Not Safe After Dark

1

‘I’m not happy with it, laddie,’ said Dr Glendenning, shaking his head. ‘Not happy at all.’

‘So the super told me,’ said Banks. ‘What’s the problem?’

They sat at a dimpled, copper-topped table in the Queen’s Arms, Glendenning over a glass of Glenmorangie and Banks over a pint of Theakston’s. It was a bitterly cold evening in February. Banks was anxious to get home and take Sandra out to dinner as he had promised, but Dr Glendenning had asked for help, and a Home Office pathologist was too important to brush off.

‘One of these?’ Glendenning offered Banks a Senior Service.

Banks grimaced. ‘No. No thanks. I’ll stick with tipped. I’m trying to give up.’

‘Aye,’ said Glendenning, lighting up. ‘Me, too.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘She should never have died,’ the doctor said, ‘but that’s by the way. These things happen.’

‘Who shouldn’t have died?’

‘Oh, sorry. Forgot you didn’t know. Anna, Anna Childers is – was – her name. Admitted to the hospital this morning.’

‘Any reason to suspect a crime?’

‘No-o, not on the surface. That’s why I wanted an informal chat first.’ Rain lashed at the window; the buzz of conversation rose and fell around them.

‘What happened?’ Banks asked.

‘Her boyfriend brought her in at about ten o’clock this morning. He said she’d been up half the night vomiting. They thought it was gastric flu. Dr Gibson treated the symptoms as best he could, but…’ Glendenning shrugged.

‘Cause of death?’

‘Respiratory failure. If she hadn’t suffered from asthma, she might have had a chance. Dr Gibson managed at least to get the convulsions under control. But as for the cause of it all, don’t ask me. I’ve no idea yet. It could have been food poisoning. Or she could have taken something, a suicide attempt. You know how I hate guesswork.’ He looked at his watch and finished his drink. ‘Anyway, I’m off to do the post-mortem now. Should know a bit more after that.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘You’re the copper, laddie. I’ll not tell you your job. All I’ll say is the circumstances are suspicious enough to worry me. Maybe you could talk to the boyfriend?’

Banks took out his notebook. ‘What’s his name and address?’

Glendenning told him and left. Banks sighed and went to the telephone. Sandra wouldn’t like this at all.

2

Banks pulled up outside Anna Childers’s large semi in south Eastvale, near the big roundabout, and turned off the tape of Furtwängler conducting Beethoven’s Ninth. It was the 1951 live Bayreuth recording, mono but magnificent. The rain was still falling hard, and Banks fancied he could feel the sting of hail against his cheek as he dashed to the door, raincoat collar turned up.

The man who answered his ring, John Billings, looked awful. Normally, Banks guessed, he was a clean-cut, athletic type, at his best on a tennis court, perhaps, or a ski slope, but grief and lack of sleep had turned his skin pale and his features puffy. His shoulders slumped as Banks followed him into the living room, which looked like one of the package designs advertised in the Sunday colour supplements. Banks sat down in a damask-upholstered armchair and shivered.

‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Billings, turning on the gas fire. ‘I didn’t…’

‘It’s understandable,’ Banks said, leaning forward and rubbing his hands.

‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’ Billings asked. ‘I mean, the police…?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Banks said. ‘Just some questions.’

‘Yes.’ Billings flopped onto the sofa and crossed his legs. ‘Of course.’

‘I’m sorry about what happened,’ Banks began. ‘I just want to get some idea of how. It all seems a bit of a mystery to the doctors.’

Billings sniffed. ‘You can say that again.’

‘When did Anna start feeling ill?’

‘About four in the morning. She complained of a headache, said she was feeling dizzy. Then she was up and down to the toilet the rest of the night. I thought it was a virus or something. I mean, you don’t go running off to the doctor’s over the least little thing, do you?’

‘But it got worse?’

‘Yes. It just wouldn’t stop.’ He held his face in his hands. Banks heard the hissing of the fire and the pellets of hail against the curtained window. Billings took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. At the end she was bringing up blood, shivering, and she had problems breathing. Then… well, you know what happened.’

‘How long had you known her?’

‘Pardon?’

Banks repeated the question.

‘A couple of years in all, I suppose. But only as a business acquaintance at first. Anna’s a chartered accountant and I run a small consultancy firm. She did some auditing work for us.’

‘That’s how you met her?’

‘Yes.’

