Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

Chapter 18

All the way to Swainsdale Hall Annie worried about what she was going to say to the Armitages. Their son had lived a good part of his life unknown to them, mixed with people they didn’t know and wouldn’t approve of, especially Martin. But don’t all kids? Annie had grown up in an artists’ commune near St. Ives, and some of the people she had mixed with would have made Martin Armitage’s hair stand on end. Even so, she hadn’t told her father about the wild group she took up with one summer, whose idea of fun was a Saturday-afternoon shoplifting expedition in town.

The view over Swainsdale looked gloomy that morning in the low cloud and impending rain, dull gradations of gray and green. Even the patches of yellow rapeseed on the far hillsides looked jaundiced. As Annie rang the doorbell, she felt a surge of anxiety at the thought of seeing Martin Armitage again. It was foolish, she knew; he wasn’t going to assault her – not in front of his wife – but she still had an aching jaw, two loose teeth and an upcoming dentist’s appointment by which to remember their last meeting.

Josie opened the door and the dog sniffed Annie’s crotch as she walked in. Josie collared it and took it away. Only Robin Armitage sat on the large living room sofa in jeans and a navy-blue top, flipping through a copy of Vogue. Annie breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Martin was out. She’d have to talk to him, but a little procrastination wouldn’t do any harm. Robin wore no makeup and seemed to have grown older since Luke’s death. She looked as if a strong gust of wind would blow her away. She stood up when Annie entered, gave her a thin smile and bade her sit down. She asked Josie to bring in some coffee.

“Is your husband not home?” Annie asked.

“He’s in his study. I’ll ask Josie to send for him when she brings the coffee. Are you making any progress?”

“Some,” said Annie. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you both again, ask you a few questions.”

“Are you all right? Your mouth still looks bruised.”

Annie put her hand up to her jaw. “I’m fine.”

“I’m really sorry for what happened. I know Martin is absolutely guilt-stricken.” She managed a weak smile. “It’ll take him all his courage to come down and face you again.”

“No hard feelings,” Annie said, which wasn’t exactly the truth, but there was no point taking it out on Robin.

Josie came in with the coffee and digestive biscuits on a tray and Robin asked her to call Mr. Armitage down. When he walked into the living room a couple of minutes later, Annie felt a wave of panic. It passed, but it left her heart pounding and her mouth dry. This was ridiculous, she told herself, but her body couldn’t help but respond that way to whatever aura of violence Martin Armitage emanated. It just seemed closer to the surface in him than in most people.

Naturally, he was contrite and embarrassed. “Please accept my apologies,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never laid a finger on a woman before.” Robin patted his knee.

“It’s all right,” said Annie, eager to move on.

“Of course, if there are any medical expenses…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How’s Mr. Wells?”

Annie had talked with the hospital and discovered that, while Norman Wells’s physical injuries were healing well, the psychological damage went a lot deeper. He seemed, they said, to be suffering from depression. He couldn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to get out of bed, had no interest in food and seemed unconcerned about his future. Hardly surprising, Annie thought, given what the poor sod had been through over the past week or so. And now the newspapers had got hold of the story, there’d be no more bookshop for Wells. Once everyone knew what he had been accused of, nobody would go down there, or if they did, it would only be to cause damage. Norman Wells would become a pariah.

“He’ll be fine,” Annie said. “Actually, I have a few more questions for the both of you.”

“I can’t imagine what more we can tell you,” said Robin. “But please go ahead.”

“First of all, do either you or your husband have a prescription for Valium or any other form of diazepam?”

Robin frowned. “Martin doesn’t, but I do. Nerves.”

“Have you noticed any missing lately?”

“No.”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” Robin reached for her handbag on the sofa beside her and took out a small plastic container. “Here they are,” she said. “Look. Almost full. Why do you ask?”

Annie looked, then dunked her digestive biscuit in her coffee. Though she had to eat it carefully, avoiding the loose teeth, it tasted good, and it gave her a moment to phrase her response to avoid using images that might upset Robin. “It’s just that the pathologist found traces in Luke’s system,” she said – it sounded better than “stomach contents.” “We were wondering where he got it from.”

“Luke? Valium? Certainly not from us.”

“And I assume he didn’t have a prescription of his own?”

Martin and Robin looked at each other, frowning. “Of course not,” said Robin. “Someone else must have given him it.”

“Is that what killed him?” Martin Armitage asked.

“No,” said Annie. “It’s just another complication I’d like to get out of the way, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry we can’t help you,” said Robin.

Annie struggled to phrase her next question, too. Talking to these two was like walking on eggs, but it had to be done. “Mrs. Armitage – Robin – you know Luke was confused about his biological father, don’t you?”

“Neil? Well, yes, I suppose… But, I mean, Luke never knew him.”

“Surely you knew he must have wondered what happened, why his father didn’t want him?”

“It wasn’t like that. Neil just couldn’t cope. He was a child himself in so many ways.”

“And a drug addict.”

“Neil wasn’t an addict. He used drugs, but they were just a sort of tool for him, a means to an end.”

Annie didn’t bother arguing that that was what they were for most people; it would be easier if she took Neil Byrd’s exalted artistic status in her stride, especially when talking to Robin. “But you knew Luke couldn’t listen to his music, didn’t you?”

“I never asked him to. I don’t listen to it myself anymore.”

“Well, he couldn’t,” Annie said. “Any reference to Neil Byrd or his music upset him. Did he ever talk to either of you about any friends of his called Liz and Ryan?”

“Not to me, no,” said Robin. “Martin?”

Martin Armitage shook his head.

“He was in a band with them. Didn’t you know?”

“No,” said Robin. “He didn’t tell us.”

“Why would he keep it from you?”

Robin paused and looked at her husband, who shifted in his seat and spoke, “Probably because we’d already had arguments about that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I thought Luke was devoting far too much of his time to poetry and music, and that he ought to get more involved in team sports, get more exercise. He was starting to look pasty-faced from spending all his time indoors.”

