Children of the Revolution

Chapter 9

Banks had always hated prisons. Come to think of it, he realised, he wasn’t alone in that. Everybody hated prisons. The people who worked in them probably got used to them, and the prisoners had no choice, but to the casual and occasional visitor, they were sordid and cruel places where bad things happened. Men got raped by other men, or stabbed by filed-down toothbrushes in the showers. Over his years in the force, Banks had helped put plenty of people away, but it wasn’t something he ever got used to, and he tried not to think of their lives after they had been sentenced. His job usually ended with giving evidence in court, then it was up to the judge and jury. He also realised that the odds were he might have helped convict more than one innocent person, too, but those thoughts were reserved for waking at 4.24 in the morning and being unable to get back to sleep. Mostly he lived with it, grateful only that there was no longer capital punishment, and that he had no deaths on his conscience. Misery aplenty, certainly, probably some blood, too, if truth be told, but not death. Grateful also that when he saw the inside of a prison it was as a visitor.

Armley Jail, built in 1847 of dark millstone grit, resembled the medieval castle of some evil dark lord. No doubt it had been built that way on purpose. The Victorians had very strict and religious ideas about punishment. Since then, a couple of blockish red brick wings had been added, rather like Lego buildings, which broke up the facade somewhat, but they didn’t really take much away from the overall image.

Formalities done, mobile left at the reception area, Banks followed Tim Grainger, whom he had met before, inside across the cobbled yard of the old section. He knew from previous visits that just ahead to the right, up on the first floor, there used to be an apartment where the hangman, as often as not Pierrepoint, spent the night before an execution. From his window, he was able to see across the courtyard to the execution shed below. That was an office now, as was the flat, but the old condemned cell was still there, with its small bunk and scratches on the dank wall, just down some steps next to the grate in the floor where they used to sluice off the bodies after they had hung for an hour to ensure death. Banks had been there once with Grainger, and he still had nightmares about it. But that barbarism was done with now, at least in Britain, though it had been done away with in practice only a few years before Banks had started on the force.

They went inside. Perhaps the thing Banks noticed most, and hated most, about jails was the constant sound of the locking and unlocking of doors. There seemed so many of them, and they all seemed so heavy that the place constantly resounded with the echoes of banging doors, jangling keys and tumbling locks. He found himself forever stopping while Tim inserted yet another large key, and then waiting while he very carefully made sure he locked up again behind him after they had passed through. Various warders said hello as they crossed the office area towards the cells. Most prisons had been built on the same model, an X shape, so that guards could stand at the centre and see all the way down every wing. When Banks and Grainger passed the hub, it was methadone time on one of the wings, and the queue of prisoners stretched down the corridor.

Tim had arranged for Banks to conduct the interview in his own office, rather than a cell, as Kyle McClusky wasn’t considered a dangerous prisoner, or any kind of flight risk. They were also served with coffee and chocolate biscuits before McClusky was brought up. Once Banks and McClusky were settled, Tim left them to it. There was, of course, a guard on the door, just in case. Banks poured McClusky some coffee, added milk and sugar and waited for him to settle down. He seemed nervous, but not too jittery. One leg was jumping, and he bit his nails, but that was all. He seemed healthy enough, though there was nothing he could do about that prison pallor. His hair was cut short, and his face was bony. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days.

‘OK,’ said Banks. ‘We might as well start. Any idea what this is about, Kyle?’

‘They didn’t tell me. They don’t tell you anything in here. Do you think you can get me a reduction in my sentence if I talk to you?’

‘Come on, Kyle. You know I would if I could, but you only got six months, and you’ve served nearly three already. You’ll be out in weeks, maybe days the way things are going these days.’

‘Yeah, I know. But every little bit helps, man. I mean, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. You know, like, if I talk to you, what’s in it for me?’

The back-scratching image repelled Banks, but he had given some thought to what might be in it for Kyle. The question hadn’t been entirely unexpected. ‘I was rather hoping that you’d want to talk to me, anyway, Kyle. You see, Beth and Kayleigh are in a bit of trouble, and you might be able to help them out.’

‘Those bitches! I wouldn’t cross the road to piss on them if they were on fire. It’s fucking Beth’s fault I’m in here in the first place.’

‘How do you work that out?’

‘She wouldn’t help me, right? Too fucking high and mighty, now she’s got an important job in telly, and a nice new flat and that poncy boyfriend. Too good for the likes of me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was down on my luck, wasn’t I? I needed a place to crash, a little cash, you know, just to get back on my feet. I went round to her flat. She sent me packing. Wouldn’t even let me in the front door. Talk about helping an old friend. So don’t talk to me about that bitch.’