Banks looked around at the entertainment centre, the framed Van Gogh print. ‘Who owns the house?’

If Billings was surprised at the question, he didn’t show it. ‘Anna. It was only a temporary arrangement, my living here. I had a flat. I moved out. We were going to get married, buy a house together somewhere in the dale. Helmthorpe, perhaps.’

‘How long had you been going out together?’

‘Six months.’

‘Living together?’

‘Three.’

‘Getting on all right?’

‘I told you. We were going to get married.’

‘You say you’d known her two years, but you’ve only been seeing each other six months. What took you so long? Was there someone else?’

Billings nodded.

‘For you or her?’

‘For Anna. Owen was still living with her until about seven months ago. Owen Doughton.’

‘And they split up?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any bitterness?’

Billings shook his head. ‘No. It was all very civilized. They weren’t married. Anna said they just started going their different ways. They’d been together about five years and they felt they weren’t really going anywhere together, so they decided to separate.’

‘What did the two of you do last night?’

‘We went out for dinner at that Chinese place on Kendal Road. You don’t think it could have been that?’

‘I really can’t say. What did you eat?’

‘The usual. Egg rolls, chicken chow mein, a Szechuan prawn dish. We shared everything.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. We usually do. Anna doesn’t really like spicy food, but she’ll have a little, just to keep me happy. I’m a curry nut, myself. The hotter the better. I thought at first maybe that was what made her sick, you know, if it wasn’t the flu, the chillies they use.’

‘Then you came straight home?’

‘No. We stopped for a drink at the Red Lion. Got home just after eleven.’

‘And Anna was feeling fine?’

‘Yes. Fine.’

‘What did you do when you got home?’

‘Nothing much, really. Pottered around a bit, then we went to bed.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘Yes. I must admit, I felt a little unwell myself during the night. I had a headache and an upset stomach, but Alka-Seltzer soon put it right. I just can’t believe it. I keep thinking she’ll walk in the door at any moment and say it was all a mistake.’

‘Did Anna have a nightcap or anything?’ Banks asked after a pause. ‘A cup of Horlicks, something like that?’

He shook his head. ‘She couldn’t stand Horlicks. No, neither of us had anything after the pub.’

Banks stood up. The room was warm now and his blotched raincoat had started to dry out. ‘Thanks very much,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘And again, I’m sorry for intruding on your grief.’

Billings shrugged. ‘What do you think it was?’

‘I don’t know yet. There is one more thing I have to ask. Please don’t take offence.’

Billings stared at him. ‘Go on.’

‘Was Anna upset about anything? Depressed?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no. Quite the opposite. She was happier than she’d ever been. She told me. I know what you’re getting at, Inspector – the doctor suggested the same thing – but you can forget it. Anna would never have tried to take her own life. She just wasn’t that kind of person. She was too full of life and energy.’

Banks nodded. If he’d had a pound for every time he’d heard that about a suicide he would be a rich man. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Just for the record, this Owen, where does he live?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know. He works at that big garden centre just off North Market Street, over from the Town Hall.’

‘I know it. Thanks very much, Mr Billings.’

Banks pulled up his collar again and dashed for the car. The hail had turned to rain again. As he drove, windscreen wipers slapping, he pondered his talk with John Billings. The man seemed genuine in his grief, and he had no apparent motive for harming Anna Childers; but, again, all Banks had to go on was what he had been told. Then there was Owen Doughton, the ex live-in lover. Things might not have been as civilized as Anna Childers had made out.

The marvellous fourth movement of the symphony began just as Banks turned into his street. He sat in the parked car with the rain streaming down the windows and listened until Otto Edelmann came in with ‘O Freunde, nicht diese Töne…’, then turned off the tape and headed indoors. If he stayed out any longer he’d be there until the end of the symphony, and Sandra certainly wouldn’t appreciate that.

3

Banks found Owen Doughton hefting bags of fertilizer around in the garden centre early the next morning. Doughton was a short, rather hangdog-looking man in his early thirties with shaggy dark hair and a droopy moustache. The rain had stopped overnight, but a brisk, chill wind was fast bringing in more cloud, so Banks asked if they could talk inside. Doughton led him to a small, cluttered office that smelled faintly of paraffin. Doughton sat on the desk and Banks took the swivel chair.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Mr Doughton,’ Banks started.