“How did he react to this?”

Martin looked at Robin, then back at Annie. “Not well. We had a bit of an argument about it. He insisted he was the best judge of how to spend his time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

“Because it didn’t seem relevant. It still doesn’t.” Martin sat forward and stared at her with that intense, disconcerting look of his. “Someone kidnapped Luke and murdered him, and all you can do is ask questions about Neil Byrd and my relationship with Luke.”

“I think I’m the best judge of what questions I should be asking, Mr. Armitage,” said Annie, aware of her heart pounding again. Surely they could all hear it. “Did you agree with your husband?” she asked Robin.

“Sort of. But I didn’t want to stand in the way of Luke’s creative development. If I’d known about the band, I would have been concerned. I wouldn’t have wanted him getting into that kind of life. Believe me, I’ve seen it at first hand. I’ve been there.”

“So you wouldn’t have been thrilled, either, if you’d known that Luke was playing in a group?”

“No.”

“Was drug use a concern?”

“We warned him about drugs, of course, and he swore he didn’t take them.”

“He didn’t,” Annie said. “At least not until the day he disappeared.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “What are you saying? You know how he died?”

“No. No, we don’t know that yet. All we know is that he was with two friends, that he took some drugs and they played him his father’s music. Luke got upset and left. We still don’t know where he went after that.”

Robin put her coffee cup down in the saucer. Some of the coffee spilled. She didn’t notice. “I can’t believe it,” she said.

“Who are these people?” Martin butted in.

“And what will you do if I tell you, Mr. Armitage?” Annie said. “Go and beat them up?”

Armitage’s chin jutted out as he spoke. “It’s no less than they deserve if what you say is true. Giving my son drugs.”

“Mr. Armitage,” Annie said. “What did you do when you went out for two hours the night Luke disappeared?”

“I told you. I just drove around looking for him.”

“Drove where?”

“Eastvale.”

“Any particular areas or streets?”

“I don’t remember. I just drove around. Why is it important?”

Annie’s chest felt tight, but she forged ahead. “Did you find him?”

“Of course I didn’t. What are you talking about? If I’d found him, he’d be here safe and sound right now, wouldn’t he?”

“I’ve seen a demonstration of your temper, Mr. Armitage.” There, it was out. “I also know from talking to several people that you and your stepson didn’t get along very well.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Armitage’s tone chilled Annie, but it was too late to stop now. “That if anything happened that evening… Some sort of… accident… then it’s better to tell me now than have me find out by some other means.”

“Accident? Let me get this straight. Are you asking me if I found Luke, picked him up in my car, then lost my temper and killed him?”

“I’m asking you if you did see him that night, yes, and if anything happened between you that I should know about.”

Armitage shook his head. “You really are a piece of work, DI Cabbot. First you act rashly and probably cause my son’s death, then you accuse me of killing him. For your information, I did exactly what I told you. I drove around Eastvale looking for Luke. It was probably pointless, I know, but I had to do something. I needed to act. I couldn’t just sit around and wait. I didn’t find him. All right?”

“Fine,” said Annie.

“And I resent your accusation.”

“I haven’t accused you of anything.”

Martin Armitage stood up. “It shows how little progress you’ve made, scraping the bottom of the barrel like this. Will that be all? I’m going back to my study now.”

Annie felt relieved when Armitage had left the room.

“That was cruel,” said Robin. “Martin loved Luke like his own son, did his best for the boy, even if they didn’t always agree. Luke was no angel, you know. He could be difficult.”

“I’m sure he could,” said Annie. “All teenagers can. And I’m sorry I had to ask those questions. Police work can be uncomfortable at times, but the solution often lies close to home, and we’d be derelict in our duty if we didn’t pursue such lines of inquiry. Did you know that Luke had a girlfriend?”

“Certainly not.”

“He never said anything to you?”

“I don’t even believe he had a girlfriend.”

“Everyone says he was mature for his age, and he was a good-looking boy, too. Why shouldn’t he?”

“He just never…”

“It might have been someone he didn’t feel he could bring home to meet his parents. Maybe even Liz Palmer, the girl in the group.”

“You think that’s why he was killed? Because of this girl?”

“We don’t know. It’s just one possibility we’ve been looking at. What about Lauren Anderson?”

“Miss Anderson? But she was his English teacher. You can’t think…”

“I don’t know. It’s not as if these things don’t happen. Rose Barlow?”

“Rose? The head teacher’s daughter? Well, she came round to the house once, but it was all perfectly innocent.”

“Rose Barlow came to your house? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“But it was ages ago.”

“February? March?”

“Around that time. Yes. How do you know?”

“Because somebody else noticed Luke and Rose were spending time together then, thought maybe they were going out together.”

“I don’t think so,” said Robin. “It was something to do with a school project.”

“Did she visit often?”

“Only the once.”

“And she never came back?”

“No.”

“Did Luke ever talk about her?”

“Except to say that he’d ended up doing most of the project himself, no. Look, I don’t understand all this, all your questions. Don’t you think he just wandered off and someone kidnapped him?”

“No,” said Annie. “I don’t think that’s what happened at all.”

“Then what?”

Annie stood up to leave. “Give me a little more time,” she said. “I’m getting there.”

Michelle had made three important discoveries before lunch that day, and it seemed a nice goal to set oneself. Who was it, she tried to remember, who had made it a point to believe six impossible things before breakfast? Was it Alice in Through the Looking Glass?

Well, the things Michelle had discovered were far from impossible. First, she had gone back to the log book for the summer of 1965 and found the reference to the Mandeville house. On the first of August that year, an anonymous informant had telephoned the station with allegations of underage sex and homosexuality. The possibility of drug-taking was also mentioned. A young DC called Geoff Talbot had gone out to make inquiries and had arrested two men he said he found naked together in a bedroom there. After that, nothing more appeared on the case except a note that all charges were dropped and an official apology issued to Mr. Rupert Mandeville, who, she discovered from an Internet search, had served as a Conservative Member of Parliament from 1979 to 1990 and was granted a life peerage in 1994.