This was, in a way, even better than Banks had hoped. Beth certainly hadn’t told Winsome and Gerry about this. He had needed a way to get McClusky talking about what Lisa Gray had said Beth and Kayleigh had done, without having anything on the table to offer him. The chance to help Beth and Kayleigh had been his opening gambit, but now that he knew Kyle hated Beth so much, he could use that to even better advantage, and probably get him to tell the truth about what happened at Eastvale College, as long as it reflected badly on the girls. But he would have to be careful: drug dealers and users lied.

‘That is a bit mean,’ he said sympathetically. ‘I can see where you’re coming from. But she didn’t tell us about that.’

‘She wouldn’t, would she? But it’s true.’

‘I’m sure it is. Do you remember her friend, Kayleigh Vernon?’

‘She’s just as bad. You’d think, you know, after all the freebies I gave her, that she might lend me a little of the readies when I was in need.’

‘You went to her, too?’

‘I was running out of options.’

‘But she didn’t help?’

‘No way. Same story as the other one. I’m all right, Jack, fuck you. They think they’re better than me, but they’re nothing but a pair of lying bitches.’

‘Why’s that, Kyle?’

Kyle seemed to need a break from his anger. There was a dribble of spittle on his chin, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. He rubbed his face, drank some coffee, scratched his crotch and slumped back in his chair. His attention appeared to have wandered, as if he had lost track of the conversation. Banks wondered if he had just taken his methadone. ‘Man, I don’t know.’

‘You said they were lying bitches. You must have had a reason for saying that.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Come on, Kyle. It was only four years ago. Eastvale College. Do you remember Gavin Miller?’

‘That the teacher who kicked me out?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Ruined my future, man. I was going places.’

‘What were you doing?’

Kyle just gave him a sideways glance. ‘Nothing, man. I wasn’t doing nothing. Just minding my own business.’

‘What did he think you were doing?’

‘Some dumb cunt must have told him I was dealing drugs. I mean, all I did was help a few people out from time to time. You know people who needed stuff. It was just fun, man.’

‘Like roofies or methamphetamine?’

‘Whatever.’

‘Was it Beth or Kayleigh who told on you?’

‘No. They were too into it. They were then, like, before they got all successful. Not the roofies, just the speed and spliffs. Probably snort coke through fifty-quid notes these days, or lick it off the end of some banker’s dick.’ He seemed to like that image, and it set off a fit of laughter that ended in coughing. Banks gave him a few moments to recover.

‘Why do you say someone must have told Gavin Miller that you were selling drugs?’

Again, Kyle seemed to have lost the thread. ‘I can’t remember, man. It’s a long time ago. It was just something he said. I remember thinking, like, this is down to some dumb cunt who got slipped a roofie and got fucked. This was, like, her revenge.’

‘But you don’t know who?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ever wonder about the girls who were given the Rohypnol, Kyle, about what happened to them?’

‘Nah, not really. Never thought much about it. Why?’ He scratched himself again.

‘No reason. Why didn’t any of them come forward?’

‘They probably enjoyed it. I mean, it’s what they want, isn’t it, man? Even if they don’t admit it. Either that or they didn’t remember.’

‘But someone must have remembered something.’

‘So it seems. Who cares?’

‘Do you think it was a girl who’d been raped getting her own back on the person who sold her rapist the drug?’

‘Could be. I don’t know.’

‘Why not take her revenge on the person who raped her?’

‘How should I know? Maybe she did, and you don’t know about it. Maybe she already cut his balls off, and he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Didn’t think about that, did you?’

Well, well, Banks thought. Maybe Kyle had a point there. It was another avenue worth investigating. Not the castration so much as someone else hurt, killed or hospitalised around that time. If the person who had administered the drug had been punished already by his victim, there might be good reasons why the rapist hadn’t wanted the sordid incident to be public knowledge. And if the girl who had been raped remembered who did it, she might well have worked out some sort of private revenge on her assailant that wouldn’t be attributable to her. Shame and guilt were normal reactions to being drugged and raped, no matter how much you tried to tell the victims it wasn’t their fault. And she had used Miller as a tool to get revenge on Kyle, the dealer. Unless...

‘Was it you, Kyle?’ Banks asked.

‘Was what me?’

‘Did you use the Rohypnol on someone yourself?’

‘Why would I do that, man? I didn’t need no Rohypnol.’

Banks filed the possibility away and moved on. ‘Do you remember later, after you’d left Eastvale, Gavin Miller was sacked for sexual misconduct? Both Beth and Kayleigh said he touched them and made inappropriate suggestions.’

‘I remember. I was still crashing at Kayleigh’s place off and on back then. It was that motherfucker Miller, the one who got me kicked out.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So justice was done after all.’

‘Well, Gavin Miller lost his job and a good deal else.’

‘Like I said. Justice.’

‘He was murdered last week, Kyle.’

‘Miller?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, fuck me. Who did it?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

Kyle looked around, over his shoulder. ‘There are murderers in here, man. You have to be careful. Know what I mean?’

Banks nodded. ‘Do you know who might have wanted to harm Gavin Miller?’