Doughton studied his cracked, dirty fingernails. ‘I read about Anna in the paper this morning, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘It’s terrible, a tragedy.’ He brushed back a thick lock of hair from his right eye.

‘Did you see much of her lately?’

‘Not a lot, no. Not since we split up. We’d have lunch occasionally if neither of us was too busy.’

‘So there were no hard feelings?’

‘No. Anna said it was just time to move on, that we’d outgrown each other. We both needed more space to grow.’

‘Was she right?’

He shrugged. ‘Seems so. But I still cared for her. I don’t want you to think I didn’t. I just can’t take this in.’ He looked Banks in the eye for the first time. ‘What’s wrong, anyway? Why are the police interested?’

‘It’s just routine,’ Banks said. ‘I don’t suppose you’d know anything about her state of mind recently?’

‘Not really.’

‘When did you see her last?’

‘A couple of weeks ago. She seemed fine, really.’

‘Did you know her new boyfriend?’

Doughton returned to study his fingernails. ‘No. She told me about him, of course, but we never met. Sounded like a nice bloke. Probably better for her than me. I wished her every happiness. Surely you can’t think she did this herself? Anna just wasn’t the type. She had too much to live for.’

‘Most likely food poisoning,’ Banks said, closing his notebook, ‘but we have to cover the possibilities. Nice talking to you, anyway. I don’t suppose I’ll be troubling you again.’

‘No problem,’ Doughton said, standing up.

Banks nodded and left.

4

‘If we split up,’ Banks mused aloud to Sandra over an early lunch in the new McDonald’s that day, ‘do you think you’d be upset?’

Sandra narrowed her eyes, clear blue under the dark brows and blonde hair. ‘Are you trying to tell me something, Alan? Is there something I should know?’

Banks paused, Big Mac halfway to his mouth, and laughed. ‘No. No, nothing like that. It’s purely hypothetical.’

‘Well, thank goodness for that.’ Sandra took a bite of her McChicken sandwich and pulled a face. ‘Yuck. Have you really developed a taste for this stuff?’

Banks nodded. ‘It’s all right, really. Full of nutrition.’ And he took a big bite as if to prove it.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘you certainly know how to show a woman a good time, I’ll say that for you. And what on earth are you talking about?’

‘Splitting up. It’s just something that puzzles me, that’s all.’

‘I’ve been married to you half my life,’ Sandra said. ‘Twenty years. Of course I’d be bloody upset if we split up.’

‘You can’t see us just going our separate ways, growing apart, needing more space?’

‘Alan, what’s got into you? Have you been reading those self-help books?’ She looked around the place again, taking in the plastic decor. ‘I’m getting worried about you.’

‘Well, don’t. It’s simple really. I know twenty years hardly compares with five, but do you believe people can just disentangle their lives from one another and carry on with someone new as if nothing had happened?’

‘Maybe they could’ve done in 1967,’ Sandra answered. ‘And maybe some people still can, but I think it cuts a lot deeper than that, no matter what anyone says.’

‘Anna said it was fine,’ Banks muttered, almost to himself. ‘But Anna’s dead.’

‘Is this that investigation you’re doing for Dr Glendenning, the reason you stood me up last night?’

‘I didn’t stand you up. I phoned to apologize. But, yes. I’ve got a nagging feeling about it. Something’s not quite right.’

‘What do you mean? You think she was poisoned or something?’

‘It’s possible, but I can’t prove it. I can’t even figure out how.’

‘Then maybe you’re wrong.’

‘Huh.’ Banks chomped on his Big Mac again. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’ He explained about his talks with John Billings and Owen Doughton. Sandra thought for a moment, sipping her Coke through a straw and picking at her chips, sandwich abandoned on her tray. ‘Sounds like a determined woman, this Anna. I suppose it’s possible she just made a seamless transition from one to the other, but I’d bet there’s a lot more to it than that. I’d have a word with both of them again, if I were you.’

‘Mmm,’ said Banks. ‘Thought you’d say that. Fancy a sweet?’

5

‘The tests are going to take time,’ Glendenning said over the phone, ‘but from what I could see there’s severe damage to the liver, kidneys, heart and lungs, not to mention the central nervous system.’

‘Could it be food poisoning?’ Banks asked.

‘It certainly looks like some kind of poisoning. A healthy person doesn’t usually die just like that. I suppose at a pinch it could be botulism,’ Glendenning said. ‘Certainly some of the symptoms match. I’ll get the Board of Trade to check out that Chinese restaurant.’

