‘What do you think?’ he asked Winsome, who was perching on the arm of the chair, beside him peering at the photos.
‘Escort,’ she said, without missing a beat.
‘Perhaps it was more than just a sexual transaction?’ Banks suggested. ‘She’s not dressed like a hooker. Those are more like student clothes, not slutty or expensively stylish at all. Could she have been a lover, maybe? He seems a bit out of it in the room, doesn’t he? What do you think?’
‘She could be a high-priced escort,’ Winsome said. ‘I imagine you can order them dressed any way you wish. Maybe he had a thing about student chic. And you’re right, guv. There’s definitely something odd about that picture in the hotel room. His position. He’s sort of inert, when you wouldn’t expect him to be.’
Banks raised his eyebrows. ‘Winsome, you surprise me. What should he be doing, do you think?’
‘He just seems too passive, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I’d say that if a man his age was lucky enough to be in bed with a girl her age, a girl as beautiful as her, then he should probably be enjoying himself.’
Banks laughed. ‘Good point, Winsome. Thanks for sharing that.’ He stood up. ‘Lots of questions that need answers. Whichever way you look at it, it seems as if our DI Quinn has been a naughty boy. Bit of a dark horse. OK, let’s get these photos over to Photographic Services and have some copies made before they get to work on them. It would be interesting to find out when they were taken and who the girl is. Perhaps we can isolate her face so we can show it around without giving away what Quinn was up to. Will you seal off this room, Winsome, and make sure no one enters? I especially don’t want any of the media getting a scent of this. They’re bound to find out eventually — they always do — but let’s keep it under wraps for as long as we can.’
‘Yes, guv.’ Banks glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better be getting back to the station. I’m sure the boss will be chomping at the bit, wanting to know what’s going on, and I need a few favours from her.’
Chapter 2
Since the reorganisation, which meant more meetings, recently promoted Area Commander Catherine Gervaise had added a low round table and four tubular chairs to her office. There was plenty of room for them, and they allowed for a more informal meeting space than the boardroom, where the full team briefings were carried out.
Banks felt the tubes holding up his chair give gently as he sat and leaned back, carefully placing his coffee mug on a rose-patterned coaster on the glass table. The coffee was from Gervaise’s personal filter machine, and it was good and strong. There was no doubt that Gervaise had brought a feminine touch to what used to be Superintendent Gristhorpe’s very masculine office, though she would never thank anyone for telling her so.
Photographs of her husband and children adorned her desk and the top of the filing cabinet; the walls were painted in muted pastel shades of blue, complemented by a couple of well-framed water lily prints. The whole place seemed somehow more airy and light, with everything neat and in its place.
Most of the books were legal or forensic texts, rather than the rows of leather-bound literary classics Gristhorpe had kept on the shelves, though there was the tell-tale Stella Rimington autobiography that Gervaise had clearly forgotten to hide. The books were in neat groups, separated by the occasional cup or plaque for archery, dressage or fencing, which had been Gervaise’s passions when she had had more time to indulge in such pursuits.
The window was open about three inches, and Banks could hear sounds from Eastvale’s cobbled market square — delivery vans, children’s squeals, shouted greetings — and the smell of fresh-baked bread from Bob’s Bakery made his mouth water. It was going on for nine o’clock. He had been up since just after five, and he hadn’t eaten anything yet. Maybe he’d grab a pasty or a sausage roll from Greggs after the meeting.
AC Gervaise was as fresh and business-like as ever in her navy blue suit and crisp white linen blouse, a little red, blue and yellow needlework around the collar adding a touch of colour to its strict lines.
‘Is everything in hand?’ she asked, sitting opposite Banks and smoothing her skirt.
‘It is,’ said Banks.
The mechanics of a murder investigation could be quite overwhelming, and it was as well to get everything set up and running, make sure everyone knew what his or her job was, before information started arriving in the form of forensics reports, witness statements, alibis and the like. Computer systems such as HOLMES and SOCRATES needed to be set up, and that job would probably fall to DC Gerry Masterson these days, with her IT background, but there was still so much reliance on actual paper in police investigations that plenty of good strong cardboard boxes and large filing cabinets would also be needed. And even though officers used their mobiles most of the time, dedicated land lines had to be set up, and the public needed to be made aware of numbers to call if they had information.
‘Did you know DI Quinn personally?’ Gervaise asked.
‘I met him once,’ said Banks. ‘Seemed like a nice enough bloke. But I can’t say I knew him. You?’
‘Same thing. He was awarded a medal for bravery about three years ago. I was at the presentation.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Distinguished service record. I don’t get this at all, Alan. From everything I’ve heard so far, it certainly doesn’t seem like a random act of violence, or even an old enemy lashing out in anger.’
‘No,’ Banks agreed. ‘The choice of weapon. It all seems very deliberate, as if it were planned. And then there are the photos.’
Gervaise’s eyes widened. ‘The what?’
Banks explained about the photographs he’d found in Quinn’s forensic textbook. ‘They should be with Photographic Services by now, though I don’t imagine there’ll be a lot they can tell us.’
‘You’d be surprised. Quinn with a young woman, you say?’
‘Very young.’
‘What do you make of it? Blackmail?’
‘That seems most likely.’ Banks paused. ‘Winsome told me his wife died just a month ago,’ he went on, ‘which makes me think that if the photos had been used for blackmail before then, there’s a good chance they’d be quite useless after.’
‘What about his children?’
‘It’s not the same, is it? Besides, they’re grown up. At university.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I know that I wouldn’t want my kids to know... you know...’ Gervaise reddened. ‘If I’d done anything like that.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Banks imagined what Tracy or Brian would say if they knew about some of the things he’d done over the years. Not that infidelity had been a habit, but once was enough. There were other things he’d done, things he wasn’t proud of, down in London when he was undercover and living on the edge, or over it sometimes. ‘But the blackmail still loses a lot of its sting, doesn’t it? I mean, your kids can hardly haul you through the divorce courts and take everything you’ve got, can they?’
Gervaise gave him a look that would freeze a volcano. ‘You mean take what they’re entitled to, surely, Alan?’
‘Sorry, ma’am. Yes. Of course.’