Strange Affair (10 page)

“Look,” said Corinne, “are you sure we should be doing this? These are Roy’s private business files, after all.”

“It’s a bit late to get squeamish now,” said Banks. “Besides,” he said, gesturing to the CD, “maybe it’s just more of the same.”

Corinne gave him a dirty look and turned back to the screen. “Well,” she said, “at least the drive isn’t password-protected.”

“And given Roy’s concern with privacy,” said Banks, “that probably means there’s nothing really confidential on it.” Or nothing
incriminating
, he thought.

“So what’s the point?”

“Perhaps it’s something he wanted me to find and read? He’d know I’d be no good at cracking passwords and such. Besides, I need anything I can get. Business contacts, activities, habits, anything.”

“There’s quite a mix of stuff,” said Corinne, scrolling down. “Some Word documents, Money files, Excel spreadsheets, PowerPoint presentations, market research reports, memos, letters.”

“Can you print it out?”

“Some of it.” Corinne started selecting files and the printer hummed into action. It was fast, Banks noticed.

“Can you also copy the contents to another thingamajig?”

“You mean a removable USB hard drive?”

“Whatever. Can you do it?”

“Of course I can. Or at least I could if I had a spare one. Will a CD do?”

“Fine,” Banks said. “Just as long as we have a copy. The CD as well.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“I’m going to post them to myself,” said Banks. “That way I’ll have backups.”

“But it might mean nothing at all. Maybe Roy’s just run off with his new girlfriend. Have you thought of that?”

Banks had. “Look,” he said, “it’s true that I don’t know Roy very well, and I’ll take your word that he’s an imaginative and bold businessman rather than a crooked one, but you didn’t
hear the phone call. He sounded
scared
, Corinne. He tried to make light of it but he did say it might be a matter of life and death. Is that like him?”

Corinne frowned. “No. I mean, I’m not saying he’s a hero or anything, but he doesn’t usually back down from difficult situations, and he’s not an alarmist. Maybe he’s been kidnapped or something?”

“Has he ever mentioned that possibility?”

“No. But you hear about it sometimes, don’t you?”

“Not that often. But trust me,” Banks said, “something’s wrong. There are just too many loose ends. The missing computer, for a start. If someone went to the trouble to take Roy’s entire computer and all the storage devices they could find, then doesn’t that seem suspicious to you? They only missed the USB drive and the CD because both were hidden.” Hidden in plain view, Banks might have added, like Poe’s purloined letter. “According to the neighbour, Malcolm Farrow, when Roy got in the car with the other man, neither was carrying anything. Someone must have gone back and taken the computer stuff between about half past nine last night and the time I arrived early this afternoon.”

“Has it occurred to you that he might have come back and taken it himself?” Corinne asked.

“Why should he? Where would he have taken it? Besides, his car’s still in the garage. He doesn’t own another, does he?”

“No. Just his darling Porsche. You’re right, if he went anywhere, he’d have taken the Porsche. He loves that car.”

“I don’t suppose he has another house, does he? Somewhere he’d go if he had to make a run for it? A villa on the Algarve, perhaps?”

“Roy’s not particularly fond of Portugal. And he doesn’t own a place in Tuscany or Provence, or anywhere else, as far
as I know. At least he never took me to one. He loves travel and holidays but he says it’s too much hassle owning property abroad. It ties you down to just one place.”

“He’s probably right.”

Corinne bit on her lower lip. “Now you’ve got me really worried.”

Banks put his hand on her shoulder, then took it away quickly, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. She didn’t react. “I’ll find Roy,” he said. “But let’s have a look at some of these files first. They might help us find out where to start looking. You know more about his business affairs than I do.”

“That’s not saying much. Anyway, there’s nothing here that looks even the remotest bit dodgy.”

“How can you tell?”

Corinne faltered a little. “Well, I don’t suppose I can, really. As I said, the drive isn’t protected or encrypted, and Roy’s hardly likely to write down references to importing heroin, is he?”

