Bad Boy

12

BEFORE HEADING DOWN TO LEEDS TO TALK TO VICTOR Mallory, Banks wanted to see if he could get anything out of Erin Doyle. He also wanted to see how Erin was bearing up under the strain of all that had happened over the last few days. She’d done a stupid thing, certainly, but he’d watched her grow up; she was a close friend of his daughter’s; she and Tracy had skipped and played hopscotch and whip’n’top in the street. What Erin had done needn’t ruin her whole life. He wasn’t going to write her off and abandon her to the likes of Chambers if he could help it. He wanted to talk to Juliet, too, but she would have to wait. He wasn’t a Family Liaison officer or a guidance counselor. Finding Tracy was his priority right now, and he doubted that Juliet could help with that. Erin and Victor Mallory just might.

Banks strode across the cobbled market square and started to climb the hill that wound up to the Norman castle overlooking the river Swain. It was a fine day for a walk, and the fresh air and exercise helped clear his foggy mind. On his way he passed the burgundy facade of the Café de Provence, where he had enjoyed his first date with Sophia. It seemed so long ago now, but it had only been last March. So much had happened in a mere six months. Now this: thrown straight back to work in the thick of a crisis. The only thing to do was to carry on.

He turned off Castle Hill onto Lamplighter’s Wynde, just past the café, and looked for number seven. It was a narrow cobbled street which wound back down to York Road in a steep curve, not even wide enough for cars, and the limestone terrace houses there were among the oldest in Eastvale, dating back in their foundations to Norman times, when the castle was built. In later years, they had been wealthy local merchants’ houses, and now they were a tourist attraction and a source of accommodation. Like many houses on the street, the one where Erin was staying had originally consisted of two separate dwellings, which had been knocked into one. The doorway was low enough that Banks had to be careful walking through it, but inside he found a greater sense of space, and far more light, than he had expected.

The landlady inspected his warrant card and pointed upstairs to where Erin was staying. Room 5. She called after Banks as he walked toward the stairs. “She hasn’t been out once, poor thing,” she said. “And she won’t eat. She just stays up there in her room fretting all day long.”

“Where is Ms. Yu?” Banks asked, thinking he should talk to the Family Liaison officer before he talked to Erin.

“She’s out.” The landlady lowered her voice. “I think she’s visiting the poor girl’s mother.”

Banks made sympathetic noises and carried on up the narrow creaking flight of stairs. The landing wasn’t quite flat, as in so many of these old houses. One of the floorboards wobbled, and the walls were out of true. Miniature watercolors of local landscapes hung on the flock-patterned walls, and Banks recognized Hindswell Woods, Lyndgarth village green, Eastvale Castle at sunset, and the little stone bridge in his own tiny village of Gratly.

He knocked on the door, heard nothing, then knocked again. “Erin?” he called. “Erin, it’s Alan, Alan Banks. Can I come in?”

Nothing happened for a few moments, then the door swung slowly open, as if of its own accord, on squeaky hinges. Erin, who must have got up to open it, had gone back to sitting on the window seat staring out at the view, her head turned. Banks shut the door behind him and sat on the only chair by the small writing desk. The room was stuffy, the window shut tight.

At first he didn’t speak, leaving an opening for Erin to have the first word, but she kept her gaze averted and her mouth closed. “Erin,” he said finally. “I’m so sorry about your dad. He was a good mate.”

At first Erin said nothing, but Banks thought he noticed her head move slightly. Then, in a small voice, she said, “It was my fault, you know. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t think-”

“You weren’t here! You don’t know!” The sudden fury of her reaction stunned Banks. “You weren’t here,” she said again, quieter this time, as she stood up to face him, her face streaked with tears, hands curled into tight fists.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her body relaxed and her shoulders slumped. She gave him a sad glance. “Oh, I’m not blaming you. That’s not what I mean. How could you know? But I was there. I was the one who…I…”

There seemed only one thing to do. Banks got up, moved forward and took Erin in his arms. At first she stiffened and resisted, then she went limp and threw her arms around him, holding on for dear life, and started to sob convulsively. When she managed to take control of herself she broke away, embarrassed, and took a tissue from the box on the bedside table to wipe her face. “Look at me,” she said. Then she turned to face Banks again. “I must be a sight. I am glad to see you. Really. It’s been awful. Nobody’s been to see me except Patricia. She’s nice, but it’s not the same. Nobody understands. I’ve got nobody to talk to.”