‘Well, I didn’t do it. I was in here.’

‘Did you ever see Gavin Miller after then? Say in the past year or so?’

‘Why?’

‘Maybe he wanted to buy drugs from you? Maybe he wanted to go into business?’

‘Miller? You must be joking, man. No, I never seen him since that day in his office he put it on the line.’

‘Do you think Beth or Kayleigh might be lying about not having seen him?’

‘How do I know? I can’t see why they would lie about it, though, if that’s what they said.’ Kyle paused, clearly thinking about the way the two girls had let him down in his hour of need. ‘You know what? I’m gonna tell you something about those bitches. You ready?’

‘I’m ready,’ said Banks.

‘After Miller told me to stop doing what I was doing or leave town, I don’t know how long after, but we were sitting around in Kayleigh’s flat getting high and—’

‘Who was sitting around?’

‘Us. Beth, Kayleigh and me.’

‘Right. And what happened?’

‘We were talking, like, you know, about what happened, and about what a nerve that guy had and all that. And they were, like, saying how he was always staring at their tits and their arses all the time, like some perv. I mean, that’s wrong, man. Like, a teacher shouldn’t do stuff like that.’

‘It’s not very professional.’

‘That’s the word. Unprofessional. Not that you can blame him. I mean, Kayleigh had a lovely arse, and Beth’s tits... juicy, man, know what I mean?’

‘So you were sitting around, the three of you.’

‘Yeah, just, like, chillin’, listening to music, smoking some weed, and they were all like pissed off about this Miller telling me to leave or he’ll call the pigs and ogling their tits and just dying to cop a feel, so I just said, like, what if he did. They didn’t know what I meant at first, but I told them, you know, it wouldn’t be too hard if one of them sort of offered herself and then yelled rape. Wouldn’t be the first time, man.’

‘So you suggested that one of them should seduce Miller, have sex with him, and then cry rape?’

‘Was that a great plan, or was it not?’

‘What did they say?’

‘Well, we talked about it for a while, you know, had another spliff, and they said they thought that would be too much, like, neither of them wanted to actually fuck the guy. I could dig that. I mean, he was old, man.’

‘So what did you decide?’

‘We talked about it some more, and then we came up with another idea, one where they wouldn’t have to get fucked by him.’

‘And that was?’

‘Exactly what happened. We decided the plan would work best if Kayleigh made a complaint that this Miller had, like, touched her, in his office or something, and come on to her and all, then Beth would come out and say, yeah, he’d done that to her, too, a while ago, but she hadn’t dared talk, but now Kayleigh’s courage had, like, powered her. It was great, man. That’s how much they cared about me then. Not like now.’

‘So that’s what they did?’

‘That’s what they did. And the fucker got booted out on his arse.’

‘And he never did anything to either of them.’

‘That’s the beauty of it. And they never had to fuck him. But he certainly ogled their arses and their tits, didn’t he? I mean, he would have fucked them if he’d had half a chance. Teachers shouldn’t do that, man. We were teaching him a lesson.’ He laughed at his own weak joke. Banks was amazed he got it, so fried by drugs did his brain seem.

‘So, first Kayleigh went to the college authorities with her story, then Beth put her hand up and said, “Me, too.”?’

‘That’s right. You got it.’

‘And where were you through all this?’

‘Gone. Hit the road. Couldn’t see me for dust.’

‘Did you follow the story?’

‘What for?’

‘To find out what happened to Miller, to Beth and Kayleigh.’

‘Nah. What’s the point? I had places to go, things to do.’

‘So you never looked back?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Banks shook his head slowly.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Banks said. ‘You wouldn’t understand. I’d like to thank you for your time, Kyle.’ Banks pressed the button beside the desk, as Tim Grainger had told him, and Grainger appeared a few seconds later, along with a warder. ‘Done?’ he said. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ said Banks. ‘We’re done.’

‘You’ll remember about my time off for cooperating, won’t you, man?’ Kyle said as the warder led him away. ‘You can’t say I wasn’t cooperative.’

‘No,’ said Banks. ‘I sure as hell can’t say that.’

‘Oh, it’s you again. Come in,’ said Lisa Gray, managing a weak smile when Winsome and Annie turned up at her door. It was marginally more welcoming than the greeting Dayle Snider had given them earlier, but not much. Lisa gave Annie a suspicious glance, and Winsome introduced them.

‘Not interrupting anything, are we?’ Winsome asked. Annie had agreed that her partner should do most of the questioning, as she already seemed to have created some sort of bond with Lisa. Annie would jump in as and when she felt like it.

‘Not at all. I was just reading.’

