Free The Good Partner by Peter Robinson Page B

last night. Poor Kim.” She shook her head.
    â€œWe’re puzzled about a few things. Maybe you can help us?”
    â€œI’ll try.”
    â€œDid you notice her taking many photographs at the convention?”
    Norma Cheverel frowned. “I can’t say as I did, really, but there were quite a few ­people taking photographs there, especially at the banquet. You know how ­people get silly at conventions. I never could understand this mania for capturing the moment. Can you, Chief Inspector?”
    Banks, whose wife, Sandra, was a photographer, could understand it only too well, though he would have quibbled with “capturing the moment.” A good photographer, a real photographer, Sandra had often said, did much more than that; she transformed the moment. But he let the aesthetics lie.
    Norma Cheverel was right about the photo mania, though. Banks had also noticed that since the advent of cheap, idiot-­proof cameras every Tom, Dick and Harry had started taking photos indoors. He had been half blinded a number of times by a group of tourists “capturing the moment” in some pub or restaurant. It was almost as bad as the mobile-­phone craze, though not quite.
    â€œDid Kim Fosse share this mania?” he asked.
    â€œShe had a fancy new camera. She took it with her. That’s all I can say, really. Look, I don’t—­”
    â€œBear with me, Ms. Cheverel.”
    â€œNorma, please.”
    Banks, who reserved the familiarity of first-­name terms to exercise power over suspects, not to interview witnesses, went on. “Do you know if she had affairs?”
    This time Norma Cheverel let the silence stretch. Banks could hear the fan cooling the microchip in her computer. She stubbed out her long cigarette, careful to make sure it wasn’t still smoldering, sipped some coffee, swiveled a little, and said, “Yes. Yes, she did. Though I wouldn’t really describe them as affairs.”
    â€œHow would you describe them?”
    â€œJust little flings, really. Nothing that really meant anything to her.”
    â€œWho with?”
    â€œShe didn’t usually mention names.”
    â€œDid she have a fling in London last weekend?”
    â€œYes. She told me about it on the way home. Look, Chief Inspector, Kim wasn’t a bad person. She just needed something David couldn’t give her.”
    Banks took a photograph of the man in the navy blue suit from his briefcase and slid it across the desk. “Know him?”
    â€œIt’s Michael Bannister. He’s with an office-­furnishings company in Preston.”
    â€œAnd did Kim Fosse have a fling with him that weekend?”
    Norma swiveled and bit her lip. “She didn’t tell me it was him.”
    â€œSurprised?”
    She shrugged. “He’s married. Not that that means much these days. I’ve heard he’s very much in love with his wife, but she’s not very strong. Heart condition, or something.” She sniffled, then sneezed and reached for a tissue.
    â€œWhat did Kim tell you about last weekend?”
    Norma Cheverel smiled an odd, twisted little smile from the corner of her lips. “Oh, Chief Inspector, do you really want all the details? Girl talk about sex is so much dirtier than men’s, you know.”
    Though he felt himself reddening a little, Banks said, “So I’ve been told. Did she ever express concern about her husband finding out?”
    â€œOh, yes. She told me under no circumstances to tell David. As if I would. He’s very jealous and he has a temper.”
    â€œWas he ever violent towards her?”
    â€œJust once. It was the last time we went to a convention, as a matter of fact. Apparently he tried to phone her in her room after midnight—some emergency to do with the dog—and she wasn’t there. When she got home he lost his temper, called her a whore and hit her.”
    â€œHow long had they been