‘Any other possibilities?’

‘Too damned many,’ Glendenning growled. ‘That’s the problem. There’s enough nasty stuff around to make you that ill if you’re unlucky enough to swallow it: household cleaners, pesticides, industrial chemicals. The list goes on. That’s why we’ll have to wait for the test results.’ And he hung up.

Cantankerous old bugger, Banks thought with a smile. How Glendenning hated being pinned down. The problem was, though, if someone – Owen, John or some undiscovered enemy – had poisoned Anna, how had he done it? John Billings could have doctored her food at the Chinese restaurant, or her drink in the pub, or perhaps there was something she had eaten that he had simply failed to mention. He certainly had the best opportunity.

But John Billings seemed the most unlikely suspect: he loved the woman; they were going to get married. Or so he said. Anna Childers was quite well off and upwardly mobile, but it was unlikely that Billings stood to gain, or even needed to gain, financially from her death. It was worth looking into, though. She had only been thirty, but she might have made a will in his favour. And Billings’s consultancy could do with a bit of scrutiny.

Money wouldn’t be a motive with Owen Doughton, though. According to both the late Anna and to Owen himself, they had parted without rancour, each content to get on with life. Again, it might be worth asking a few of their friends and acquaintances if they had reason to think any differently. Doughton had seemed gentle, reserved, a private person, but who could tell what went on in his mind? Banks walked down the corridor to see if either Detective Constable Susan Gay or Detective Sergeant Philip Richmond was free for an hour or two.

6

Two hours later, DC Susan Gay sat in front of Banks’s desk, smoothed her grey skirt over her lap and opened her notebook. As usual, Banks thought, she was well dressed: tight blonde curls; just enough make-up; the silver hoop earrings; black scoop-necked top; and a mere whiff of Miss Dior cutting the stale cigarette smoke in his office.

‘There’s not much, I’m afraid,’ Susan started, glancing up from her notes. ‘No will, as far as I can discover, but she did alter the beneficiary on her insurance policy a month ago.’

‘In whose benefit?’

‘John Billings. Apparently she has no family.’

Banks raised his eyebrows. ‘Who was the previous beneficiary?’

‘Owen Doughton.’

‘Odd that, isn’t it?’ Banks speculated aloud. ‘A woman who changes her insurance policy with her boyfriends.’

‘Well she wouldn’t want it to go to the government, would she?’ Susan said. ‘And I don’t suppose she’d want to make her ex rich either.’

‘True,’ said Banks. ‘It’s often easier to keep a policy going than let it lapse and apply all over again later. And they were going to get married. But why change it so soon? How much is it for?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

Banks whistled.

‘Owen Doughton’s poor as a church mouse,’ Susan went on, ‘but he doesn’t stand to gain anything.’

‘But did he know that? I doubt Anna Childers would have told him. What about Billings?’

Susan gnawed the tip of her Biro and hesitated. ‘Pretty well off,’ she said. ‘Bit of an up-and-comer in the consultancy world. You can see why a woman like Anna Childers would want to attach herself to him.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s going places, of course. Expensive places.’

‘I see,’ said Banks. ‘And you think she was a gold-digger?’

Susan flushed. ‘Not necessarily. She just knew what side her bread was buttered on, that’s all. Same as with a lot of new businesses, though, Billings has a bit of a cashflow problem.’

‘Hmm. Any gossip on the split up?’

‘Not much. I had a chat with a couple of locals in the Red Lion. Anna Childers always seemed cheerful enough, but she was a tough nut to crack, they said, strong protective shell.’

‘What about Doughton?’

‘He doesn’t seem to have many friends. His boss says he’s noticed no real changes, but he says Owen keeps to himself, always did. I’m sorry. It’s not much help.’

‘Never mind,’ Banks said. ‘Look, I’ve got a couple of things to do. Can you find Phil for me?’

7

‘Did you know that Anna had an insurance policy?’ Banks asked Owen Doughton. They stood in the cold yard while Doughton stacked some bags of peat moss.

Doughton stood up and rubbed the small of his back. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘What of it?’

‘Did you know how much it was for?’

He shook his head.

‘All right,’ Banks said. ‘Did Anna tell you she’d changed the beneficiary, named John Billings instead of you?’

Doughton paused with his mouth open. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, she didn’t.’

‘So you know now that you stand to gain nothing, that it all goes to John?’