It was a small flat just off the western edge of the campus. Close enough, but not part of it. You could see the concrete and glass low-rises through her second-floor window, the students wandering about with their backpacks or briefcases. A knobby cactus stood in a pot on the windowsill. The room was painted a sort of creamy orange, the lighting was dim, from shaded lamps, and framed movie, exhibition and concert posters and art prints hung on the walls: Cat People, Salvador Dalí, Joy Division. One showed a beautiful but decadent and dangerous-looking young man, long wavy hair, shirtless, wearing leather trousers, holding on to a microphone stand as if it were the only thing keeping him on his feet. ‘The Doors’ was written aslant across the top.

The room was thinly carpeted and furnished with a charity-shop three-piece suite, whose frayed arms and faded red rose pattern had seen better days. There was an old black-leaded fireplace, or imitation lead, Winsome sincerely hoped, complete with hob and andirons. Lisa had a wood fire burning, and it took the chill off the air nicely. There was a hint of sandalwood incense mixed with the slightly damp, musty smell of the room. Winsome didn’t recognise the music that was playing, repetitive strings spiralling on and on, reaching a crescendo, then shifting abruptly, changing key. It was hypnotic. She saw the name ‘Glass’ on a CD cover. Banks would probably know them. He knew all sorts of trivia; he ought to be on Pointless. Lisa’s book, A Tale for the Time Being, by Ruth Ozeki, lay open face down on the coffee table.

‘Tea?’ Lisa said.

‘As a matter of fact, we’re just about all tea-ed out,’ said Winsome.

‘I think I’d like some. Mind if I put the kettle on?’

‘Fine. Go ahead.’

Lisa disappeared into the kitchen. The music continued, quietly insistent, in the background, She heard a tap running and a gas ring flare, then Lisa returned and sat, lifting up her legs and wrapping her arms around her knees. ‘What can I help you with this time?’

The pink and yellow streaks were gone from her blonde hair, which fell in a ragged fringe over her forehead. Winsome wanted to lean forward and brush away a lock that covered one eye. Lisa was wearing loose-fitting jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, so that it was still impossible to see what sort of a figure she had, except that she was frail and slender, certainly not capable of throwing Gavin Miller over the side of the railway bridge without help. Her face was clean of make-up, and there was a sort of innocence about it that belied her experience.

‘Same as before, really,’ Winsome said. ‘We just want to clarify one or two points.’

‘If I can.’

‘The last time I talked to you,’ Winsome said, ‘you were a bit vague about a few things. One of them being what problems you were going through at the time, what it was that made Trevor Lomax disbelieve you when you came forward. He told us you were neurotic, abusive, delusional, behind in your work, on drugs, and a trollop.’

To Winsome’s surprise, Lisa laughed. ‘Well, he’s just about got all the exits covered, hasn’t he? What about alcoholic? Didn’t he mention that?’

Winsome grinned. ‘He might have done. Something about turning up for a class while intoxicated.’

‘Thought so. He’s a prick. He believed me. He just didn’t want to get involved.’

‘But he got involved before, at first, when the charges were brought against Gavin. He was one of the few people to defend him. Why the sudden change of heart?’

‘Do you actually know for a fact how much he did for Mr Miller? Or exactly what he did? I shouldn’t think the change of heart was all that sudden. I imagine he got his fingers burned the first time, and he wasn’t inclined to put them in the fire again. The powers that be wouldn’t have taken kindly to anyone stirring up the past all over again. And I was well aware that I’d probably make a less than satisfactory witness.’

‘But you still thought there was a chance?’

‘Hoped. You have to try, don’t you?’ A shrill whistling came from the kitchen. Lisa excused herself and disappeared for a moment. Winsome and Annie exchanged glances. When Lisa came back she was carrying a steaming mug.

‘So Trevor Lomax never said exactly what it was he did to try to help Gavin in the first place?’ Winsome asked.

‘Not to me. Maybe you should ask him.’

‘And you take that to mean that he didn’t do very much at all?’

‘Well, given that he wasn’t present when the alleged incident occurred,’ Lisa said, ‘I should imagine his defence consisted of a character reference, and perhaps a slur against Beth and Kayleigh.’

‘But he couldn’t have known anything else at the time.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He didn’t know about Kyle. The connection. The reason why Beth and Kayleigh conspired to frame Gavin Miller. Neither did you.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So this was really all between you and Gavin Miller?’

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

‘It’s simple, really,’ Annie chipped in. ‘What DS Jackman really wants to know is how did Gavin Miller find out about Kyle McClusky’s illegal activities?’

‘Someone must have told him.’

‘Was that someone you?’ Winsome asked.

Lisa pointed her thumb at her chest. ‘Me?’

‘That’s what I said. You seem to be unusually involved in the whole business, and when I ask myself why, I find myself thinking it was because you started it. You tipped Gavin Miller off about Kyle McClusky’s illegal activities in the first place, so when you saw him in trouble, and you found out it was related to what he did to Kyle, you felt responsible. That’s fair enough. Am I right?’

