anyone else.”
“I could well ask why shouldn’t a man go around watching women get undressed. That doesn’t hurt anyone, either.”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it. Besides, the woman is hurt. She’s shocked, degraded.”
“Only the ones who know.”
“What?”
“Think of it this way. So far, four incidents have been reported. How many do you think have gone unnoticed? How many times has he got away with it?”
“I never really thought of that,” Jenny admitted. “And by the way, I’m not going to forget our discussion of a few moments ago, before you so cleverly sidetracked me back to work.” She smiled sharply at him as he went off to buy two more drinks.
“I suppose,” she said when Banks returned, “that he could actually do it every night, though I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Most sexual activities, normal or perverted, require a kind of gestation period between acts. It varies. The pressure builds again and there’s only one way to relieve it.”
“I see. Would once or twice a week be too much?”
“For who? You or me?”
“Don’t distract me. For our man.”
“No. I’d say once a week might do him fine, two at the most.” She broke into a fit of laughter and covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. I get a bit gigglish sometimes. I think you must make me nervous.”
“It comes with the job. Though I sometimes wonder which came first. A chicken or egg thing. Do I make people nervous because I’ve learned to do it unconsciously through dealing with so many criminals, or was I like that in the first place? Is that why the job suited me?”
“Well?”
“I didn’t say I knew the answer, only that I wonder sometimes. Don’t worry, when you get to know me better it won’t bother you.”
“A promise?”
“Let’s get back to business.”
“All right.” Jenny wiped her eyes, full of tears of laughter, sat up straight and once again broke into a laughing fit. Banks watched her, smiling, and soon the others in the pub were looking. Jenny was turning as red as her hair, which was shaking like the fire in the grate. “Oh, I’m sorry, I really am,” she said. “Whenever I get like this it’s so hard to stop. You must think I’m a real idiot.”
“Not at all,” Banks said drily. “I appreciate a person with a sense of humour.”
“I think it’s better now,” she said, sipping cautiously at her half of bitter. “It’s just all those
double entendres
. Oops,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “Now I’ve got hiccups!”
“Drink a glass of water in an inverted position,” Banks told her. “Best cure for hiccups I’ve ever known.”
Jenny frowned at him. “Standing on my head?”
“No, not like that.” Banks was just about to demonstrate to her, using his pint glass, when he sensed a shadow over the table and heard a polite cough. It was Fred Rowe, the station desk-sergeant.
“Pardon me for bothering you, sir,” Rowe said quietly, pulling up a chair, “but there’s been some trouble.”
“Go on,” Banks said, putting down his glass.
“It’s an old woman, sir, she’s been found dead.”
“Cause?”
“We can’t say yet, sir, but it looks suspicious. The friend who reported it said the place had been robbed.”
“All right. Thanks, Fred. I’ll get right over. Address?”
“Number two, Gallows View. That’s down by—”
“Yes, I know it. Look, get onto Sergeant Hatchley. He’ll be in The Oak. And get Dr Glendenning and the photographer out there, and as many of the Scene-of-Crime boys as you can rustle up. Better get DC Richmond along too. Does the super know?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. Tell him I’m on my way, then.”
Sergeant Rowe returned to the station and Banks stood up to leave, making his apologies to Jenny. Then he remembered that Sandra had taken the Cortina.
“Dammit,” he cursed, “I’ll have to go over and sign out a car.”
“Can’t I drive you?” Jenny offered. “I know where
“I could well ask why shouldn’t a man go around watching women get undressed. That doesn’t hurt anyone, either.”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it. Besides, the woman is hurt. She’s shocked, degraded.”
“Only the ones who know.”
“What?”
“Think of it this way. So far, four incidents have been reported. How many do you think have gone unnoticed? How many times has he got away with it?”
“I never really thought of that,” Jenny admitted. “And by the way, I’m not going to forget our discussion of a few moments ago, before you so cleverly sidetracked me back to work.” She smiled sharply at him as he went off to buy two more drinks.
“I suppose,” she said when Banks returned, “that he could actually do it every night, though I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Most sexual activities, normal or perverted, require a kind of gestation period between acts. It varies. The pressure builds again and there’s only one way to relieve it.”
“I see. Would once or twice a week be too much?”
“For who? You or me?”
“Don’t distract me. For our man.”
“No. I’d say once a week might do him fine, two at the most.” She broke into a fit of laughter and covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. I get a bit gigglish sometimes. I think you must make me nervous.”
“It comes with the job. Though I sometimes wonder which came first. A chicken or egg thing. Do I make people nervous because I’ve learned to do it unconsciously through dealing with so many criminals, or was I like that in the first place? Is that why the job suited me?”
“Well?”
“I didn’t say I knew the answer, only that I wonder sometimes. Don’t worry, when you get to know me better it won’t bother you.”
“A promise?”
“Let’s get back to business.”
“All right.” Jenny wiped her eyes, full of tears of laughter, sat up straight and once again broke into a laughing fit. Banks watched her, smiling, and soon the others in the pub were looking. Jenny was turning as red as her hair, which was shaking like the fire in the grate. “Oh, I’m sorry, I really am,” she said. “Whenever I get like this it’s so hard to stop. You must think I’m a real idiot.”
“Not at all,” Banks said drily. “I appreciate a person with a sense of humour.”
“I think it’s better now,” she said, sipping cautiously at her half of bitter. “It’s just all those
double entendres
. Oops,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “Now I’ve got hiccups!”
“Drink a glass of water in an inverted position,” Banks told her. “Best cure for hiccups I’ve ever known.”
Jenny frowned at him. “Standing on my head?”
“No, not like that.” Banks was just about to demonstrate to her, using his pint glass, when he sensed a shadow over the table and heard a polite cough. It was Fred Rowe, the station desk-sergeant.
“Pardon me for bothering you, sir,” Rowe said quietly, pulling up a chair, “but there’s been some trouble.”
“Go on,” Banks said, putting down his glass.
“It’s an old woman, sir, she’s been found dead.”
“Cause?”
“We can’t say yet, sir, but it looks suspicious. The friend who reported it said the place had been robbed.”
“All right. Thanks, Fred. I’ll get right over. Address?”
“Number two, Gallows View. That’s down by—”
“Yes, I know it. Look, get onto Sergeant Hatchley. He’ll be in The Oak. And get Dr Glendenning and the photographer out there, and as many of the Scene-of-Crime boys as you can rustle up. Better get DC Richmond along too. Does the super know?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. Tell him I’m on my way, then.”
Sergeant Rowe returned to the station and Banks stood up to leave, making his apologies to Jenny. Then he remembered that Sandra had taken the Cortina.
“Dammit,” he cursed, “I’ll have to go over and sign out a car.”
“Can’t I drive you?” Jenny offered. “I know where
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