to a satellite dish and a DVD player. On looking more closely, Banks noticed that the player also recorded DVDs. Under the screen stood a subwoofer and a front centre speaker, and four smaller speakers were strategically placed around the room. Itwas an expensive set-up, one that Banks had often wished he could afford.
Banks walked to the fitted wall-cabinets and cast his eye over the selection of DVDs and CDs. What he saw there puzzled him. Not for Roy the latest James Bond or Terminator movie, not schoolgirl porn or Jenna Jameson, but Fellini’s 8 1 / 2 , Kurosawa’s Ran and Throne of Blood , Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo , Bergman’s The Seventh Seal and Truffaut’s The 400 Blows . There were some films that Banks could see himself watching – The Godfather , The Third Man and A Clockwork Orange – but most of them were foreign-language art films, classics of the cinema. There were a few rows of books, too, mostly non-fiction, on subjects ranging from music and cinema to philosophy, religion and politics. Another surprise. In a small recess stood one framed family photograph.
Banks studied Roy’s large collection of operas on both DVD and CD: The Magic Flute , Tosca , Otello , Lucia di Lammermoor and others. A complete Bayreuth Ring cycle, the same as the one on the iPod. There was also a little fifties jazz and a few Hollywood musicals – Oklahoma , South Pacific , Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – but no pop at all except for the Blue Lamps’ debut. Banks was pleased to see that Roy had bought Brian’s CD, even though he probably hadn’t listened to it. He slid it out and opened the case, wondering what it would sound like on Roy’s expensive stereo system. Instead of the familiar blue image on the CD, he saw the words “CD – ReWritable” and that the disc held 650 megabytes, or seventy-four minutes of playing time.
Banks stuck the CD in his jacket pocket and went over to sit on the sofa. Several remote-control devices rested on the arm, and when he had worked out which was which, he switched on the TV and amp just to see what the set-up lookedand sounded like. It was a European football game, and the picture quality was stunning, the sound of the commentary loud enough to wake the dead. He turned it off.
Banks went back into the office and took the writing tablet from the desk and a pen from the drawer and carried them down to the kitchen with him. At the kitchen table, he sat down and wrote a note explaining that he’d been to the house and would be back, in case Roy returned while he was out, and asked him to get in touch as soon as possible.
He wished now that he had thought to bring his mobile so he could leave a number, but it was too late; he had left it on his living-room table next to his unused portable CD player, having got out of the habit of using it over the past few months. Then he realized he could take Roy’s. He wanted to check through the entries in the phone book, anyway, so he might as well have the use of it in case Roy needed to get in touch with him. He added this as a PS to the note, then he put the mobile in his pocket. On his way out, he tried the most likely-looking key and found it fit the front door.
3
“W hat do you make of it, Annie?” Gristhorpe asked.
They were sitting in the superintendent’s large, carpeted office, just the two of them, and the sheet of paper lay between them on Gristhorpe’s desk. It wasn’t Banks’s writing, Annie was certain. But beyond that, the whole thing was a puzzle. She had certainly never seen the dead woman before, nor had she ever heard Banks mention anyone called Jennifer Clewes. That in itself meant nothing, of course, she realized. In the first place, it might not be her real name, and in the second, Banks may well have been keeping many aspects of his life from her, including a new girlfriend. But if she was his girlfriend, why did she need directions and his address? Perhaps she had never visited him in Gratly
Banks walked to the fitted wall-cabinets and cast his eye over the selection of DVDs and CDs. What he saw there puzzled him. Not for Roy the latest James Bond or Terminator movie, not schoolgirl porn or Jenna Jameson, but Fellini’s 8 1 / 2 , Kurosawa’s Ran and Throne of Blood , Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo , Bergman’s The Seventh Seal and Truffaut’s The 400 Blows . There were some films that Banks could see himself watching – The Godfather , The Third Man and A Clockwork Orange – but most of them were foreign-language art films, classics of the cinema. There were a few rows of books, too, mostly non-fiction, on subjects ranging from music and cinema to philosophy, religion and politics. Another surprise. In a small recess stood one framed family photograph.
Banks studied Roy’s large collection of operas on both DVD and CD: The Magic Flute , Tosca , Otello , Lucia di Lammermoor and others. A complete Bayreuth Ring cycle, the same as the one on the iPod. There was also a little fifties jazz and a few Hollywood musicals – Oklahoma , South Pacific , Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – but no pop at all except for the Blue Lamps’ debut. Banks was pleased to see that Roy had bought Brian’s CD, even though he probably hadn’t listened to it. He slid it out and opened the case, wondering what it would sound like on Roy’s expensive stereo system. Instead of the familiar blue image on the CD, he saw the words “CD – ReWritable” and that the disc held 650 megabytes, or seventy-four minutes of playing time.
Banks stuck the CD in his jacket pocket and went over to sit on the sofa. Several remote-control devices rested on the arm, and when he had worked out which was which, he switched on the TV and amp just to see what the set-up lookedand sounded like. It was a European football game, and the picture quality was stunning, the sound of the commentary loud enough to wake the dead. He turned it off.
Banks went back into the office and took the writing tablet from the desk and a pen from the drawer and carried them down to the kitchen with him. At the kitchen table, he sat down and wrote a note explaining that he’d been to the house and would be back, in case Roy returned while he was out, and asked him to get in touch as soon as possible.
He wished now that he had thought to bring his mobile so he could leave a number, but it was too late; he had left it on his living-room table next to his unused portable CD player, having got out of the habit of using it over the past few months. Then he realized he could take Roy’s. He wanted to check through the entries in the phone book, anyway, so he might as well have the use of it in case Roy needed to get in touch with him. He added this as a PS to the note, then he put the mobile in his pocket. On his way out, he tried the most likely-looking key and found it fit the front door.
3
“W hat do you make of it, Annie?” Gristhorpe asked.
They were sitting in the superintendent’s large, carpeted office, just the two of them, and the sheet of paper lay between them on Gristhorpe’s desk. It wasn’t Banks’s writing, Annie was certain. But beyond that, the whole thing was a puzzle. She had certainly never seen the dead woman before, nor had she ever heard Banks mention anyone called Jennifer Clewes. That in itself meant nothing, of course, she realized. In the first place, it might not be her real name, and in the second, Banks may well have been keeping many aspects of his life from her, including a new girlfriend. But if she was his girlfriend, why did she need directions and his address? Perhaps she had never visited him in Gratly
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