There was a long pause. Lisa blew on the surface of her tea and took a sip. The scent of camomile drifted towards Winsome. Immediately it reminded her of home, though camomile didn’t grow there. Perhaps all exotic scents reminded her of home. She liked camomile tea, wished she’d said yes when it was on offer. ‘What if I did?’ Lisa said, lifting her eyes from the mug to look directly at Winsome, rather than Annie.

‘Did you?’ Winsome asked.

Lisa held her gaze for several seconds. It felt like minutes to Winsome. ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘I’d seen what Kyle was doing, what was going on. One or two people had told me about the effects of the stuff he sold. A friend of mine nearly OD’d, and one girl thought she’d been raped, but she couldn’t remember anything. I didn’t like to do it, but it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Tell on him?’

‘It was a brave decision,’ said Winsome. ‘But why did you tell Gavin Miller?’

‘Because he was the only adult who took me seriously about anything. The only person in authority I trusted. And he knew Kyle from one of his classes. He could have a private word with him.’

‘Why not go to the college authorities, or to us?’ Annie asked. ‘I mean, here’s someone who’s selling drugs — very nasty drugs, not that nice hippy-trippy stuff you got for Gavin Miller — and you know about it, you see the results for yourself. Why not go to the police instead of some ineffectual lecturer?’

‘Gavin wasn’t ineffectual. I... I just couldn’t.’

‘Why not, Lisa?’ Winsome asked gently to offset what she thought of as Annie’s aggression. Not that it couldn’t be effective — she could be hard on interviewees herself — but she felt unusually protective of Lisa, perhaps because she seemed so vulnerable. But there was something she wasn’t telling them.

Lisa chewed on her lip. ‘They’d never have believed me. I just wasn’t in great shape. I couldn’t have handled all the questions, the lawyers, court.’

‘What was wrong with you?’ Winsome pressed.

‘Nothing, for fuck’s sake. I just couldn’t do it. All right?’

‘So you went to Gavin Miller?’

‘Yes. He dealt with the problem, didn’t he?’

‘But he didn’t put Kyle McClusky in jail, where he belonged,’ said Annie.

‘Jail’s not the answer to everything.’

‘No, but it’s a bloody good start for some people.’

‘He’d only have become more of a criminal in there, learn more tricks, let his hatred of society curdle.’

‘Very poetic,’ Annie said, ‘but not our business. We’re in the business of putting away villains, not babysitting them or making excuses for them. You don’t get rid of rats by catching them in a cage then taking them next door and letting them out. Thanks to you, Kyle McClusky’s stayed out there, on the streets, helping more boys dose girls with roofies so they could have their evil way. And I’ve got news for you. He’s in jail now learning more tricks and letting his hatred curdle. Pity it’s too late for some.’

Lisa stared down into her lap. Winsome could tell she was crying. She gave Annie a warning glance. Her harsh approach wasn’t helping matters; it was making Lisa clam up. Annie slid her finger across her lips in a sealing gesture.

‘So Gavin Miller told Kyle to get out of Dodge?’ Winsome said, trying to break the tension.

Lisa paused for a while, sniffed, then she looked up. ‘Something like that. An ultimatum. Drugs dealing or college.’

‘So because you initiated this, when Gavin was later charged with sexually intimidating Kayleigh, then Beth came forward, you wanted to help him, right?’

‘I didn’t realise the connection then. I just wanted to help him because he was good to me, but there was nothing I could do at first. Then when I heard them talking about it in the toilets later, boasting and laughing, I went to Mr Lomax. He was the head of department, after all, and he was supposed to be Mr Miller’s fucking friend.’

‘How much later?’ Annie asked.

‘I told you, I don’t know exactly. A few weeks. Three weeks, a month, maybe, at the most. Before the end of term, anyway.’

‘So why would Beth and Kayleigh be crowing over what they’d done to Gavin Miller in the ladies’ toilets a month after they’d done it?’ Annie butted in. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

Lisa turned to Winsome, as if expecting her to leap to her defence. She didn’t. ‘I don’t know, do I? All I know is what I heard.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the committee the truth at the time?’ Annie went on.

‘What do you mean? How could I know the truth then? I’ve told you. It was only later when I heard them.’

‘But you knew that Beth and Kayleigh were friends with Kyle.’

‘No, I didn’t. Not from the start, I didn’t. I didn’t see any connection between Mr Miller’s problems and Kyle’s activities until later, when I overheard Beth and Kayleigh in the ladies’. They said something about what he’d done to their friend Kyle. It was only then that I found out and realised what it meant. Besides, what difference would it have made?’

‘Oh, come on, Lisa,’ said Annie, ‘you can’t have known what the committee did and didn’t know. And isn’t it funny that all of a sudden you remember a very important part of their conversation you neglected to mention earlier? You’re making it up as you go along, aren’t you? You can’t expect us to believe you were so out of it you couldn’t even get them to put two and two together, to have another go at the girls. They probably couldn’t have stood up to a proper interrogation. Beth Gallagher came clean pretty quickly when we talked to her.’