Doughton’s face darkened, then he looked away and Banks swore he could hear a strangled laugh or cry. ‘I don’t believe this,’ Doughton said, facing him again. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You think I might have killed Anna? And for money? This is insane. Look, go away, please. I don’t have to talk to you, do I?’

‘No,’ said Banks.

‘Well, bugger off then. I’ve got work to do. But remember one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I loved her. I loved Anna.’

8

John Billings looked even more wretched than he had the day before. His eyes were bloodshot, underlined by black smudges, and he hadn’t shaved. Banks could smell alcohol on his breath. A suitcase stood in the hallway.

‘Where are you going, John?’ Banks asked.

‘I can’t stay here, can I? I mean, it’s not my house, for a start, and… the memories.’

‘Where are you going?’

He picked up the case. ‘I don’t know. Just away from here, that’s all.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Gently, Banks took the case from him and set it down. ‘We haven’t got to the bottom of this yet.’

‘What do you mean? For Christ’s sake, man!’

‘You’d better come with me, John.’

‘Where?’

‘Police station. We’ll have a chat there.’

Billings stared angrily at him, then seemed to fold. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he muttered. ‘What does it matter?’ And he picked his coat off the rack and followed Banks. He didn’t see DS Philip Richmond watching from the window of the cafe over the road.

9

It was after seven o’clock, dark, cold and windy outside. Banks decided to wait in the bedroom, on the chair wedged in the corner between the wardrobe and the dressing table. From there, with the door open, he could see the staircase, and he would be able to hear any sounds in the house.

He had just managed to get the item on the local news show at six o’clock, only minutes after Dr Glendenning had phoned with more detailed information: ‘Poison suspected in death of Eastvale woman. Police baffled. No suspects as yet.’ Of course, the killer might not have seen it, or might have already covered his tracks, but if Anna Childers had been poisoned, and Glendenning now seemed certain she had, then the answer had to be here.

Given possible reaction times, Glendenning had said in his late afternoon phone call, there was little chance she could have taken the poison into her system before eight o’clock the previous evening, at which time she had gone out to dine with John Billings.

The house was dark and silent save for the ticking of a clock on the bedside table and the howling wind rattling the window. Eight o’clock. Nine. Nothing happened except Banks got cramp in his left calf. He massaged it, then stood up at regular intervals and stretched. He thought of DS Richmond down the street in the unmarked car. Between them, they’d be sure to catch anyone who came.

Finally, close to ten o’clock, he heard it, a scraping at the lock on the front door. He drew himself deep into the chair, melted into the darkness and held his breath. The door opened and closed softly. He could see a torch beam sweeping the wall by the staircase, coming closer. The intruder was coming straight up the stairs. Damn! Banks hadn’t expected that. He wanted whoever it was to lead him to the poison, not walk right into him.

He sat rigid in the chair as the beam played over the threshold of the bedroom, mercifully not falling on him in his dark corner. The intruder didn’t hesitate. He walked around the bed, within inches of Banks’s feet, and over to the bedside table. Shining his torch, he opened the top drawer and picked something up. At that moment Banks turned on the light. The figure turned sharply, then froze.

‘Hello, Owen,’ said Banks. ‘What brings you here?’

10

‘If it was anyone, it had to be either you or him, John,’ Banks said later back in his office, while Owen Doughton was being charged downstairs. ‘Only the two of you were intimate enough with Anna to know her habits, her routines. And Owen had lived with her until quite recently. There was a chance he still had a key.’

John Billings shook his head. ‘I thought you were arresting me.’

‘It was touch and go, I won’t deny it. But at least I thought I’d give you a chance, the benefit of the doubt.’

‘And if your trap hadn’t worked?’

Banks shrugged. ‘Down to you, I suppose. The poison could have been anywhere, in anything. Toothpaste, for example. I knew if it wasn’t you, and the killer heard the news, he’d try to destroy any remaining evidence. He wouldn’t have had a chance to do so yet because you were in the house.’

‘But I was at the hospital nearly all yesterday.’

‘Too soon. He had no idea anything had happened at that time. This wasn’t a carefully calculated plan.’

‘But why?’

