“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get here sooner,” Banks said, when he had a warm cup of tea in his hand. “You can imagine what it’s been like.”
“Have you seen your parents? How are they? Your mother was very nice to me. Not that your father wasn’t… but you know what I mean.”
Banks remembered that last October, much to his surprise, his mother had taken Corinne into the kitchen to help her prepare the anniversary spread and in no time they had been chatting away to each other like old friends.
Thinking of his parents, he also remembered the message that the thug in the red Vectra had given him. We know where your parents live. How did they know? From Roy? When it came right down to it, though, it wasn’t that difficult to find out such things. Most likely they had followed Banks to Peterborough the day before and he hadn’t spotted them. He would ring his father before it got too late and make sure everything was all right there. He would also ring the Peterborough police again to make sure they had someone watching the house at all times. If this man with the ponytail had killed Jennifer Clewes, as Annie seemed to think he had, then he and his friends didn’t make idle threats. Banks wished he could arrange for his parents to go away for a while, but they would never agree to it. Not at a time like this.
“They’re coping,” Banks said finally. “My mother took it rather hard, as you can imagine. Dad’s trying to be a rock, but the strain’s beginning to show.”
“I hope they get through it. Do you think I should give them a ring?”
“It wouldn’t do any harm,” Banks said. “Maybe in a couple of days.” He sipped some tea – a pleasant, scented Earl Grey – then leaned forward and set the cup and saucer down on the low table. “Look, Corinne, this probably isn’t anything to do with what happened to Roy, but in a murder investigation you have to follow up all the loose ends.”
“I understand.”
“A couple of months ago, in April, you went with Roy to the Berger-Lennox Centre.”
Corinne looked away. “That’s right. It was a private matter.”
“I’m not here to judge you, either of you. Whose idea was it?”
“Was what?”
“To go to the Berger-Lennox.”
“Oh, Roy’s. He’d invested in it. He’d also visited the center before, checked it out. He said it was a good place.”
So Roy had probably already met, or at least seen, Jennifer Clewes on a previous visit. “And was it?”
“They treated me well enough.”
“The woman on reception thought you were Roy’s daughter.”
“Well, I used my own name. I wasn’t trying to pretend or anything.”
“There’s plenty of reasons these days for a girl having a different name from her father.”
“I suppose so.”
“So you went through with the procedure?”
Now she looked directly at him. “Yes. I had an abortion. Okay?”
“I assume you’re sure it was Roy’s baby?”
“Yes, of course. What do you think I am?”
“Why didn’t you want to keep it?”
“I… I didn’t feel ready.”
“What about Roy?”
“He’d already made it clear he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t much interested in me, either. He thinks I didn’t see him chatting up that redhead in the reception area, but I did.”
“Jennifer Clewes?”
Corinne put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. Is that who it was? The girl who got shot? I’ve read about her in the papers. What happened?”
“That’s where he met her, the center. Perhaps you can see now why I’m asking all these questions. There are too many connections and similarities here, but I’m missing something.”
“I don’t think I can help you. I mean, I saw him talking to her, but he’s always like that, flirting with girls. And I knew there was someone. I just didn’t put two and two together. Story of my life.”
“No reason you should. So you and Roy were splitting up when you found out you were pregnant?”
“It happened at the worst possible time.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Like these things always do.”
“And you discussed it and you both agreed abortion was the way to go?”
“Yes. Look, it’s nothing to do with what happened. It can’t be. It was a private matter. You’re not trying to say I killed him because I had an abortion and he found a new girlfriend, are you?”
“Of course not,” said Banks, though the thought had crossed his mind. Rejection and jealousy, coupled with the emotional trauma of abortion, could be a lethal mix. She hadn’t done it herself, Banks knew, but maybe she had enough money to hire someone, and maybe she even knew how to find someone to hire. After all, she was an accountant to the entertainment world, and that was full of villains, or celebrities who liked to rub shoulders with them. But Banks had dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come into his head. Wronged lovers usually go for a more direct method, as any cop who has responded to a domestic will tell you. “Roy was chatting up his new girlfriend while you were in the doctor’s office,” Banks said. “How does that make you feel?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How do you think it makes me feel?” she said. “He always was a bastard. I knew that. But I loved him.”
And this time there was no stopping her. The dam burst and the flood was unloosed. Banks went over and sat beside Corinne on the sofa, putting his arms around her. She didn’t resist. She just melted against him, buried her head in his already wet shoulder and let it all pour out. Banks held her and stroked her hair. After a few minutes the tears subsided and she gently extricated herself from his arms. Banks went back to the armchair and picked up his tea. It was lukewarm now but it was something to hide behind in the awkward moments that follow an emotional outburst. The cup rattled against the saucer as he picked it up.
Corinne went and fetched some tissues. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “It’s the first time… I was just bottling it all up. It feels better.”
“I’m glad,” said Banks, “and I’m sorry if I sounded abrupt or rude.”
“It must be very frustrating for you,” Corinne said. “And I know you and Roy weren’t very close, but you must… I mean, he was you brother, after all.”
“This might sound an odd question,” said Banks, “but did Roy ever tell you he’d witnessed the attacks on the World Trade Center?”
“Yes,” said Corinne. “I didn’t know him back then, of course, but he told me it devastated him. He had nightmares for months. I could only imagine what it must have been like.”
“Did he ever talk to you about religion, about spiritual matters?”
“Not really, no. I mean, I knew he went to church on Sundays, and he said he liked his local vicar, but it didn’t really interfere with our life.”
“You’re not interested in spiritual matters yourself?”
“Spiritual matters, as far as I can understand them, yes. But not in organized religion. Look at the misery and bloodshed it’s caused throughout history. Still causes.”
“Did the two of you ever argue about this?”
“Yes, but we always reached an impasse, the way you do when you talk about such things. He said that was just an excuse and that it was mankind who caused the bloodshed and misery, and I said his must be a pretty rotten God if he was so all-powerful and he let it all happen anyway. We learned to stay away from the subject in the end. I mean, where do you go from there?”
Where, indeed? wondered Banks, who had been involved in one or two similar arguments himself over the years.
“He didn’t push religion on me, or on anyone else, for that matter, if that’s what you’re getting at. It was a very private thing with him. And he obviously didn’t use it to try to talk me out of having an abortion.”