‘Only because it happened so long ago. Only because she knows there’s nothing you can do to her. Only because Mr Miller is dead. Only because it doesn’t fucking matter any more. And because you’re... you’re... you bullied her.’

Winsome saw the tears form in Lisa’s eyes again and start to make tracks down her cheeks. ‘But it does matter, Lisa,’ she said. ‘It matters precisely because he’s dead.’

‘But surely you can’t think I had anything to do with that?’ Lisa pleaded. ‘Why won’t you just leave me alone?’ The tough streetwise chick Winsome had met only days ago was gone now, replaced by a confused and frightened young girl.

‘But it may all be connected,’ Winsome said. ‘And there may be something you can tell us that might not seem important or relevant to you but that will help us. Can’t you see that? We don’t always travel by direct routes.’

‘I still don’t see how I can help you.’

Winsome had a definite sensation that the channels of communication were closing down.

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Annie said, standing to leave. ‘We’re going round in circles.’

Sadly, Winsome agreed. When she looked at Lisa, she still felt for her, and she also still felt that she was missing something. Lisa was stubborn and secretive and private. It would take more than what they had right now to prise the truth out of her.

Banks had got to Leeds early, parked the car near the Merrion Centre and walked down to Browns, on the corner of the Headrow and Cookridge Street, where he was supposed to meet Ken Blackstone. Ken was usually a curry man, but he pleaded a dodgy stomach and suggested something a bit less spicy this time. It was an overcast evening, but warm enough. Banks was standing outside talking to Annie on his mobile, and as he talked, his eyes scanned the crowds of city workers going home, mingled in with legal types from the nearby courts and law chambers on Park Square, most carrying rolled-up umbrellas and briefcases, waiting for buses that came in clusters of two and three, in all colours — cream, purple, maroon, green — double-deckers or long bendy buses, bound for the suburbs and beyond, to such exotic destinations as Huddersfield, Halifax, Bradford, Cleckheaton and Heckmondwike.

Down the Headrow towards Westgate, Banks could see past the art gallery, set back behind its paved forecourt, to the great columns, lions and dome of the Victorian town hall, where the clock said it was twenty to six. Still ten minutes to wait. Annie had told him about the frustrating interview with Lisa Gray, and her sense that there had to be more to the story, but he still felt more focused on Lady Veronica Chalmers and her interesting past in the warm afterglow of his lunch with Oriana. In turn, he told Annie about his interview with Kyle McClusky, and how it had confirmed that the charges against Miller were a sham.

Gerry Masterson had gone to Stockton to talk to someone who remembered Veronica Bellamy from the old University of Essex days, so she might be able to pick up a connection with Gavin Miller. The Gray girl certainly hadn’t killed him, thought Banks. Neither had Veronica Chalmers. The connections still felt just beyond his grasp, like the networks of veins and arteries in the human body that needed special dyes to bring their problems to light. He felt the need for more information, for a special dye. Each new fact changed the whole pattern, and he knew from experience that, somewhere out there, was one as yet unforeseen change that would finally make it all make sense.

He ended the call with Annie and decided to go and wait for Ken inside the brasserie. The place was already bustling, but it was large enough, and he got a table by the Cookridge Street side, from where he could see the same scene through the window that he had just been watching from outside. He got menus and ordered a glass of Rioja. He would be driving back to Eastvale tonight, so that would have to be his only drink of the evening. Browns was a chain, but a relatively good one as these things went. Banks glanced over the menu. Whatever he ordered, it would be his second full meal of the day. Most days, all he got was a cup of coffee, a sandwich or a Greggs pasty and a warmed-up takeaway. This was living high off the hog by comparison.

DCI Ken Blackstone arrived five minutes late. He didn’t offer an apology, any more than Banks expected him to. A copper’s life was unpredictable, and being late was part of the burden. Only five minutes late was pretty damn good, actually. Ever the snappy dresser, under his raincoat Ken wore a light wool suit, shirt and tie. The shirt was crisp white linen, and the tie was rather flamboyant for Banks’s taste. Banks felt shabby, in contrast, in his old Marks & Spencer suit and open-neck shirt. He had worn a tie with it for lunch with Oriana but had taken it off as soon as he got in his car to set off for Armley Jail. With the tufts of hair over his ears, and his wire-rimmed glasses, Blackstone had always reminded Banks more of an academic than a copper. In fact, the older he got, the more he came to resemble some of the photos Banks had seen of the poet Philip Larkin.

Banks had known Ken Blackstone for years, and considered him perhaps his closest friend, as well as a trusted colleague and a police officer he respected. He had spent many a drunken night on Blackstone’s sofa after his split from Sandra, working his way through the massive collection of torch songs on vinyl — Billie Holiday, Dinah Washington, Sarah Vaughan, Blossom Dearie, Keely Smith, Thelma Grayson — usually waking up with a massive hangover and somebody or other singing ‘It’s De-Lovely’. It was a lost half year, more or less, but he had come through it in the end.