“What about your mother?”

Erin started to bite her thumbnail. Banks noticed that all her fingernails were chewed into ugly half moons, raw and bloody around the edges.

“Erin? I know you must be angry with her for what she did, but she is your mother.”

“She reported me to the police.” The anger was gone, replaced by disbelief and pain. “How could she do that? How could my own mother do that when she knew I’d go to jail?” She looked directly at Banks, her blue-gray eyes disconcerting. “Would you do that? If it was Tracy?”

“I don’t know what I’d do,” Banks said. “The law against handguns is there for a good reason.”

“But she’s my mother.”

“She was concerned,” Banks said. “She didn’t know what to do. And she wasn’t thinking about the consequences. She certainly didn’t intend you to go to jail.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she asked for me. She didn’t know how to cope with finding a gun in your room. She was scared. So she came to me.”

“But you’re a policeman. What did she expect you to do?”

“I’m also a friend of the family. What do you think I would have done?”

“I suppose you’d have followed the rules.”

“I might have been able to help her. To help you, too.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“I haven’t had a chance yet. I will. But you have to promise me you’ll try to forgive her. I must at least have something positive to tell her. Something to give her hope. Think how she must be feeling. Her daughter hates her. Her husband’s dead. You can’t expect her to make all the moves. You’ve got to try to meet her halfway.”

“She moved quickly enough to turn me in.”

“She was scared, confused. Have you never felt that way?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Erin turned away and rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Look,” said Banks, “you’ve been cooped up here for ages. Do you fancy a walk, a bit of fresh air? Maybe get a bite to eat? A drink?”

Erin nodded. “A walk would be good,” she said. “Just let me wash my face first. I must look a mess.”

Banks gazed out of the window as Erin went over to the washstand and bent over. The houses opposite were almost close enough to touch, and just beyond their flagstone roofs he could see the jagged top of the castle keep. Every once in a while a cloud would obscure the sun, casting a shadow over the scene.

Erin tied her hair back in a ponytail, grabbed a light jacket and put it on over her T-shirt. She was wearing jeans torn at the knees and a battered pair of trainers. Banks guessed that most of her good clothes were either back at Laburnum Avenue or in Leeds. She hadn’t been taking care of herself; that much was obvious. She had purple-black bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, her eyes were dull and her complexion pasty. She also seemed listless and tired, no doubt from shock and lack of food.

They left the B-and-B and walked back up to Castle Road. Just a few yards farther ahead a flagged pathway led up to the castle itself, and another branched off along the crest of the hill, circling the castle’s outer walls and looking out over the woods down the hill to the river. There were plenty of tourists enjoying a day out, and couples and families were picnicking far below on the grassy riverbanks by the terraced falls. Birds twittered in the trees. Some of the leaves were already turning at the edges. Banks remembered his first months in Eastvale, also around this time of year; how he had walked here many times with Sandra, Brian and Tracy, slowly getting used to their new home, watching the leaves change color day by day until at last they broke free and drifted down into the river.

Neither Banks nor Erin talked at first. Erin kept her head down and her hands in her pockets. She seemed a slight and vulnerable figure to Banks, far more frail than he had expected, even given the circumstances; more like a little girl again. But then he reminded himself of the problems she had to face-not only her father’s death and her mother’s blame, but the gun charges, the unfaithful boyfriend, her best friend’s treachery. It would be more than enough for anyone.

At the end of the path a chip van stood outside the car park, and Banks asked Erin if she would like a burger or a hot dog. She chose the hot dog, and he got one for himself, too, piling on the fried onions and hot chili sauce, along with a couple of cans of cold Coke. Queuing at the van reminded him of buying ice cream for Erin and Tracy when they were kids.

