The Price of Love and Other Stories by Peter Robinson Read Free Book Online Page B

along with Victor Vancalm’s bodily fluids.
    It was lunchtime in the Queen’s Arms and the place was bustling with clerks and secretaries from the solicitors’ and estate agents’ offices around the market square, along with the usual retirees at the bar and terminally unemployed kids on the pool tables and slot machines. The smoke was thick and the language almost as bad. Banks found that he could hardly wait until the following July, when smoking was to be banned in all the pubs in England. He had never suspected he would feel that way, and a few years ago he wouldn’t have. Now, though, the smoke was just an irritant, and the people who smoked seemed like throwbacks to another era. Banks still suffered the occasional craving, which reminded him what it had been like, but they were becoming few and far between.
    Banks and Annie managed to find themselves a free table wedged between the door to the Gents and the slot machines, where Annie sipped a Britvic orange and nibbled a cheese roll while Banks nursed a half of Black Sheep bitter and worked on his chicken in a basket.
    “So, how was the redoubtable Gabriella Mountjoy?” Banksasked when the person playing the slot machine beside them cursed and gave up.
    “She seemed very nice, really,” said Annie. “Not at all what I expected.”
    “What did you expect?”
    “Oh, you know, some upper-class twit with a braying laugh and horsey teeth.”
    “But?”
    “Well, her teeth are actually quite nice. Expensive, like her clothes. She seems every inch the thoroughly modern woman.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Oh, really, Alan, you’re seriously out of touch.”
    “With the thoroughly modern woman? Tell me about her. It’s not for want of trying.”
    “First, there’s the career,” Annie said. “Gabriella’s a book designer for a big London publisher. Works from home a lot.”
    “Impressive,” said Banks.
    “And then there’s the house. Cottage, really, and only a semi at that. It’s small, but the view must be worth a million quid.”
    “Does she live alone?”
    “As far as I can gather. There’s a boyfriend. A musician. He travels a lot. It suits them both perfectly.”
    “Maybe that’s my problem with the modern woman,” Banks said. “I don’t travel enough. I’m always there when she needs me. Boring.”
    “Tell Sandra that.”
    Banks winced. “Touché.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Annie. “That wasn’t very nice of me.”
    “It’s OK. Still a bit tender, that’s all. That’ll serve me right for being so flippant. Go on.”
    Annie finished her roll first. “Nothing to add, really. She swears blind that Mrs. Vancalm was there all evening. Natasha Goldwellwas at the cottage too, when I called, and she confirmed it. Said they arrived together about seven-thirty after a quick drink and Mrs. Vancalm dropped her off at home – it’s on her way – sometime after eleven.”
    “Well,” said Banks, “it’s not as if we expected otherwise.”
    “I just had a word with Winsome,” Annie went on, “and she told me that the other two say exactly the same thing about the poker evening. Denise Vancalm’s alibi is watertight.”
    “God help me, but I’ve never liked watertight alibis,” said Banks.
    “That’s because you’re contrary.”
    “Is it? I thought it was my suspicious nature, my detective’s instinct, my love of a challenge.”
    “Pull the other one.”
    “Whatever it is, it seems as if we’ll have to start looking elsewhere. You’ve checked out our list of local troublemakers?”
    “Winsome has. The only possibility at all is Windows Fennester. He’d know all about wall safes.”
    “He’s out?”
    “Been out three weeks now. Living back on the East Side Estate with Shania Longbottom and her two kids. Thing is, according to Winsome, he’s got a pretty good alibi too: in the pub with his mates.”
    “And whatever he is, he’s not a killer.”
    “Not as far as we know.”
    “The lads have also been out doing