Cold Is The Grave by Peter Robinson

Author:Peter Robinson [Robinson, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub

It was a different bridge, but almost a repeat of his previous trip, Banks thought, as he walked across Vauxhall Bridge on his way to visit Kennington. He looked at his watch: almost three. Ruth had been at home last time; he just hoped she had a Saturday routine she stuck to.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Ruth answered the intercom at the first press of the button and buzzed him up.

“You again,” she said, after letting him into the room. “What is it this time?”

Banks showed her his warrant card. “I’ve come about Emily.”

A look of triumph shone in her eyes. “I knew there was something fishy about you! I told you, didn’t I, last time you were here. A copper.”

“Ruth, I was here unofficially last time. I apologize for pretending to be Emily’s father – not that you believed me anyway – but it seemed to be the best way to get the job done.”

“End justifies the means? Typical police mentality, that is.”

“So you knew her real name?”

“What?”

“You didn’t seem at all surprised when I called her Emily just now.”

“Well, that’s the name they used in the papers yesterday.”

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I knew her real name. She told me. So what? I respected her right not to want to use it. If she wanted to call herself Louisa Gamine, it was fine with me.”

“Can I sit down?”

“Go ahead.”

Banks sat. Ruth didn’t offer him tea this time. She didn’t sit down herself, but lit a cigarette and paced. She seemed edgy, nervous. Banks noticed that she had changed her hair color; instead of black it was blond, still cropped to within half an inch of her skull. It didn’t look a hell of a lot better and only served to highlight the pastiness of her features. She was wearing baggy jeans with a hole in one knee and a sort of shapeless blue thing, like an artist’s smock: the kind of thing you wear when you’re by yourself around the house and you think nobody’s going to see you. Ruth didn’t seem unduly concerned about her appearance, though; she didn’t excuse herself to change or apply makeup. Banks gave her credit for that. The music was playing just a little too loud: Lauryn Hill, by the sound of it, singing about her latest mis-adventures.

“Why don’t you sit down and talk to me?” Banks asked.

Ruth glared at him. “I don’t like being lied to. I told you last time. People always seem to think they can just walk right over me.”

“Once again, I apologize.”

Ruth stood a moment glaring at him through narrowed eyes, then she turned the music down, sat opposite him and crossed her legs. “All right. I’m sitting. Happy now?”

“It’s a start. You know what happened?”

“I told you. I read about it in the paper, and saw it on telly.” Then her hard edges seemed to soften for a moment. “It’s terrible. Poor Emily. I couldn’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry. I know you were a friend of hers.

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