Banks shook his head. ‘That I can’t say for certain. He’s a sick man, an obsessed man. It’s my guess it was his warped form of revenge. It had been eating away at him for some time. Anna didn’t treat him very well, John. She didn’t really stop to take his feelings into account when she kicked him out and took up with you. She just assumed he would understand, like he always had, because he loved her and had her welfare at heart. He was deeply hurt, but he wasn’t the kind to make a fuss or let his feelings show. He kept it all bottled up.’

‘She could be a bit blinkered, could Anna,’ John mumbled. ‘She was a very focused woman.’

‘Yes. And I’m sure Doughton felt humiliated when she dumped him and turned to you. After all, he didn’t have much of a financial future, unlike you.’

‘But it wasn’t that, not with Anna,’ Billings protested. ‘We just had so much in common. Goals, tastes, ambitions. She and Owen had nothing in common any more.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Banks said. ‘Anyway, when she told him a couple of weeks ago that she was going to get married to you, it was the last straw. He said she expected him to be happy for her.’

‘But why did he keep on seeing her if it hurt him so much?’

‘He was still in love with her. It was better seeing her, even under those circumstances, than not at all.’

‘Then why kill her?’

Banks looked at Billings. ‘Love and hate, John,’ he said. ‘They’re not so far apart. Besides, he doesn’t believe he did kill her, that wasn’t really his intention at all.’

‘I don’t understand. You said he did. How did he do it?’

Banks paused and lit a cigarette. This wasn’t going to be easy. Rain blew against the window and a draught rattled the Venetian blind.

‘How?’ Billings repeated.

Banks looked at his calendar, trying to put off the moment; it showed a woodland scene, snowdrops blooming near The Strid at Bolton Abbey. He cleared his throat. ‘Owen came to the house while you were both out,’ Banks began. ‘He brought a syringe loaded with a strong pesticide he got from the garden centre. Remember, he knew Anna intimately. Did you and Anna make love that night, John?’

Billings reddened. ‘For Christ’s sake-’

‘I’m not asking whether the earth moved, I’m just asking if you did. Believe me, it’s relevant.’

‘All right,’ said Billings after a pause. ‘Yes, we did, as a matter of fact.’

‘Owen knew Anna well enough to know that she was frightened of getting pregnant,’ Banks went on, ‘but she wouldn’t take the pill because of the side effects. He knew she insisted on condoms, and he knew she liked to make love in the dark. It was easy enough to insert the needle into a couple of packages and squirt in some pesticide. Not much, but it’s very powerful stuff, colourless and odourless, so even an infinitesimal coating would have some effect. The condoms were lubricated, so they’d feel oily anyway, and nobody would notice a tiny pinprick in the package. You absorbed a little into your system, too, and that’s why you felt ill. You see, it’s easily absorbed through skin or membranes. But Anna got the lion’s share. Dr Glendenning would have found out eventually how the poison was administered from tissue samples, but further tests would have taken time. Owen could easily have nipped back to the house and removed the evidence by then. Or we might have decided that you had better access to the method.’

Billings paled. ‘You mean it could just as easily have been me either killed or arrested for murder?’

Banks shrugged. ‘It could have turned out any way, really. There was no way of knowing accurately what would happen, and certainly there was a chance that either you would die or the blame would fall on you. As it turned out, Anna absorbed most of it, and she had asthma. In Owen’s twisted mind, he wanted your love-making to make you sick. That was his statement, if you like, after suffering so long in silence, pretending it was OK that Anna had moved on. But that’s all. It was a sick joke, if you like. We found three poisoned condoms. Certainly if one hadn’t worked the way it did, there could have been a build up of the pesticide, causing chronic problems. I did read about a case once,’ Banks went on, ‘where a man married rich women and murdered them for their money by putting arsenic on his condoms, but they were made of goatskin back then. Besides, he was French. I’ve never come across a case quite as strange as this.’

Billings shook his head slowly. ‘Can I go now?’ he asked.

‘Where to?’

‘I don’t know. A hotel, perhaps, until…’

Banks nodded and stood up. As they went down the stairs, they came face to face with Owen Doughton, handcuffed to a large constable. Billings stiffened. Doughton glared at him and spoke to Banks. ‘He’s the one who killed her,’ he said, with a toss of his head. ‘He’s the one you should be arresting.’ Then he looked directly at Billings. ‘You’re going to have to live with that, you know, Mr Moneybags. It was you who killed her. Hear that, Mr Yuppie Moneybags? You killed her. You killed Anna.’

Banks couldn’t tell whether he was laughing or crying as the constable led him down to the cells.