It took Michelle a bit longer to track Geoff Talbot down, as he had left the police force in 1970 to work as a consultant with a television company. Eventually, through a patient personnel officer, she managed to find his address in Barnet, a north London suburb. She had rung him and he had agreed to talk to her.

After that, Michelle had enlisted DC Collins’s aid and discovered through local land registry records that Donald Bradford’s shop had been owned by a company linked to Carlo Fiorino, the late but unlamented local crime kingpin. The company had also owned Le Phonographe discotheque and several other newsagents’ shops in the Peterborough area. Ownership of Bradford’s shop went to the Walkers when he sold, but many of the other shops remained under Fiorino’s control well through the new town expansion into the seventies.

What it all meant Michelle wasn’t too sure, but it looked very much as if Carlo Fiorino had set up the perfect retail distribution chain for his wholesale porn business, and who knew what else besides? Drugs, perhaps? And maybe even some of those advertising cards in the newsagents’ windows weren’t quite so innocent after all.

All this she told to Banks as she drove through a steady drizzle down the A1 to Barnet. As they talked, she kept a keen eye on her rearview mirror. A gray Passat seemed to stay on their tail a bit too long and too close for comfort, but it finally turned off at Welwyn Garden City.

“Bradford must have got Graham involved somehow, through the magazines,” said Banks. “But it didn’t stop there. He must have come to the attention of Fiorino and Mandeville, too. It helps to explain where all that extra money came from.”

“Look, I know he was your friend, Alan, but you have to admit that it looks as if he was up to some unsavory stuff, as if he got greedy.”

“I admit it,” said Banks. “The photo must have been Graham’s insurance. Evidence. He could use it to blackmail Bradford into paying him more money, only he didn’t know what he’d got himself into. Word got back to Fiorino, and he signed Graham’s death warrant.”

“And who carried it out?”

“Bradford, most likely. He didn’t have an alibi. Or Harris. I mean, we can’t rule him out completely. Despite what his ex-wife told you, he could have kept the commando knife, and if he was being threatened with exposure as a homosexual, he might have been driven to kill. Remember, it wouldn’t only have meant his career back then, but jail, and you know how long coppers survive behind bars.”

“Jet Harris searched Graham Marshall’s house personally just after the boy disappeared,” said Michelle.

“Harris did that? Searched the house? How do you know?”

“Mrs. Marshall mentioned it the first time I went to talk to her. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now… a superintendent conducting a routine search?”

“He must have been after the photo.”

“Then why didn’t he find it?”

“He obviously didn’t look hard enough, did he?” said Banks. “Adolescents are naturally very secretive. Sometimes, by necessity, they have an uncanny knack for hiding things. And at the time, if that photo had been securely Sellotaped to the inside of Graham’s guitar, nobody could know it was there without taking the guitar apart. It was only because the adhesive had dried out and the Sellotape had stiffened over the years that the photo broke free and I found it.”

“I suppose so,” Michelle said. “But does that make Harris a murderer?”

“I don’t know. It’s not proof. But he was in it. Deep.”

“I also rang Ray Scholes this morning,” Michelle said. “Remember, the detective who investigated Donald Bradford’s murder?”

“I remember.”

“It turns out there was a Fairbairn-Sykes knife among Bradford’s possessions.”

“What happened to it?”

“Forget it. It’s long gone. Sold to a dealer. Who knows how many times it’s changed hands since then?”

“Pity. But at least we know it was in his possession when he died.”

“You said the photo was evidence,” Michelle said, “but what of? How?”

“Well, there might have been fingerprints on it, but I think it was more dangerous because people would have known where it was taken. I doubt there are that many Adam fireplaces around, and probably none quite as distinctive as that one. The rug, too.”

“You’re thinking of the Mandeville house?”

“Sounds a likely place to me. I’m certain it was all connected: Fiorino’s porn business, his escort agency, the Mandeville parties, Graham’s murder. I think this is where we turn off.”

Michelle kept going.

“The junction’s coming up,” Banks said. “Here. Move over or you’ll miss it. Now!”

Michelle waited and made a last-minute lane change. Horns blared as she sped across two lanes of traffic to the off-ramp.

“Jesus Christ!” said Banks. “You could have got us killed.”

Michelle flashed him a quick grin. “Oh, don’t be such a pussycat. I knew what I was doing. This way we can be certain no one’s following us. Where now?”

When his heart rate slowed, Banks picked up the street guide and directed Michelle to the pleasant suburban semi where Ex-DC Geoff Talbot enjoyed his retirement.

Talbot answered the door and asked them in. Michelle introduced herself and Banks.

“Miserable day, isn’t it?” Talbot said. “One wonders if summer will ever arrive.”

“Too true,” said Banks.

“Coffee? Tea?”

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Michelle said. Banks agreed.

Michelle and Banks followed Talbot into the kitchen, which turned out to be a bright, high-ceilinged room with a central island surrounded by tall stools.

“We can talk here, if it’s all right with you,” Talbot said. “My wife keeps pestering me for a conservatory, but I don’t see the need. On a nice day we can always sit outside.”

Michelle looked out of the window and saw the well-manicured lawn and neat flower beds. Someone in the family was obviously a keen gardener. A copper beech provided some shade. It would indeed have been nice to sit outside, but not in the rain.

“You didn’t give me much of an idea what you wanted to talk about over the telephone,” Talbot said, looking over his shoulder as he dropped a couple of tea bags into the pot.

“That’s because it’s still a bit vague,” Michelle said. “How’s your memory?” She and Banks had agreed that, as it was her case and he had no official capacity, she would do most of the questioning.

