slipping away from her for the second time tonight, and this time she welcomed oblivion, welcomed it with open arms.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to Carolyn Mays, my editor at Hodder & Stoughton, for her insightful and helpful comments on the manuscript. Also thanks to Abby Parsons and Thorne Ryan for all their assistance, and to Justine Taylor for her clear, thorough and reliable copy-editing. At McClelland & Stewart, I would like to thank Jared Bland and Kelly Joseph, and at William Morrow my editor Daniel Mallory and assistant editor Margaux Weisman. I would also like to thank my wife Sheila Halladay, who read the manuscript when I thought it was ready to submit and convinced me that it could be much improved.
Thanks to my agents Dominick Abel and David Grossman for their continuing encouragement and efforts. Also thanks to the invaluable publicists — Kerry Hood and Rosie Stephen at Hodder, Ashley Dunn at McClelland & Stewart and Julie Paulauski at William Morrow.
I would also like to thank Jenny Brierley, ICT Archivist at the West Yorkshire Archive Service, whose input is invaluable when it comes to cold cases and lost files.
Thanks again also to Nicholas Reckert for the interesting North Yorkshire walks that, despite their beauty, somehow always seem to suggest to me a possible crime scene.
Last but not least, thanks to the sales and marketing teams who work behind the scenes to make the deals and set up the special promotions, to the reps who get out on the road and sell the book to the shops, and to the booksellers themselves, without whom you wouldn’t be holding this volume in your hand. I would also like to add a special thank you to libraries everywhere. They are an endangered institution these days, and they deserve our support. And thanks, of course, to you, dear reader.