They found an empty bench below the castle walls and sat down to eat, looking out over the treetops. The foliage almost obscured the East Side Estate and the railway lines beyond, but not quite. Even so, it was an idyllic scene, and from that height, far in the distance, on a clear day like this, he could see the long anvil of Sutton Bank rising across the Vale of York.

Banks pulled the tab on his tin and the Coke foamed and fizzed over his hand. He laughed. Erin offered him a tissue from her pocket, and he wiped it off. The tin had felt cold, but the Coke was too warm. Still, the sugar hit was so good it made him feel a bit giddy at first. Tourists wandered by, and a few curious dogs, attracted by the smells, sniffed and strained at their leads.

Food finished, Banks collected the rubbish and dropped it in the bin beside the bench. “I’ve got to ask you a few questions,” he said, sitting beside Erin again and crossing his legs.

She gave him a sly sideways smile. “I should have known there was a price to pay for that hot dog.”

“The hot dog’s free, talking’s optional.”

Erin sat silent a moment, lips pursed, looking out over the panorama, her eyes squinting shut against the sun. Finally she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, propping up her head. “Why not? It’s a nice place for it. I was just thinking. Do you remember that time we went swimming in the river, in the shallows over there by the woods?” She pointed in the general direction of Hindswell Woods, to the west. “There was me, Tracy, Brian, Mum, Mrs. Banks, and you and Dad keeping an eye on us. We had a picnic, too. Potted-meat sandwiches and dandelion and burdock. And Blue Riband chocolate biscuits. They tasted so good.”

“Yes,” said Banks. “But I’m amazed you remember. You can’t have been more than six or seven.” He remembered the day well. He and Patrick Doyle were just getting to know each other then, typically enough, through their children. Patrick had said he was happy to have a police detective living in the street. Now he’d know where to go if he ever got a parking ticket or had a problem with the law. They had all walked through magical woods dappled with sunlight filtered between fluttering leaves, and at that riverside picnic Sandra had chilled a bottle of white wine in the water, and they had sipped it from colored plastic cups with chunks of old cheddar and soft Brie on baguettes.

The spot was also close to where some schoolchildren had found a man hanging earlier in the summer, and that had marked the start of the case that had almost finished Banks. But it was behind him now, along with the rest of that troubled time. “Do you remember Blackpool Illuminations?”

“Vaguely,” said Erin. “It’s not quite as clear. I think I fell asleep in the car. Brian was with us then, too, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Erin shook her head sadly. “She won’t even mention his name anymore. I talk about the Blue Lamps, she doesn’t want to know.”

“Who? Why?”

“Tracy. I mean, if I had a rock star like Brian for a brother, I’d be telling, like, everyone. I do, anyway. Tell them I grew up with him. The Blue Lamps are so cool. Do you know she likes to call herself Francesca now because she thinks Tracy’s too Corrie?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” said Banks. And somehow, knowing it hurt him to the quick. Her name. The name he and Sandra had given her. “Why won’t she mention Brian?” he asked.

“She’s jealous, I’d say, but she won’t admit it. Because he’s successful and she’s…well, let’s face it, she didn’t do very well in her exams, did she? I mean, she knew how much was expected of her, and she feels she’s let everyone down, especially herself. Ever since then she’s been on hold, sort of dithering. She likes working at the bookshop well enough, but she doesn’t see it as a career, or as what she thought she’d be doing by now.”

“But she can still take her academic career further if she wants. She mentioned teaching once. Surely she could still do that?”

“Sure, if she had the will. But she’s changed. There’s a lot of negative stuff there. Anger. Low self-esteem. I don’t know. I just can’t seem to talk to her these days. I mean, you know, before…Anyway, what do you want to know?”

“It’s hard to know where to begin,” said Banks, still trying to digest what he had just heard about Tracy. He had failed her. He should have paid more attention to her when she needed it, spent more time with her, instead of getting bogged down in his own personal and professional problems and feeling sorry for himself. “I’m not sure myself, yet,” he went on. “I just arrived back from my holidays this morning, and I’m still jet-lagged. You’ll have to help me a bit.”

“Where did you go?”

“America. Arizona, Nevada and California, mostly.”

