“How does Jennifer come into this?”
“It was where she worked. She was an administrator at a private women’s health center. They specialize in family planning.”
“Like the British Pregnancy Advisory Service? Marie Stopes?” Annie remembered both of these from her own unexpected brush with pregnancy nearly three years ago, though in the end she had gone to a National Health Service clinic.
“It’s a new chain. There are only a few of them open yet, as far as I know.”
“What’s it called?”
“The Berger-Lennox Centre.”
“And they perform abortions?”
“Not at the center itself, no, but they have satellite clinics, and they arrange for abortions to be performed. That’s not all they do, though. They cover the whole range, really: do reliable pregnancy tests; give advice and counseling, physical exams; arrange for abortions or put you in touch with adoption agencies, social services, whatever. They take care of everything. And they’re very discreet. One of my friends at work told me about them. Why, do you think it’s important?”
“I don’t know,” said Annie. But the one thing she did know was that abortion was a red flag for a number of fringe groups, and that people who worked at such clinics had been killed before. “Do you have the address?”
“In my room. I’ll get it for you when I get Melanie’s.”
“Fine,” said Annie. “So how did the two of you meet? You said Jennifer worked in administration.”
“Yes, she ran the business side of things. We got talking in the office while I was filling out the paperwork, that’s all. She was explaining it to me, how the system worked, that sort of thing. We just sort hit it off. We’re about the same age and I think she felt a bit sorry for me. Anyway, it turned out I wasn’t pregnant, and she asked me if I fancied a drink to celebrate. When we got talking we found out that neither of us was happy living where we were, so we decided to pool our resources and share. We didn’t know each other well, but we got along all right.”
“Where did she live before?”
“Out Hammersmith way. She said it was a really tiny flat and the area wasn’t very nice. She didn’t like walking there by herself at night. Can I have another glass of water, please?”
Annie wondered why she was asking, why she just didn’t go and get it herself. It was her flat, after all. Shock, probably. The poor girl looked as if she was likely to faint again at any moment. Annie went over to the sink and filled the two glasses. A fat bluebottle had got itself stuck on the flypaper and was pushing frantically with its legs, trying to get away, only succeeding in miring itself deeper in the sticky stuff with each new effort it made. Annie thought she knew what that felt like.
“Where did you live then?” she asked, handing over the water.
“Thank you. In Richmond. With my parents.”
“Why did you leave? Was it because you thought you were pregnant?”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t anything to do with that. I never even told them. And the boy… well, he’s long gone now. Richmond is just too far out. I was spending all my time commuting. I work in Clapham. I’m a librarian. It’s only a couple of tube stops, and on a nice day I can walk if I’ve got enough time.”
“I see,” said Annie. “Why do you think Jennifer was so secretive about this new boyfriend?”
“If you ask me,” Kate said, lowering her voice, “I think he’s married.”
That made sense, Annie thought. Jennifer probably wouldn’t have bragged about a relationship with a married man; the fear of discovery was likely to make her nervous, on edge, and maybe the mobile was the safest way to communicate. No chance of getting his wife on the other end. “But you have no idea what his name is or where he lives?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“How did they meet?”
“I don’t even know if I’m right about any of it,” said Kate. “My mother always said I have too much imagination for my own good.”
“Guess. Where might Jennifer have met someone? What kind of places did she like to go? Nightclubs?”
“No, I’ve already told you she wasn’t like that. Besides, she was usually too tired when she got back from work. She often worked late at the center. I mean, she’d go for a drink or a meal with friends from work now and then, and maybe the two of us would go to the pictures once in a while. Then there was her friend Melanie.”
“Could it have been someone she met at work?”
“It might have been. That’s the most likely place, isn’t it?”
Annie nodded. She knew that. Work was where she had met Banks and, in a way, Phil Keane. “Why wasn’t she out with him on Friday? It’s the weekend, after all. People usually get together.”
“I don’t know,” said Kate. “She just said she was stopping in. She did say she was expecting a phone call at some time, but she didn’t know exactly when.” Her face started twitching again as if she was about the cry. “Should I have known? Should I have stopped her?”
Annie went over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Kate,” she said. “There’s nothing you could have done, no way you could have known.”
“But I feel so useless. Some friend I’ve turned out to be.”
“It’s not your fault. The best thing you can do is try to answer my questions as clearly and calmly as possible. Okay?”
Kate nodded but continued to sniffle and dab at her eyes and nose.
“This phone call came between half past ten and a quarter to eleven?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“What about Jennifer’s family?” Annie asked. “Where do they live? How did she get along with them?”
“Fine, as far as I know,” said Kate. “I mean, she didn’t visit them that often, but they live in Shrewsbury. You don’t when they’re so far away, do you?”
“No,” said Annie, whose father lived even farther away, in St. Ives. “Can you find their address for me, too? Now that we know it is Jennifer’s body we found, someone will have to let them know what’s happened.”
“Of course,” said Kate. “I’ve got that one in my PDA. You know, in case of emergencies or anything. I never thought I’d need it for something like this.” She dabbed at her eyes again, fetched her shoulder bag and gave Annie the address.
Annie stood up. “And now,” she said, “can I have a look at Jennifer’s room, while you dig out those other addresses?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Banks left his car parked in Corinne’s street, only a short walk from Roy’s, took the District Line from Earl’s Court to Embankment and walked up to the main post office behind Trafalgar Square. There he bought a padded envelope and posted both CD copies – Roy’s business files from the USB drive and the sex images – to himself at Western Area Headquarters. It was always a good idea, he thought, to have backup, preferably stored in a different location. He kept the original CD of JPEGs and the USB drive in his briefcase along with the papers Corinne had printed out for him.
After he had finished at the post office, he dropped in at the first newsagent’s he saw and bought another packet of Silk Cut.
While he was paying he noticed one of the headlines in the evening paper and looked closer. A young woman, as yet unidentified, had been found shot dead in a car outside Eastvale, North Yorkshire. No doubt if he’d been on duty he would have caught the case, but as things were, it would be Annie’s. He didn’t envy her having to deal with the media feeding frenzy guns always caused, but perhaps Gristhorpe would take care of the press, the way he usually did.
Banks lit a cigarette and started to walk. He had often done so when he worked on the Met, and sometimes it helped him sort out his feelings or solve a problem. Whether it did or not, he had always enjoyed walking around the West End at night, no matter how much it had changed in character since his early days on the beat.