“So there’s no way of telling?”

As Corinne spoke, she opened and scanned various files. The printer was still running. “Not from these files. Everything
looks
above-board. I think if he were trying to hide that sort of thing, there’d be
something
to set off alarm bells. It’s not that easy. Besides, as I’ve been trying to tell you, Roy’s not like that.”

“What about the Money files?”

“Simple income and expenditure. Company profit and loss sheets. Investment returns. Bank statements. Some offshore banking. His finances are in pretty good shape.”

“Roy did a lot of offshore banking?”

“Anyone working at his level of income has to. It’s a matter of keeping tax liabilities as low as possible. It’s not illegal. Mostly we’re looking at memos and correspondence here. You
are, of course, welcome to examine them all at your leisure, especially as you took them in the first place, but I’d say you’d be wasting your time. Roy’s on the board of a few hi-tech companies, mostly interested in miniature information storage devices, like that USB hard drive, flash memory cards, that sort of thing. Given the way the world’s going, with mobiles, digital cameras, PDAs, MP3 players and various combinations, it seems a wise enough area to be in. Smaller is better. As a board member, he’s paid dividends.”

“What else is there?”

“Recently Roy’s become interested in private health care. I remember him talking about it. Look.” She activated a PowerPoint presentation that extolled the virtues, and profits, of investing in a string of cosmetic surgery clinics. “He’s on the board of a chain of health centres, a pharmaceutical company, a fitness club.”

“It all sounds very dull,” said Banks.

“I told you so. But guess who’s the one with the Porsche.”

“No need to rub it in. Is there more?”

“A few market research reports on health and hi-tech, the kind of reports you buy, the expensive kind.”

“I was hoping for a few names.”

“They’re here,” said Corinne. “Memos and letters between Roy and various directors and companies he was involved with. Julian Harwood, for example.”

“I’ve heard that name.”

“You might well have done. He’s quite big in the private health-care field these days. Directs the chain of clinics Roy’s involved with. Anything from cancer to breast enlargement. Actually, Roy and Julian have been mates for years.”

“Harwood’s not a doctor, though?”

“No, a businessman.”

“Have you met him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t sound impressed.”

“Maybe because that’s exactly what he sets out to do. Impress people. Frankly, I always found him a bit boorish, but it takes all sorts. It still doesn’t make him a crook, though.”

“So you don’t think there’s anything in there to suggest that Roy was involved in any sort of illegal or dangerous business ventures?”

“You can see for yourself it all looks quite kosher. I don’t know about dangerous, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just because it
looks
clean, that doesn’t mean the hi-tech companies he worked with weren’t selling illegal weapons guidance systems to terrorists, or that the clinics weren’t involved in genetic manipulation. Maybe the cosmetic surgery clinics gave gangsters new faces.”

Banks laughed. “Like
Seconds
, you mean?”

Corinne frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s a film. Rock Hudson. A man gets a new face, new identity.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I suppose my point is that they’re not exactly going to announce things like that in letters six feet high, are they? It’s a wide open world. You should know that. Even the most innocuous-looking enterprise on the surface can turn out to be a whole different matter if you dig a little deeper.”

Banks did know that, and it didn’t make him feel a great deal easier about Roy.

Corinne collected the pile of printed paper, put it in a folder and handed it to him. “Here. Be my guest.”

Banks picked up the folder, put it in his briefcase and stood
up. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “You’ve been very generous with your time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Corinne. “Just find Roy.”

“I will.”

“When you do, will you let me know?”

“Of course. In the meantime, you take good care of yourself. If you think of anything else, or there’s anything you need, well…you can ring me on Roy’s mobile. He left it on the kitchen table. That’s how I got your number.”

Corinne frowned. “That’s not like him,” she said. “Not like him at all.”

“No,” said Banks, and left.