A while later, he had found Annie — or rather, she had come to work with him on a case that started near her home village of Harkside — and they had become lovers for a while, until work got in the way, and Annie felt that it was no longer appropriate to be sleeping with her boss. She was ambitious, but cautious, and he didn’t blame her, but he did miss their intimate times together. No matter how well they worked together, and how well they got along off duty, there was always a hint of awkwardness about their relationship after that. As people do, Banks and Blackstone had drifted apart a little over the years, and he hadn’t done any crying on his friend’s shoulder over his recent split with Sophia, had hardly told him anything about her. He also realised that he knew nothing of Blackstone’s love life since the divorce years ago. Still, it was good to have dinner with an old friend, do some catching up and cover a bit of work ground at the same time. He had always found Blackstone good to bounce ideas off; he could listen and help Banks articulate half-formed notions, bring them to light. He was the dye.

‘This is the life, eh, Alan?’ said Blackstone, sipping a gin and tonic. ‘Sometimes I wonder why we bother with the rest of it. We’ve both done our thirty, and more. Why don’t we just retire and keep bees or something?’

‘Because we’d get bored?’

‘Mm. Sometimes I think I could handle that,’ Blackstone said seriously, crossing his legs after pulling at the creases in his suit trousers. ‘Especially when I look in the eyes of another dead teenage junky, or a butchered prostitute, a seventy-year-old rape victim, another stab victim, or some unlucky passer-by caught in gang crossfire.’

‘The joys of city life. But seriously, Ken, what would you do? Wouldn’t you miss it all? Retirement terrifies me. I’m frightened I’d drop dead within a year.’

‘I’d find plenty to do. So would you. Maybe I’d get an allotment, for a start, take up growing marrows. Win prizes. You’ve got your music, books, travel, long country walks. Learn an instrument, a foreign language. Maybe you could work on your memoirs?’

‘About the only positive thing I can see in retirement is not having to write any more bloody reports,’ he said. ‘I’d never write another word as long as I live if I didn’t have to.’

‘Well, it’ll happen eventually, old mate. Bound to. I suppose if you think you’ll miss it so much, you could always get a job as a security guard.’

‘Sure. Lots of detection skills required for that.’

‘In a few years we’ll have no choice.’

The waiter came and took their orders. Banks went for the chicken, leek and mushroom pie, and Blackstone ordered the baked salmon, no sauce, and a salad.

‘Health kick?’ Banks asked.

‘Blood pressure and cholesterol.’

‘Take the statins. You can eat anything then. Except grapefruit.’

‘I’d rather stay off the pills. Doc says I can control it with exercise and diet.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Try not to sound so positive.’

‘Maybe I’ll go on a world cruise when they kick me out,’ Banks said. ‘Meet a rich widow. Just keep on sailing, round and round the world.’

‘There’s nobody in your affections right now?’

Banks immediately saw an image of Oriana in his mind, but he banished it at once. ‘Not at the moment. You?’

‘I’ve been seeing an admin assistant from the uni for a couple of months. We met online. I don’t know how serious it is.’

‘The kids must be all grown up now.’

‘I knew there was something I meant to tell you. Jackie’s pregnant. I’m going to be a grandfather. Can you believe it? Kevin’s still a waste of space. “Looking for his place in the world”, he calls it, but sponging off his dad and narrowly avoiding nick is about all it amounts to, really. But Jackie’s going great guns. Marriage, career, now kids.’

Banks clinked glasses. ‘Congratulations. But don’t be too hard on Kevin. We all need to find our place in the world. I don’t know whether to be grateful or not, but neither of mine is showing any signs of marriage yet, let alone child-rearing.’ Banks’s son Brian was touring in France, Holland and Germany with the Blue Lamps, and his daughter Tracy had recently moved to Newcastle, where she was working at the university and doing a part-time postgraduate degree in History, with a view to becoming a teacher, or a university lecturer.

‘I’ll let you know what it’s like.’

‘How’s Audrey?’ Audrey was Blackstone’s ex-wife.

‘Don’t know. I never hear from her. Jackie tells me she’s buggered off to the Dordogne with some retired chartered accountant.’

‘That’s one place to avoid when you do retire, then. It must be full of boring English émigrés. It’s funny you should bring up retirement,’ Banks went on. ‘Madame Gervaise mentioned it just the other day. Said if I keep my nose clean over the next while I might make super and not have to retire until I’m sixty-five.’

‘And can you?’

‘What?’

‘Keep your nose clean for a while?’

‘I’m not too sure about that. Something nasty’s brewing. I can feel it in my water.’

Their food arrived, and both paused while the waiter rearranged the cutlery and fussed about filling glasses from the bottled water they had ordered. When the flurry of activity had settled down, Blackstone took another sip of gin and tonic and said, ‘Do tell.’