“L.A.? San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Wicked. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

Banks smiled. “Me, too. And it really is ‘wicked.’” Erin paused a moment, then began, “My father-”

“You don’t have to talk about him,” said Banks quickly. “That’s not my case. I mean, I’m not saying that I’m not interested, or I don’t care, but because armed police officers were involved, we have to have a special investigation, and I’m not allowed to interfere. Do you understand?”

“I understand. That makes sense.”

“But you shouldn’t blame yourself. Nobody could have foreseen that combination of circumstances.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been trying to convince myself. It’s just that whenever I think about it I can’t help but feel that upsurge of guilt. It just floods through me like a dam’s burst, and I don’t have the strength to hold it back.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” said Banks. “My psychologist friend always told me it wasn’t a good idea to hold things back.”

“But you have to sometimes, don’t you? Anger? Hatred? Disapproval? Otherwise we’d all be at each other’s throats half the time.”

“What about love?” said Banks. “Should we hold that back too?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “It might not be a bad thing. In some circumstances. When you think about it, love probably causes more trouble than hate.”

She sounded far too wise for one so young, thought Banks, who had been patiently waiting for years now for the wisdom that was supposed to come with age; to no avail, it seemed. “Anyway,” he said, “no matter how bad things seem now, your mother’s going to need you before long. Do you think you can cope?”

“Dunno,” said Erin, waving away a troublesome wasp. “Not much I can do from jail, is there?”

“Why did you take the gun, Erin? I trust you did take it from your boyfriend Jaffar McCready, and that you hadn’t already got it from somewhere else?”

“Jaff,” Erin said. “He goes by Jaff. I was pissed off at him. I knew he had it-he’d shown it off to me once-and I thought if I took it he’d be angry. You know, like it was his favorite toy or something. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him notice me, want me back.”

Now, Banks thought, she didn’t sound so wise. “But it’s not a toy. Not like an iPod or a mobile or something. Didn’t you think he might be so angry he wouldn’t want anything to do with you again? Or that maybe he’d hurt you?”

“No. I don’t suppose I was thinking all that clearly. I just took it and went back to the house and picked up some clothes and went home. I was going to give it back to him.”

“Okay,” said Banks. “Do you know why he had it in the first place?”

“Not really. Just for show, I think. I don’t think he’d ever actually used it or anything. He just liked to play at being a tough guy, that’s all. I mean, he did hang around with some pretty shifty characters, and I don’t know how he had made so much money, but I don’t think it was from working nine to five.”

“Did you meet any of these shifty characters?”

“Sometimes.”

Banks took copies of Rose’s sketches of Ciaran and Darren from his briefcase. “Did you ever see either of these two, for example?”

“They came to the flat once. Jaff told me to stay in the bedroom but the door was open a crack. I saw them and heard them. They were arguing.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Couple of months. Something like that.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“I don’t know. Money. Some delivery or other. I think maybe Jaff did a bit of dealing. Nothing serious, but he knew everyone on the scene.”

“The club scene?”

“Yeah. And the student scene.”

“Is that how you met?”

“No. It was after uni. I was working at one of those posh restaurants in The Calls, and he used to eat there regularly.”

“Alone?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ever with the two in the drawings?”

“No. If he did have company it was usually some expensive suit, not thugs like that.” She smiled. “I’m not sure they’d even get past the door, the place I worked.”

“Business?”

“It seemed that way. And he did come in by himself sometimes. He didn’t like to cook, or even to eat at home by himself. We got to chatting. You know. One thing led to another. He seemed fun. Smart, cocky, ambitious. We’d go to clubs sometimes after the restaurant closed. Like I said, everybody knew him. Mr. Big around there. Mr. Flash. Always carried a thick roll of twenties. It felt good to be seen out with him. Never boring. But it was hard to keep up with him sometimes. He always seemed to have something else going on, you know, somewhere else to be, or someone else to be with.” She shrugged. “Now I know who it was.”

“Tracy?” Banks said.

