‘I was miles away,’ Banks said. ‘You know, I just saw a girl who was the spitting image of the young Francoise Hardy.’
Jean-Claude smiled indulgently. ‘Always the romantic.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘For a policeman, I think it is.’
The drinks arrived and Jean-Claude took a sip. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘You know, she was born not far from here. In the ninth, at any rate.’
‘Francoise Hardy?’
‘Oui.’
Banks’s perspective shifted slightly, as if he were viewing the place from a different angle. ‘How’s retirement?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure I know yet. It hasn’t been that long, and I’ve been consulting with my squad on high-profile cases ever since.’
‘So you’re still working?’
‘Basically, yes. But part-time. Less stress.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Let the young men do all the running round and my little grey cells do all my work.’
The shadows were creeping across the pavement in front of the Grand Comptoir restaurant over the street, almost reaching the outside tables. Its pale cream facade was still lit in the late afternoon glow. The number of pedestrians passing by started to increase as the Metro disgorged more and more people on their way home from work.
The empty tables soon filled, and the buzz of conversation got louder. Banks and Jean-Claude chatted about old times, opera, football, books, Brexit, and the future. Eventually, after the second glass of Chablis, Jean-Claude asked Banks, ‘You wanted to talk about something? You were very cryptic on the telephone. Is it something I can help with?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Banks.
‘Then I suggest we finish our drinks and discuss it over dinner. I know just the place.’
Charlotte paused so long that Annie thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she cast her eyes down and muttered so softly that Annie had to lean forward to hear her. ‘Connor,’ she said. ‘Connor raped her.’
Annie slapped the table. ‘Then why the hell didn’t you tell us that from the start? Do you realise how much trouble you’ve caused; the resources you’ve wasted?’
‘That’s not my fault,’ Charlotte argued back, her eyes brimming with tears again. ‘I didn’t tell you because Marnie didn’t want anyone to know and Connor’s dead, so what the hell does it matter? You couldn’t put him in jail. How the hell was I to know there was a video and that you’d end up investigating the rape? I knew it would end like this, with you lot trying to find something to charge me with, lock me up, and throw away the key. That you’d ruin the life I’ve worked so hard to build. That’s why I didn’t tell you the truth to begin with.’
‘Oh, spare me,’ said Annie. ‘You’re telling us you lied because you were surprised by the video? That you didn’t expect to have to answer any questions? Is that why you also lied about not recognising Marnie from the first picture we showed you, leading us to waste hours of valuable time finding out who she was?’
‘Yes.’ Charlotte sniffed. ‘And now Marnie’s dead, too. They’re both dead. It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? None of it matters any more.’
‘Perhaps if you had insisted that Marnie get the kind of help she needed, she would still be alive.’
Charlotte gave her a look of pure hatred. ‘How can you?’ she said. ‘How dare you say that to me? You’re a terrible person, a cruel person.’ She started to cry again, and the lawyer passed her a tissue.
‘Ease up a little, DI Cabbot,’ said Jessica Bowen. ‘You’ve just informed Mrs. Westlake about the death of her biological daughter. She has reason to be upset.’
‘You think I’m being too hard?’ Annie said. ‘Sorry. It’s a sign of the extreme frustration this case has caused me.’
‘We’re all frustrated,’ said Jessica Bowen, ‘but let us please try to remain civilised.’
Annie glanced at Gerry, who also seemed dumbstruck by her last comment. Had she really overstepped the mark? Was she cruel? The only thing to do now was to press on to the logical conclusion.
‘What was your relationship with Connor Blaydon?’ she asked.
Charlotte blew her nose and looked up with reddened eyes. ‘What do you mean, relationship? He was my boss.’
‘Other than that?’
‘Are you suggesting there was more to it than that?’
Annie turned over a sheet of paper. ‘When Marnie’s best friend, Mitsuko Ogawa, told us about her job, she said that you were working for an old friend. We thought it seemed like an odd thing to say at the time, as you’d told us you met Blaydon at a gala event a few years before. You never mentioned a friendship. But you also indicated that you had known one another on and off for some time. Only you were very vague about it.’
‘Why should I mention a friendship? There wasn’t one. We had a working relationship. I don’t know what this Ogawa woman was talking about, but it was likely just a figure of speech.’
‘How long had you known Blaydon, then?’ Annie asked. ‘Whether you were friends or not.’
‘Like I said, a few years, on and off.’
‘How many? Twenty?’
Charlotte turned away. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
Annie referred to the notes Gerry had made again. ‘Isn’t it true that you had known Connor Clive Blaydon since you were twenty-one, in 1999? You were a rebellious young tearaway gadding around the Greek islands with some wealthy friends you’d met at St. Hilda’s, cadging lifts and sleeping berths on yachts. Didn’t you once cadge a lift on a luxury yacht called the Nerea, out of Corfu? And wasn’t this owned by one Connor Clive Blaydon?’
Charlotte seemed to freeze. Jessica Bowen glanced from her client to Annie and back. ‘DI Cabbot,’ she said. ‘Exactly where are you going with this?’
‘Patience,’ said Annie. ‘Have patience, and all will be revealed.’
‘I’m tired,’ said Charlotte. ‘And you’ve upset me.’ She implored Jessica Bowen. ‘Please, make them stop. It’s my right. I’m entitled to a break. I want to go home.’
‘Legally, we are entitled to detain you for twenty-four hours without charge,’ said Annie. ‘But you’re right. You do have a right to breaks, meals, and so on. Now, we have a destination in mind, and one way or another we’re going to get there. If you’re tired and need a break, we have a very comfortable cell in the basement. You’ll be fed, made comfortable, and we can start again bright and early tomorrow morning.’
‘This is a nightmare. I want to go home.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you have to stay in custody until we’re satisfied with your answers to our questions,’ she said. ‘It’s the law.’
Charlotte glanced at Jessica Bowen again.
‘You’ll be all right,’ the solicitor said. ‘I’ll be nearby. You’ll be well treated. I promise you.’
But Charlotte didn’t look happy in the slightest, least of all when two female officers marched her out of the interview room and down to the custody suite.
‘You know Nelia Melnic?’ Jean-Claude asked, clearly stunned by Banks’s revelation of what he wanted to talk about.
‘Yes. She goes by the name of Zelda now. She’s a friend. Why, do you?’
‘No. No. I’ve never met her. I just know the name. I’m surprised, that’s all. I hear she’s very beautiful.’
‘Yes.’ They were having dinner at a restaurant Jean-Claude knew, lost in the maze of backstreets of the 9th Arrondissement. The specialty was seafood, and both were enjoying the house platter along with a bottle of fine white Burgundy, chosen by Jean-Claude. They had been fortunate to get there early enough for a table out front.