“Not so bad for an old man.”

Talbot didn’t look that old, Michelle thought. He was carrying a few pounds too many, and his hair was almost white, but other than that his face was remarkably unlined and his movements smooth and fluid. “Remember when you served on the Cambridge Constabulary?” she asked.

“Of course. Mid-sixties, that’d be. Peterborough. It was called the Mid-Anglia Constabulary back then. Why?”

“Do you remember a case involving Rupert Mandeville?”

“Do I? How could I forget. That’s the reason I left Cambridgeshire. If it comes right down to it, it’s the reason I left the force not long after, too.”

“Could you tell us what happened?”

The kettle boiled and Talbot filled the pot with boiling water, then carried it on a tray along with three cups and saucers to the island. “Nothing happened,” he said. “That was the problem. I was told to lay off.”

“By whom?”

“The super.”

“Detective Superintendent Harris?”

“Jet Harris. That’s the one. Oh, it was all aboveboard. Not enough evidence, my word against theirs, anonymous informant, that sort of thing. You couldn’t fault his arguments.”

“Then what?”

Talbot paused. “It just didn’t feel right, that’s all. I can’t put it any other way than that. There’d been rumors for some time about things going on at the Mandeville house. Procurement, underage boys, that sort of thing. It was the start of what they called the permissive society, after all. Ever heard of Carlo Fiorino?”

“We have,” said Michelle.

Talbot poured the tea. “Rumor has it he was the supplier. Anyway, the problem was, Rupert Mandeville was too well-connected, and some of the people who attended his parties were in the government, or in other high-level positions. Real Profumo stuff. Of course, I was the naive young copper fresh from probation, proud to be in CID, thinking he could take on the world. Not a care had I for rank or sway. We were all equal in the eyes of God as far as I was concerned, though I wasn’t a religious man. Well, I soon learned the error of my ways. Had my eyes opened for me. When the super found out I’d been out there and caused a fuss, he had me in his office and told me in no uncertain terms that Mandeville was off-limits.”

“Did he say why?” Michelle asked.

“He didn’t need to. It’s not difficult to add up.”

“An operation like that, and one like Fiorino’s, would need police protection,” Banks said. “And Harris was it. Or part of it.”

“Exactly,” said Talbot. “Oh, he was clever, though. He never admitted it in so many words, and he got me transferred out of the county before my feet even touched the ground. Cumbria. I ask you! Well, I ran into one or two nice little gentleman’s agreements between local villains and constabulary up there, too, so I called it a day. I mean, I’m no saint, but it just seemed to me that no matter where I went I found corruption. I couldn’t fight it. Not from my position. So I resigned from the force. Best move I ever made.”

“And you told no one of your suspicions about Harris?” Michelle asked.

“What was the point? Who’d believe me? Jet Harris was practically a god around the place even then. Besides, there were implied threats of what might happen to me if I didn’t do as he said, and some of them were quite physical. I’m not a coward, but I’m no fool, either. I cut my losses.”

“Was anyone else involved?”

“Might have been,” said Talbot. “The chief constable himself might have been a regular at Mandeville’s parties, for all I know.”

“But no one you knew of?”

“No. I didn’t even know about Harris. Like I said, it just felt wrong. I just guessed from his attitude, his wording. It was only him and me in his office. Even by the time I got outside I was thinking I’d been reading too much into it.”

“What happened that day?”

“From the start?”

“Yes.”

“It was a warm Sunday morning, end of July or beginning of August.”

“It was the first of August,” Michelle said.

“Right. Anyway, I was by myself, not much on, I remember, when the phone call came and the switchboard patched it through to the office.”

“Do you remember anything about the voice?”

Talbot frowned. “It’s so long ago, I don’t…”

“Man? Woman?”

“It was a woman’s voice. I remember that much.”

“Did she sound upset?”

“Yes. That’s why I headed out there so impulsively. She said there’d been a party going on since the previous night, and she was convinced that some of the girls and boys were underage and people were taking drugs. She sounded frightened. She hung up very abruptly, too.”

“So you went?”

“Yes. I logged the details and drove out there like a knight in shining armor. If I’d had half the sense I have now, I’d at least have taken the time to organize a small raiding party, but I didn’t. God knows what I thought I was going to do when I got there.”

“Did you meet the woman who’d phoned?”

“Not that I know of. I mean, if she was there, she never came forward and admitted she was the one who phoned. But then she wouldn’t, would she?”

“Who opened the door?”

“A young man. He just opened it, glanced at my identification and wandered off. He didn’t seem interested at all. I thought he was on drugs, but I must admit I didn’t know much about them at the time. I’m not even sure we had a drugs squad back then.”

“What did you find inside?”

“It was more like the aftermath of a party, really. Some people were sleeping on sofas, a couple on the floor…”

“How many?”

“Hard to say. Maybe twenty or so.”

“What kind of people?”

“A mix. Young and old. Businessmen. Mods. One or two of the girls looked like swinging London types, miniskirts and what have you. There was a funny smell, too, I remember. At the time I didn’t know what it was, but I smelled it again later. Marijuana.”

“What did you do?”

“To be honest, I felt a bit out of my depth.” He laughed. “Like Mr. Jones in that Bob Dylan song, I didn’t really know what was happening. I wasn’t even sure if any of it was illegal. I mean, the girls and the men didn’t look underage to me, but what did I know? I talked to a few people, took names. A couple of the girls I’d seen before at Le Phonographe. I think they also worked for Fiorino’s escort agency.”

“You used your notebook?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to it?”

“Same as usual, I suppose.”

“You also found two men together?”

“Yes. I looked in some of the rooms, and in one bedroom I saw two men in bed together. Naked.”

“Were they doing anything?”

“Not when I opened the door. They were just… very close together. I’d never seen anything like that before. I mean, I knew about homosexuality, I wasn’t that naive, but I’d never actually seen it.”