“Yes. Or someone else. I doubt that she was the first. Sometimes he was gone for days without explanation. Not that he owed me one. Oh, don’t think I blame Tracy. I was mad, yes, who wouldn’t be? She kissed him. She stole my boyfriend. It’s not as if she’s such an angel, anyway. It’s not as if she hasn’t been SUI more than once.”

“SUI?”

Erin glanced at him sideways. “Shagged Under the Influence. Does that shock you?”

It didn’t so much shock Banks as hurt him. To think something like that about his own daughter, to imagine the things that had happened to her when she was too far gone to be in control made him feel sorry for her, protective. Erin was basically talking about date rape. His own daughter. It made him angry. Why the hell couldn’t she have come to him with her problems? Was he that distant and uncaring?

“Do you mean drugged and raped?” he asked.

“Not the way you imagine it. I mean, I’m not saying you’re always up for it when you’re so off your face, but it’s no big deal. It’s just a shag. SUI. Anyway,” Erin went on, picking at a hangnail, “like I said, if it hadn’t been Tracy, it would have been someone else. I know that. Jaff was just…”

“But it’s Tracy he’s got with him now,” Banks said. “What do you mean?”

“It hasn’t hit the front pages yet, but he’s on the run. Armed. And Tracy’s with him. We think he shot a policewoman. Annie Cabbot. Maybe you know her?”

“I remember her, yes. You were close at one time, after Mrs. Banks left, weren’t you? But Jaff…? I can’t believe it.”

“We need to find them. Annie could die, and Tracy’s in danger.”

“But Jaff wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Have you ever seen him be violent?”

“Well, no. I mean, yes, but only…you know, someone who tried to rip him off, or put him down because of his color, call him a Paki or something. He really hated that.”

“So he can be violent?”

“He has a quick temper. But he never hurt me. I can’t imagine him harming a woman. Not Tracy.”

“We found a car up on the moors. It belongs to someone called Victor Mallory. Have you ever heard that name?”

“Vic? Yes, of course. He’s Jaff’s best friend. They went to public school together, then Cambridge. Vic’s…”

“What?”

“Well, he’s like a sort of old-fashioned hippie, really, with his long hair and stuff, but he’s weird, too, and a bit scary sometimes. He’s very clever, he studied chemistry, but I think drugs have fried his brain. Like he’s always looking for new chemical compounds, and he’ll try everything himself first. He’s definitely blown a few connections.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“I don’t know if he had one, but he and Jaff used to talk about them sometimes. You know, like computer nerds, or techies. As if they knew what they were talking about.”

“Maybe they did,” said Banks. “Did Jaff ever say anything about that gun you took? If it was ever used. Anything at all.”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t remember anything. I don’t suppose I really know him at all, do I, when it comes down to it?”

“Probably not. How long have you known him?”

“Six months. Look, I know I’ve been a fool, but I’m not stupid. And I’m not a bad person. I want to help. I want to make things right.”

“I know, Erin. Right now, things are difficult, and my priority is finding Tracy and making sure she’s safe. Can you understand that?”

“Of course. But how can I help?”

“I need to get some idea of what Jaff might do in a situation like this, where he might go. How intelligent is he?”

“Oh, he’s very bright. He went to Cambridge.”

“So I understand.” That didn’t mean very much, Banks thought, certainly not when it came to drug dealing and evading the law. On the other hand, some Cambridge graduates had quite a good reputation in both those areas. “Where would he go, do you think? Does he have anyone he might turn to, anyone who might help him?”

“I don’t know,” said Erin. “But he’d probably go to London. I mean, that’s where he comes from, and he’s got friends down there. He’s a city boy.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“I’m trying to remember. He took me with him for a weekend once, but we stayed in a nice hotel in Mayfair, not with any of his friends.”

“He knows he’s in a lot of trouble,” Banks went on. “It’s my guess that he would probably want to leave the country as soon as possible, maybe even try to head back to Mumbai, if he still has contacts there, but if he’s at all bright, as you say he is, he knows we’ll be keeping an eye on the ports, stations and airports.”

“There’s Justin,” Erin said. “Justin?”

