‘Not half as bad as it was for her, despite the morphine. A lot of the time we just sat in silence. I held her hand. She stayed at home as long as she could, but the last few days...’ Julie shook her head at the memory. ‘She had to go into hospital. She was skin and bone at the end. The skull beneath the skin.’
Again, Banks remembered the young and beautiful girl he had loved all those years ago: her spontaneity, her rebellious spirit, her fearlessness. They’d go on marathon night walks — St John’s Wood, Notting Hill, Holland Park, Hampstead, Camden — pass by desperate late-night partygoers trying to hail a taxi already taken, or hear strange stirrings in the dark bushes of the Heath, see a homeless person bedded down in a shop doorway, walk around an aggressive drunk. Once they got chased by two drunk yobs and ended up panting, breathless and laughing. Streets so busy in day were dark and empty at night. They would go home to lie down and make love as the dawn chorus swelled, then drift to sleep, maybe missing their first lectures of the day and not caring.
‘But we also talked a lot,’ Julie went on. ‘About life, death, old times. She loved you very much, you know.’
‘I loved her, too,’ said Banks. ‘I never could understand why things didn’t work out.’
‘You wanted different things, that’s all. You were both too young. Emily was a free spirit. She wanted to travel, live life to the full.’
‘So did I.’
‘Maybe. But you were also set on a career, even then. You didn’t like business studies, I remember that, but you had mentioned the police once or twice.’
‘I did? Is that why...?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. If it wasn’t the police it would have been something else. It’s just that in Emily’s eyes you wanted to settle down. You know, the semi-detached, steady job, healthy pension, mortgage, two point five children, little dog, but Emily, well, Emily—’
‘Didn’t really know what she wanted.’
Julie laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s fair to say that. She only knew what she didn’t want.’
‘Why didn’t she tell me? Maybe if she had I could have... you know... changed.’
‘No, you couldn’t. People don’t. Not deep down.’
Banks remembered hearing almost the same words from Jenny Fuller only hours ago.
‘Besides,’ Julie went on. ‘Things hadn’t reached crisis point. You were still in your honeymoon period, willing to overlook a lot. Neither of you were thinking very much about the future. You were living in the present.’
That was true, Banks remembered. And it was exciting, just going where your fancy led you. It might well have been the last time he had lived for the moment, he thought sadly. Not long after the break-up had come career, promotion boards, marriage to Sandra, children, financial struggles, then the mortgage, the pension, the semi-detached, the move up north. Everything except the little dog, and that was only because Sandra was allergic to dogs.
‘Do you remember the last time you saw her?’ Julie asked.
‘As if it were yesterday,’ said Banks. He could remember the texture of the tree he leaned against, the red-and-white striped ball two young boys were kicking on the grass, a blackbird’s song, a dark stain on the page of the book he was reading, the heat of the sun on his face, the shouts of rowers from behind him on the Serpentine... ‘Why?’
Banks noticed the faintest of smiles pass across Julie’s features. ‘She said she thought you would,’ she said. ‘She remembered, too. It was a hot day in Hyde Park, wasn’t it? You couldn’t understand why she was finishing with you.’
‘That’s because she wouldn’t tell me why.’
‘Did you really not guess?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to know?’
Banks speared a thick flake of cod. ‘After all this time? I don’t know that it matters. Why? Did she tell you?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve known all along. She was pregnant, Alan. That’s why she split up with you and she couldn’t tell you why. Emily was pregnant.’
‘You won’t catch me working with any of those computer facial recognition programmes,’ said Ray Cabbot as Annie and Gerry sat with him on the wicker chairs in Banks’s conservatory. Banks was nowhere to be seen. Annie had already tried to get him twice on his mobile, but the first time he didn’t pick up, and the second time it was switched off. She wondered what was going on with him, what mysterious mission he was on, but she wasn’t especially worried. He was a big boy; he could take care of himself. Maybe he was on a hot date with that profiler, she thought, and didn’t want to be disturbed.
Annie wasn’t too thrilled at first about being dragged away from her date with Nick, but that was the way the job went sometimes, and if anyone could understand, Nick could. She and Gerry were admiring the sketch Ray had done of the man Paula Fletcher had described.
‘You’re a natural,’ said Annie. ‘It’s brilliant.’
‘You don’t know that, not until you find him,’ Ray said. ‘It might be total crap.’
‘Paula Fletcher said it was accurate,’ Gerry said.
‘Memories fade.’ Ray got up and headed for the door to the entertainment room. ‘I’m off to find something to drink.’
Annie rolled her eyes. It had been a successful evening so far. After Gerry had rung, Annie had met her at Banks’s cottage, and they had persuaded a reluctant Ray to go with them to Lyndgarth and try his hand at a police sketch. After a few false starts, Ray and Paula had seemed to develop a rapport, and the end result was amazingly lifelike, Annie thought. Though Ray was right, of course; they wouldn’t know for certain until they found the man.
First came the music, a little too loud for Annie’s liking, then Ray came back brandishing a bottle of Macallan and three glasses. He seemed disappointed when both Annie and Gerry declined and poured himself a large one.
‘Driving,’ Annie said.
‘Me, too,’ said Gerry.
‘You can both stop over if you want,’ Ray said. ‘He’s got plenty of room.’ He glanced at Gerry. ‘We can have our own party. Maybe I can do a couple of preliminary sketches?’
‘In your dreams,’ said Annie. ‘Grow up. And you’d better be careful, knocking back Alan’s expensive single malt like that.’
Ray held up the bottle. ‘I bought this one, myself,’ he said. ‘Sure you won’t join me, love? I don’t like drinking alone.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘Ummagumma.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The album. Pink Floyd. Ummagumma. The live disc. “Astronomy Domine” is the song. Classic. He’s got a fine music library, your boss.’
‘Can you turn it down a bit?’ Annie asked.
Ray muttered to himself but fiddled with the remote, and the volume dropped a couple of decibels. ‘Philistines,’ Annie heard him grumble.
Ray was in his element with Gerry for an audience, the old goat, she thought, smiling to herself, all old-school charm and romantic roguishness. Mad, bad and dangerous to know. If she heard about the mesmerising texture of Gerry’s red hair and the smooth creaminess of her complexion one more time she thought she might accidentally knock his drink into his lap.
Gerry tapped the sketch. ‘We don’t even know if he’s the one we want yet, remember,’ she said. ‘So perhaps we’d best not get our hopes up.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Annie. ‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get this circulated pronto and see what happens. We could add that he may be called Gord, or Gordon, too. Maybe that’ll help.’
‘But we don’t know for sure it’s the same person Jonathan Martell mentioned.’
‘We don’t know anything for certain. It’s probably not even his real name, if he is the killer. But sometimes you just have to take a shot.’