“Did either of them look underage?”

“No. One I pegged at early twenties, the other older, maybe forty. But it didn’t matter how old you were back then.”

“So what did you do?”

“I… er… I arrested them.”

“Did they resist?”

“No. They just laughed, put their clothes on and went back to the station with me.”

“What happened then?”

“Jet Harris was waiting for me. He was furious.”

“He was at the station waiting for you? On a Sunday morning?”

“Yes. I suppose someone from Mandeville’s house must have phoned him.”

“Probably dragged him out of church,” Banks said.

“What did he do?” Michelle asked.

“He had a private talk with the two men, let them go and had his little chat with me. That was the end of it. No further action.”

“Just out of interest,” Michelle asked, “how old was Rupert Mandeville at the time?”

“Quite young. In his thirties. His parents had been killed in a plane crash not too long before, I remember, and he’d inherited a fortune, even after tax. I suppose he was just doing what many young people would have done if they’d gained their freedom and had unlimited funds.”

“Ever hear of Donald Bradford?” Michelle asked.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Bill Marshall?”

“He was one of Fiorino’s muscle men. I ran into him a couple of times in Le Phonographe. Tough character. Thick as the proverbial pig shit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Talbot.”

“You’re welcome. Look, I can’t see as I’ve been any help, but…”

Banks placed the photograph of Graham Marshall in front of him. “Do you recognize that boy?”

Talbot paled. “My God, isn’t that the boy who…? His photograph was in the papers only a few weeks ago.”

“Did you see him at the Mandeville house?”

“No… I… but that’s the room. Mandeville’s living room. I remember the sheepskin rug and the fireplace. Does that mean what I think it means? That the boy’s death is somehow connected with Mandeville and Harris?”

“Somehow,” said Michelle. “We’re just not quite sure how yet.”

Talbot tapped the photo. “If we’d had something like that back then, we’d have had some evidence,” he said.

“Possibly,” said Banks. “If it ever saw the light of day.”

They stood up and Talbot showed them to the door. “You know,” he said, “I felt at the time that there was more going on than met the eye. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d pushed it a bit harder, not let go too easily.”

“You’d have probably ended up under a field with Graham Marshall,” said Banks. “Bye, Mr. Talbot. And thank you.”

Gavin Barlow was in his study when Annie called, and he invited her to sit with him there while they talked. It was a light, airy room, with plenty of space, and the bookcases didn’t feel as overwhelming as the ones in Gristhorpe’s office. Barlow pushed his laptop aside on his desk and smiled. “It might be summer holidays for most,” he said, “but some of us still have work to do.”

“I won’t take up much of your time,” Annie said. “It’s about your daughter.”

“Rose? I’m afraid she’s out.”

“Perhaps you can answer my questions, then.”

“I’ll try. But look, if Rose is in any sort of trouble…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should call my solicitor or something.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Just tell me what you’ve come to say.”

“Your daughter came to the station and made some pretty serious allegations about Lauren Anderson and Luke Armitage.”

“She did what?”

“And now it turns out that she was seeing Luke earlier this year. She even visited him at Swainsdale Hall on at least one occasion. Do you know anything about that?”

“Of course. It was a school project the students were asked to partner up on. To promote working together, task-sharing. Rose worked with Luke.”

“Her choice or his?”

“I don’t know. I should imagine the teacher assigned them.”

“Lauren Anderson?”

“No, actually. It was a science project. It would have been Mr. Sawyer.”

“Do you know if Luke and Rose had any sort of romantic involvement?”

“Not as far as I know. Look, Ms. Cabbot, I’m not so naive as to think that teenagers their age don’t form liaisons. I’ve been a head teacher too long to think otherwise. I’ve even come across my share of teenage pregnancies. But I also know my own daughter, and believe me, I would have known if she’d been seeing Luke Armitage.”

“They were seen talking together in and around the school. Did she ever talk to you about Luke?”

“She might have mentioned him once or twice, yes. It was only natural. I mean, they were in the same class, he was a little odd, and something of a minor celebrity. At least his parents are.”

“Was she obsessed with him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Would you have approved if they had been going out together?”

Barlow pursed his lips. “I can’t say that I would, no.”

“Why not?”

“She’s my daughter, for crying out loud. You don’t think I’d have wanted her going out with that…”

“That what, Mr. Barlow?”

“I was going to say that boy.”

“Oh, were you?”

“Yes. But I’ll admit that, as a father, I thought Luke Armitage just a little too weird for my daughter.”

“How far would you have gone to stop them going out together?”

“Now, hold on a minute. I won’t have you-”

“Where were you and Rose the night Luke disappeared? That’s a week ago last Monday, in case you don’t remember.”

“Here.”

“Both of you?”

“As far as I know. My wife will remember.”

“Why would Rose want to make trouble for Ms. Anderson?”

“I don’t know.”

“How well does your daughter do at English?”

“It’s not her best subject, or her favorite.”

“Was she jealous?”

“Of what?”

“Of the attention Luke got from Lauren Anderson?”

“Why don’t you ask Lauren?”

“I will. But I’m asking you first.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t know.”

They stared at each other, and Annie tried to weigh up whether he was telling the truth or not. She decided he was holding something back. “What is it, Mr. Barlow?” she asked. “If it’s nothing to do with Luke’s death, it will go no further than these walls, I promise.”

Barlow sighed and stared out of the window. The clouds had split in places and shafts of light lanced the distant hills. The laptop hummed on his desk.

“Mr. Barlow?”

He turned back to face her, and his facade of benevolent authority had disappeared. In its place was the look of a man with a burden. He stared at her a long time before speaking. “It was nothing,” he said finally, his voice little more than a whisper. “Really. Nothing.”

“Then tell me.”