Annie hadn’t seen anyone faint since she was about nine, when one of the women at the artists’ commune where she had been raised keeled over in the middle of dinner. Even then, she overheard some of the adults talking later, and the general agreement seemed to be that drugs were the cause. In the case of Kate Nesbit, it was most likely shock, and perhaps the heat.

Remembering her first aid, Annie placed Kate’s feet on a chair to elevate her legs above heart level to restore the flow of blood to the brain, then turned her head to one side so she didn’t swallow her tongue. She leaned close and listened. Kate was breathing without difficulty. Lacking smelling salts – never, in fact, having seen or smelt any – Annie just made sure that Kate hadn’t cracked her skull when she fell and then went over to the sink to pour another glass of water. She found a tea towel, dampened it with cold water and brought it over with the glass, then she got another glass of water for herself. Kate was stirring now, her eyes open. Annie mopped her brow
then lifted her into a sitting position so she could sip the water. As soon as Kate said she felt well enough, Annie helped her back into her chair, then cleared up the broken glass before continuing the interview.

“I’m so sorry,” Kate said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s all right. I’m just sorry I couldn’t find an easier way to break it to you.”

“But
shot
? Jenn? I can hardly believe it. Surely that sort of thing doesn’t happen to people like us?”

Annie wished she could say it didn’t.

“What was it?” Kate went on. “Robbery? Not…like that other poor girl?”

“Claire Potter?”

“Yes. It was on the news for weeks. They still haven’t found the man. You don’t think…?”

“We don’t know yet. Jennifer wasn’t sexually assaulted, though.”

“Thank God for that, at least.”

“Her things are missing,” Annie said. “Handbag, purse. So it could be robbery. Do you know if she carried much money with her?”

“No, never. She always said she could buy everything she wanted with her credit card or debit card.”

That was true enough these days, Annie knew. The only time people seemed to have a lot of cash on hand was when they had just withdrawn some from a cashpoint. “Look,” Annie went on, “you shared the flat with Jennifer. You must have been close. I know you’re upset, but I’m relying on you to help me. What was going on in Jennifer’s life? Men. Work. Family. Friends. Anything. Think. Tell me about it. There has to be an explanation if this wasn’t just some senseless random attack.”

“Maybe it was,” said Kate. “I mean those things do happen, don’t they? People killing people for no real reason.”

“Yes, but not as often as you’d think. Most victims know their killers. That’s why I want you to think deep and tell me anything you know.”

Kate sipped some water. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, we weren’t that close.”

“Did she have any close friends?”

“There was this girl she used to go to school with, up in Shrewsbury, where she grew up. She came around once or twice.”

“Can you remember her name?”

“Melanie. Melanie Scott.”

Annie definitely got the feeling that Melanie Scott wasn’t on Kate’s list of favourite people. “How close were they?”

“They went on holiday together last year. It was before Jenn moved in, but she told me all about it. Sicily. She said it was awesome.”

“Do you have an address for Melanie?”

“I think so. She lives in Hounslow, I remember. Out Heathrow way. I’ll be able to dig it out before you go.”

“Fine. What was Jennifer like?”

“Quiet, hard-working. And she really cared about people, you know. Maybe she should have been a social worker.”

In Annie’s experience, the world of social work was hardly staffed by caring people. Well-meaning, perhaps, but that was a different thing in her mind. “What about all those mysterious comings and goings?”

“That’s just me being silly, really. I like to know where people are and when they’ll be back. Jenn didn’t always bother to let me know. But she wasn’t a party girl, if that’s what you
mean, or a clubber. I think she was actually rather shy. But she was bright and ambitious. Like I said, she cared about people. And she was funny. I liked her sense of humour. We used to watch
The Office
on DVD together and we’d both crack up laughing. I mean, we’d both worked somewhere like that. We knew what it was like. I’ll miss all that,” Kate added. “I’ll miss Jenn.” She started to cry again and reached for the tissues. “I’m sorry. I just can’t…”