“Yes, in London. Another old pal from his uni days. We had dinner with him while we were there. One of those fancy places where you get one little plate after another. Justin was there with his girlfriend. She was Slovakian or something like that. Beautiful. Very exotic. She didn’t speak much English, I remember. Looked like a model or an actress.”

“Do you remember anything about Justin?”

“Just something Jaff said. I think he was showing off, and he said something to me about Justin being the man to know if you needed a new passport. Justin didn’t like it, I remember. He gave Jaff a nasty look. But I thought maybe he was involved in forging stuff and maybe smuggling people into the country.”

“That sounds like the sort of person Jaff might want to contact right now,” Banks said. “Do you know where he lives?”

“No. We didn’t go back to his place. We went on to a couple of clubs in the West End, I don’t remember where. I’m afraid I was a bit drunk by then.”

“Did you get his surname?”

“No. We just used first names.”

“What was his girlfriend called?”

“Martina.”

“Did this Justin have any sort of accent, too? How was his English?”

“His English was excellent, sort of posh, like Jaff’s. He did have a slight accent, though, but you really had to listen.”

“What accent?”

“I don’t know. I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

“Eastern European? Same as his girlfriend?”

“Maybe.” Erin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“And you’ve no idea where they live?”

“I do remember we were talking about property values once, back in the restaurant. Jaff was thinking about buying a flat in London, and he was asking this Justin about it. He said something about Highgate, but that’s all I remember. I got the impression that was where he lived. But it’s big, isn’t it, Highgate?”

“Big enough,” said Banks. But he felt a rush of excitement. There was every chance that if this Justin was involved in people-smuggling and dodgy documents, one or other of the Met’s intelligence units would have a watching brief on him, and even pinpointing him as living in Highgate might help them narrow their search. Banks hardly had any points with the intelligence services, but he knew that Dirty Dick Burgess would help him out at a pinch, especially if Tracy was in danger.

“Did Jaff ever talk much about his family, his background?” Banks asked. “I’m just trying to get a better sense of who I’m dealing with.”

“Not a lot. Jaff’s a mummy’s boy, really, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s not a nancy boy or a sissy or anything. But I think he really loved his mother, and his father was more distant, tougher, less involved with him emotionally when he was growing up. Jaff didn’t talk about his family or his background much when we were together, except sometimes if the mood came on him. You know, the right combination of booze and E or whatever. Then he tended to ramble, and you had to sort of piece it together. I could be wrong. Anyway, he wasn’t too happy about ending up back with his dad after his mother died, and when he went off to boarding school and then university, that was his opportunity to make the break, to grab for his independence. He’s got a photo of his mother in the flat. You should see it. She was beautiful. There are none of his dad.”

“Thank you,” Banks said. “You’ve been a great help.”

Erin shrugged. “What’s going to happen to me now? I don’t mean to be selfish or anything, but I couldn’t stand going to jail.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Not for a while. When’s your court date?”

“Next month.”

“Get a good solicitor,” Banks said. “It’s true that the law comes down hard on possession of firearms, but you’ve got a better chance than most. You haven’t been in trouble before, you’re from a good family, you have character witnesses. It could be worse.”

“Hard to imagine,” said Erin, “but thanks. That helps.”

“I’ll help you as best I can. If you don’t know a solicitor, I can recommend one. And if this business with Jaff and Tracy comes to a satisfactory conclusion and no one gets hurt, that could go in your favor, too. You’ve helped us a lot.”

Erin nodded. They both stood up. “What are you going to do now?” Banks asked.

“I think I’m going to go to the Swainsdale Centre and buy some new clothes and makeup. I can’t believe you’d allow yourself to be seen with me looking like this.”

Banks laughed.

“It is all right, isn’t it?” she asked. “What?”

“To go to the Swainsdale Centre. You know. I don’t have to go straight back to the B-and-B and report in, do I? You’re not going to put an electronic tag on my ankle, are you?”

“Of course not,” said Banks. “You’re on police bail. You report when you’re told to and you’ll be fine. I wouldn’t advise leaving town, though. Believe me, there will be more questions. A lot more. But you can go anywhere you want in Eastvale.”

“Except home,” said Erin. “Except home.”