“Ms. Anderson. Lauren. If you’ve seen her, you must have noticed she’s an attractive woman, quite the Pre-Raphaelite beauty,” Barlow said. “I’m only as human as the next man, but everyone expects me to be above reproach.”

“You’re a head teacher,” said Annie. “You’re supposed to be responsible. What happened? Did you have an affair? Did Rose find out?”

“Oh, good Lord, no. Nothing like that. I might have flirted a bit, as one does, but Lauren wasn’t interested in me. She made that quite clear.”

Annie frowned. “Then I don’t understand.”

A thin smile twisted his lips. “Don’t you? Sometimes things can seem other than they are, and any attempt to explain them away only makes you seem more guilty.”

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“Lauren came to see me in my office shortly after Christmas. A family problem. Her father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and she was upset, needed some time off. I put an arm around her, just to comfort her, you understand, and Rose chose that moment to come barging in with some family matter. It’s one of the disadvantages of being the head of the school your daughter attends. Rose was usually pretty good about observing the boundaries, but on this occasion… Well, she misread the situation and went running off.”

“I see,” said Annie. “Did she tell your wife?”

“No. No, thank God. I managed to talk to her. I’m not sure she quite believed in my innocence, but she agreed not to say anything.”

“And that’s the root of her animosity toward Lauren Anderson?”

“I should imagine so. Maybe she had a crush on Luke Armitage, too, at one time, but believe me, I’d have known if there was more to it than that.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“You were attracted to Lauren, though, weren’t you? What did you call her? A Pre-Raphaelite beauty?”

“Yes. As I said, I’m only human. And she is a very attractive woman. You can’t arrest a man for his thoughts. At least not yet. The damn thing is, I’d done nothing wrong, but because I wanted it, I felt as guilty as if I had, anyway.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Annie. “Very funny.” But her thoughts were elsewhere. Barlow might not have given her the answers she was hoping for, but he had certainly given her plenty to think about.

“Well, if it isn’t our two lovebirds,” said Ben Shaw, opening the door to Banks and Michelle. “What the fuck do you two want?”

“A few words,” said Banks.

“And why should I want a few words with you?”

“Des Wayman,” said Michelle.

Shaw squinted at her, then shut the door, slid off the chain and opened it, walking away from them, leaving Banks to shut the door behind them and follow.

The house was far neater than Banks had expected. He had pegged Shaw as an alcoholic living alone, and that usually meant chaos. At least Shaw probably hired a cleaning lady, and his personal habits seemed tidy enough. The only booze in sight was a half-empty bottle of Bell’s on the living room table, a full glass beside it. Shaw sat down and took a slug without offering his guests anything. Well, Banks thought, why should he?

Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite was playing on the radio, another surprise for Banks. He wouldn’t have guessed Shaw to be a man of classical tastes. Or maybe it didn’t matter what was on as long as there was sound.

“So what porkies has Mr. Wayman been telling today?”

“Stop pissing around,” said Banks. “You told Wayman and a mate to work me over and get me out of the picture. It backfired.”

“If he told you that, he’s lying.”

“He told me, sir,” said Michelle, “and with all due respect, I think he was telling the truth.”

“All due respect? You don’t know the meaning of the term.” Shaw lit a cigarette and Banks felt a wave of pure need surge inside him. He was already feeling light-headed and edgy from not smoking, but this… this was ten times worse than he’d imagined. He took a grip. “Wayman’s nothing but criminal scum,” Shaw went on. “And you’d take his word over mine?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Banks went on. “DI Hart has done a bit of digging into your Regan and Carter days with Jet Harris, and we were just wondering how much the two of you took in from Carlo Fiorino.”

“You bastard!” Shaw lurched forward to grab Banks’s lapel but he was already a bit unsteady with drink, and Banks pushed him back down into his chair. He paled, and a grimace of pain passed over his face.

“What is it?” asked Banks.

“Fuck you.” Shaw coughed and reached for more whiskey. “John Harris was worth ten of you. You’re not worth the piss stains on his underwear.”

“Come off it, Shaw, the two of you were as bent as the day is long. He might have had a good excuse for it, but you…? You couldn’t remove every scrap of evidence from the archives. All your arrests were for burglary, assault, fraud and the occasional domestic murder. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“What, smart-arse?”

“That all the time Carlo Fiorino was running prostitution, escort agencies, illegal gambling, protection, porn and drugs with absolute impunity. Sure, you had him or one of his henchmen brought in once or twice for questioning, just for the sake of appearances, but guess what – either the evidence disappeared or witnesses changed their statements.”

Shaw said nothing, just sipped more whiskey.

“Fiorino fed you his opposition,” Banks went on. “He had eyes and ears out on the street. He knew what jobs were going down. Small-fry, or competition. Either way it made you look good and deflected attention from his own operations, which included supplying Rupert Mandeville with as many bodies as he wanted for his ‘parties,’ male and female.”

Shaw slammed the tumbler down on the table so hard, the whiskey slopped over the side. “All right,” he said. “You want the truth? I’ll tell you. I’m not stupid. I worked with John for too many years not to have my suspicions, but – know what? – I never took a fucking penny in my life. And maybe I blinkered myself, maybe I even protected him, but we did our jobs. We brought down the bad guys. I loved the man. He taught me everything. He even saved my life once. He had charisma, did John. He was the kind of bloke everybody noticed when he walked in the room. He’s a fucking hero around these parts, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“And that’s why you’ve been doing everything in your power to scupper DI Hart’s investigation into Graham Marshall’s murder? To protect your old pal’s memory. To protect Jet Harris’s reputation. To do that you get someone to break into her flat, try to run her down, have me beaten up.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He looked at Michelle, then back at Banks, a puzzled expression on his face. “I certainly never had anyone intimidate DI Hart in any way. I wasn’t worried about her. It was you I was worried about.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re the loose cannon. It was you I needed to keep an eye on. It was different for you. Personal. You knew the victim. I could tell the first time I saw you that you weren’t going to let go.” He shook his head and looked at Michelle again. “No,” he said. “If anyone had a go at you, DI Hart, it wasn’t down to me.”