‘I was just talking to Annie before you arrived,’ Banks said, ‘and she and Winsome re-interviewed a witness this afternoon. You know about the Gavin Miller case? A disgraced college lecturer chucked over the side of a railway bridge?’

‘I’ve read something about it, but you’d better fill me in on the details.’

Banks told him in as concise detail as possible about Gavin Miller’s death and their investigation into its circumstances, including his and Gerry Masterson’s foray into the life and times of Lady Veronica Chalmers and family. By the time he had finished, they had almost done with their main courses, and Blackstone was already halfway through his second drink. When the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, both declined and ordered coffees.

‘So what’s your problem?’ Blackstone asked, when the waiter had gone.

‘Too many suspects, but none that really stand out. Flimsy alibis, no forensics, one or two of our favourites not physically capable of chucking the victim over the bridge — the sides were quite high — too little in his life to help us track down useful connections. It’s all a bit of a jumble. I was telling Gerry Masterson just the other day that I’m beginning to wonder if they weren’t both Russian sleeper agents called back to action and something went wrong.’

‘That bad, is it? But you seem to have narrowed it down to two lines of inquiry,’ Blackstone pointed out. ‘The Lady and the college crowd.’

‘That’s true. But there are too many suspects in the college crowd, and the Lady’s been ruled off limits.’

‘Since when did that stop you?’

‘It doesn’t. Usually.’ Banks grinned. ‘You’re right. It hasn’t.’

‘And that’s why you can’t see yourself keeping your nose clean for a while?’

Banks leaned forward. ‘She’s got something to do with it, I’m certain of it, Ken. Maybe she didn’t kill him, in fact I’m almost certain she didn’t kill him, but there’s a connection beyond all the things we’ve learned already, and I just can’t seem to grasp it.’

‘That’s usually because there are vital pieces missing. This is what you have your DC Masterson running around after?’

‘She’s keen.’

‘She won’t be so keen if your chief constable finds out. Or even AC Gervaise.’

‘Let me worry about that.’

‘Fair enough. And what exactly do you expect her to find out?’

‘Primarily, some connection between Veronica Bellamy, as she then was, and Gavin Miller from their university days.’

‘And if there isn’t one?’

‘Back to the drawing board. Drugs are still a possibility. But I’m certain there is.’

‘OK. Let’s say for the sake of argument that there is. So what? What could it possibly have to do with his murder forty years later?’

‘You know how these things go, Ken. A buried secret, perhaps? A shared crime? I won’t know until Gerry comes up with something solid, will I?’

‘By which time you’ll have pissed off the bosses so badly that you might as well start applying for that security guard’s job right now. And take your DC with you, for what career she’ll have left.’

‘I knew I could always depend on you to cheer me up, Ken.’

Blackstone sipped some coffee and grinned. ‘You wouldn’t want it any other way.’

‘But if I’m right, then nobody’s career is damaged, and we’ve caught a criminal. A rich one, perhaps, but a criminal nonetheless.’

‘But you said she couldn’t possibly have done it.’

‘She could afford to have it done.’

‘Aha, the old hired assassin trick.’

‘Why not? It beats the passing tramp trick. Come on, Ken, you know it happens.’

‘And just how is Lady Veronica Chalmers going to find a hired assassin to do her bidding? In the local pub?’

‘If I knew the answer to that, I’d have her in custody. I’m not saying the whole thing makes sense yet.’

‘You’re telling me it doesn’t. Honestly, Alan, you’ve met her, talked to her a couple of times, poked into her past. Do you really see her as the kind of woman who would hire someone to kill someone?’

‘How do I know?’

‘Trust your judgement. You used to.’

‘Then, no, I don’t. But maybe her husband was involved?’

‘You said he was away in New York.’

‘I mean in finding someone to do the job. Theatrical producer. He must know some pretty dodgy types, surely?’

‘Maybe. I’m sure there are a lot of actors out there who’d kill for a part in one of Sir Jeremy Chalmers’ shows. But as far as I can see, all you’ve got is a random pile of different coloured bricks.’

‘I can still build a prison from them, if only I had a few more.’

‘If you build it, they will come.’

Banks laughed.

‘Seriously, Alan, after what you’ve told me, my money’s on the college crowd and the possible drug connection.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it sounds like a nasty business that went down there, and it’s something you know about, with a number of definable suspects. And because methamphetamine, coke, heroin and the like are dangerous and very profitable substances. People who make their money from those sort of things wouldn’t think twice about chucking someone off a bridge if they thought he was going to start competing with them or rat them out to us. The Kyle kid was in jail, fair enough, but dealers have people they work for, or who work for them, and what Miller did might have annoyed someone at a very high level, someone McClusky worked for. Just theorising.’

‘But four years had gone by, Ken. Why the long wait?’

‘You could say the same about forty years. More so. Something obviously happened to trigger events, either way. Once you find that trigger, you’ll be on the home stretch.’