Free Watching the Dark (Inspector Banks Mystery) by Peter Robinson Page A

late now.
    His own father had been a keen cyclist in his younger days, Banks remembered, and many was the day Banks had accompanied him on rides beside the Nene, or across the Cambridgeshire flatlands, when he was eleven or twelve. But like his own children, and like Jessica, the older he had got, the less interested he had become in going with his father on bicycle rides. All he wanted to do was hang around with his mates listening to the latest Beatles, Bob Dylan or Animals record. There had been no room for adults and their boring interests in his world. He was lucky his father was still alive – at least they had been able to rebuild a few bridges in the past few years – but they wouldn’t be going on any bicycle rides together again.
    ‘It was most likely to do with his work,’ Banks said. ‘Do you know if he received any threatening letters or phone calls recently?’
    ‘No. But I’ve been at university since Christmas, except I came home when Mum died, of course, and he didn’t mention anything then. He never talked about that stuff at home. His job. Well, hardly ever. Sometimes he’d tell us funny stories about things that happened at the station, but I think he liked to protect us from the bad stuff.’
    Exactly as Banks had done with Brian and Tracy. ‘So you can’t think of anyone who wanted to harm him? He didn’t get any threats or anything?’
    ‘Not that I know of.’ Jessica cradled her mug in both hands and took a sip.
    ‘I did find one thing you might be able to help me with,’ Banks said, going back into the living room for the photo he had left there. He brought it through to the kitchen and turned it around on the table so that Jessica could get a good look. ‘Is this Rachel Hewitt?’
    ‘That’s Rachel. She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?’ Jessica bit her lower lip, the tears flowing over. ‘He could never let it go, you know. Never let her go. It’s like she was his only failure, and he had to beat himself up with it every time he got a bit down. It used to drive Mum crazy.’
    ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Banks. ‘They still haven’t found her.’
    ‘That’s because she’s dead,’ said Jessica. ‘She was dead right from the start. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re being terribly naive if you think saying it wasn’t his fault ever did any good. As far as he was concerned, it was his fault. He wasn’t entirely logical about it. We tried to tell him, time after time, but it didn’t work. Why couldn’t they all just believe that she was dead? Why couldn’t he just believe it? Besides, can you imagine what her life would be like if she’d been abducted by some pervert and kept in a cellar as some sort of sex slave? Or forced into prostitution?’
    ‘Even if he had believed that she was dead,’ said Banks, ‘it wouldn’t have stopped him from doing his job, or from blaming himself. If he was a good copper, he would still have needed to know what happened to her, and why.’
    She gave Banks a sharp glance. ‘ A good copper . What’s that supposed to mean? Anyway, why do you want to know about this? What does any of it have to do with Dad’s death?’
    ‘I’ve got no idea. Probably nothing. The photo was just sitting there in a folder full of Visa bills, with no identification or anything. The name came up before. She seemed familiar . . .’
    ‘She should be. Her face has been plastered over the papers often enough these past six years or so. Still is every now and then, when her parents step up the campaign again.’
    Banks could hardly imagine how he would feel if his own daughter disappeared completely without trace in a foreign country, but he had always felt a deep sympathy for the Hewitts and their ongoing grief. They had suffered at the hands of the media, too, and were now caught up as victims in the never-ending phone-hacking scandal, which must make it hurt all over again. Banks was suspicious of ‘closure’ and all it implied,