Banks and Michelle exchanged glances, then Banks moved on. “Are you asking us to believe that you worked with Harris all those years and you hadn’t a clue what he was up to?”

“I’m saying I had my suspicions, but I buried them. For the sake of the force. For John’s sake. Listen, squash a bug like Fiorino and another one takes his place. You can no more stop prostitution, porn and drugs than you can stop sex and drinking. They’re always going to be there. Policing was different then. Sometimes you had to rub shoulders with some pretty nasty bedfellows to do the job.”

“And what about Graham Marshall?”

Shaw looked surprised. “What about him?”

“Did you know what really happened to him? Have you been covering that up all these years, too?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Shaw’s voice was little more than a whisper now.

“Well, let me tell you a story,” said Banks. “We can’t prove it, but this is what DI Hart and I believe happened. Donald Bradford most likely killed Graham. He owned the kind of knife that was used, and Graham trusted him. All Bradford had to do was drive down Wilmer Road around the time Graham would be heading for the other side and tell him something else had come up, to get in the car. That’s why he took his bag of newspapers with him. He thought he would be going back to finish his round later.”

“What possible motive could Bradford have?”

“That’s where it gets complicated, and that’s where your boss comes in. Donald Bradford distributed pornographic magazines and blue films for Carlo Fiorino. Fiorino had quite a network of newsagents working for him. I’m surprised you didn’t know about it, you being a vigilant copper and all.”

“Sod you, Banks.” Shaw scowled and topped up his glass.

“Somehow or other,” Banks went on, “Graham Marshall became involved in this operation. Maybe he found some of Bradford’s stock by accident, showed interest. I don’t know. But Graham was a street-smart kid – he grew up around the Krays and their world, and his father was a small-time muscle man – and he had an eye for the main chance. Maybe he worked for Bradford to earn extra money – which he always seemed to have – or maybe he blackmailed him for it. Either way, he was involved.”

“You said yourself you can’t prove any of this.”

“Graham came to the attention of one of Fiorino’s most influential customers, Rupert Mandeville,” Banks went on. “I know he posed for some nude photos because I found one at his house. Whether it went any further than that, I don’t know, but we can tie him to the Mandeville house, and we know what went on there. Underage sex, drugs, you name it. Mandeville couldn’t afford to come under scrutiny. He was an important person with political goals to pursue. Graham probably asked for more money or he’d tell the police. Mandeville panicked, especially as this came hot on the heels of Geoff Talbot’s visit. He got Fiorino to fix it, and Jet Harris scuppered the murder investigation. You knew that, knew there was something wrong, so you’ve been trying to erase the traces to protect Harris’s reputation. How am I doing?”

“You’re arguing against your own logic, Banks. What would it matter if he told the police if we were all as corrupt as you make out? Why go so far as to kill the kid if Bradford thought we could control the outcome anyway?”

Banks looked at Michelle before continuing. “That puzzled me for a while, too,” he said. “I can only conclude that he knew which police officer not to tell.”

“How do you mean?”

“Graham had definitely been to the Mandeville house. What if he saw someone there? Someone who shouldn’t have been there, like a certain detective superintendent?”

“That’s absurd. John wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t like what? Mandeville’s parties catered to all tastes. According to his wife, John Harris was homosexual. We don’t know if Mandeville or Fiorino found out and blackmailed him or if they set him up. Maybe that’s how he took his payoffs from Fiorini and Mandeville, in young boys. Or drugs. It doesn’t matter. Point is, I think Graham saw him there or knew he was connected in some way and made this clear to Bradford, too, that he’d go elsewhere with his story.”

Shaw turned pale. “John? Homosexual? I don’t believe that.”

“One of my old school friends has turned out to be gay,” said Banks. “And I didn’t know that, either. John Harris had two damn good reasons for keeping it a secret. It was illegal until 1967, and he was a copper. Even today you know how tough it is for coppers to come out. We’re all such bloody macho tough guys that gays terrify the crap out of us.”

“Bollocks. This is all pure speculation.”

“Not about John Harris,” Michelle said. “It’s what his ex-wife told me.”

“She’s a lying bitch, then. With all due respect.”

“Why would she lie?”

“She hated John.”

“Sounds like she had good reason to,” Banks said. “But back to Graham. He threatened to tell. I don’t know why. It could have been greed, but it could also have been because Mandeville wanted him to do more than pose for photos. I’d like to think that was where Graham drew the line, but we’ll probably never know. It also explains why he was preoccupied when we were on holiday in Blackpool just before he disappeared. He must have been worrying about what to do. Anyway, Graham knew he’d better go farther afield than the local nick. And he had the photo as evidence, a photo that could incriminate Rupert Mandeville. He compromised the whole operation. Mandeville’s and Fiorino’s. That was why he had to die.”

“So what happened?”

“The order went down to Donald Bradford to get rid of him. Bradford had to be at the shop by eight o’clock, as usual, that morning. That gave him an hour and a half to abduct Graham, kill him and dispose of the body. It takes a while to dig a hole that deep, so my guess is that he planned it in advance, picked the spot and dug the hole. Either that or he had help and another of Fiorino’s henchmen buried the body. Either way, with Harris on the payroll, Bradford could at least be certain that no one was looking too closely at his lack of an alibi.”

“Are you saying that John Harris ordered the boy’s death, because-”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’d say it was Fiorino, or Mandeville, but Harris had to know about it in order to misdirect the investigation. And that makes him just as guilty in my book.”

Shaw closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not John. No. Maybe he didn’t always play by the rules, maybe he did turn a blind eye to one or two things, but not murder. Not a dead kid.”

“You have to accept it,” Banks went on. “It’s the only thing that makes sense of later events.”

“What later events?”

“The botched investigation and the missing notebooks and actions. I don’t know who got rid of them – you, Harris or Reg Proctor, but one of you did.”

“It wasn’t me. All I’ve done was discourage DI Hart here from digging too deeply into the past.”

“And set Wayman on me.”

“You won’t get me to admit to that.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Banks. “So Harris took them himself when he left. That makes sense. It wasn’t his finest hour, and he wouldn’t want the evidence hanging around for anyone to see if Graham’s body ever did turn up. Insurance. Cast your mind back. You were there in the summer of 1965. You and Reg Proctor covered the estate. What did you find out?”

“Nobody knew anything.”

“I’ll bet that’s not true,” said Banks. “I’ll bet there were one or two references to ‘Dirty Don’ in your notebooks. One of my old mates remembered referring to him that way. And I’ll bet there was a rumor or two about porn.”

“Rumors, maybe,” said Shaw, looking away, “but that’s all they were.”

“How do you know?”

Shaw scowled at him.

“Exactly,” said Banks. “You only know because Harris told you so. Remember, you were just a young DC back then. You didn’t question your superior officers. If anything showed up in your interviews that pointed you in the right direction – Bradford, Fiorino, Mandeville – then Harris ignored it, dismissed it as mere rumor, a dead end. You just skimmed the surface, exactly as he wanted it. That’s why the action allocations are missing, too. Harris was in charge of the investigation. He’d have issued the actions. And we’d have found out what direction they all pointed in – the passing pedophile theory, later made more credible by Brady’s and Hindley’s arrest – and, what’s more important, what they pointed away from. The truth.”

“It’s still all theory,” said Shaw.

“Yes,” Banks admitted. “But you know it’s true. We’ve got the photo of Graham, taken at Mandeville’s house, Bradford’s connection with the porn business and the possible murder weapon, and the missing notebooks. Go ahead, see if it adds up any other way.”

Shaw sighed. “I just can’t believe John would do something like that. I know he gave Fiorino a lot of leeway, but I thought at the time that he got his reward in information. Fair exchange. That’s all I was trying to protect. A bit of tit for tat. All those years I knew him… and I still can’t fucking believe it.”

“Maybe you didn’t really know him at all,” said Banks. “No more than I knew Graham Marshall.”

Shaw looked over at Banks. His eyes were pink and redrimmed. Then he looked at Michelle. “What do you think about all this?”

“I think it’s true, sir,” Michelle said. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. You didn’t want me to look too closely at the past because you were worried I’d find out something that might tarnish Harris’s reputation. You suspected he was bent, you knew he gave Fiorino a wide berth in exchange for information, and something about the Graham Marshall case bothered you. You didn’t want it stirring up again because you didn’t know what would come to the surface.”

“What next?” Shaw asked.

“There’ll have to be a report. I’m not going to bury this. I’ll report my findings and any conclusions that can be drawn to the ACC. After that, it’s up to him. There might be media interest.”

“And John’s memory?”

Michelle shrugged. “I don’t know. If it all comes out, if people believe it, then his reputation will take a bit of a knock.”

“The lad’s family?”

“It’ll be hard for them, too. But is it any better than not knowing?”

“And me?”

“Maybe it’s time to retire,” Banks said. “You must be long past due.”

Shaw snorted, then coughed. He lit another cigarette and reached for his drink. “Maybe you’re right.” His gaze went from Banks to Michelle and back. “I should have known it would mean big trouble the minute those bones were found. There wasn’t much, you know, in those notebooks. It was just like what you said. A hint here, a lead there.”

“But there was enough,” said Banks. “And let’s face it, you know as well as I do that in that sort of an investigation you first look close and hard at the immediate family and circle. If anybody had done that, they’d have found one or two points of interest, some lines of inquiry that just weren’t followed. You dig deepest close to home. Nobody bothered. That in itself seems odd enough.”

“Because John steered the investigation?”

“Yes. It must have been a much smaller division back then, wasn’t it? He’d have had close to absolute power over it.”

Shaw hung his head again. “Oh, nobody questioned Jet Harris’s judgment, that was for certain.” He looked up. “I’ve got cancer,” he said, glancing toward Michelle. “That’s why I’ve been taking so much time off. Stomach.” He grimaced. “There’s not much they can do. Anyway, maybe retirement isn’t such a bad idea.” He laughed. “Enjoy my last few months gardening or stamp collecting or something peaceful like that.”

Banks didn’t know what to say. Michelle said, “I’m sorry.”

Shaw looked at her and scowled. “You’ve no reason to be. It won’t make a scrap of difference to you whether I live or die. Come to think of it, your life will be a lot easier without me.”

“Even so…”

Shaw looked at Banks again. “I wish you’d never come back down here, Banks,” he said. “Why couldn’t you stay up in Yorkshire and shag a few sheep?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? Don’t you be too sure I’m as corrupt as you think I am. Now if you’re not going to charge me or beat me up, why don’t the two of you just bugger off and leave me alone?”

Banks and Michelle looked at each other. There was nothing else to say to Shaw, so they left. Back in the car, Banks turned to Michelle and said, “Do you believe him?”

“About not being responsible for the burglary and the van?”

“Yes.”

“I think so. He seemed genuinely horrified by the idea. What reason has he to lie about it now?”

“It’s a serious crime. That’s reason enough. But I think you’re right. I don’t think he was behind it. He was just doing his best to protect Harris’s reputation.”

“Then are you thinking who I’m thinking?”

Banks nodded. “Rupert Mandeville.”

“Shall we pay him a visit?”

“You want me along?”

Michelle looked at Banks and said, “Yes. I feel we’re getting near the end. Graham Marshall was your friend. You deserve to be there. I’d just like to stop off at the station and check a few things out first.”

“He won’t tell us anything, you know.”

Michelle smiled. “We’ll see about that. It certainly won’t do any harm to yank his chain a bit.”