“In what context?”
“As one of her pupils.”
“But not how exceptional he was, and that she gave him private tutoring?”
“No.” Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Where are we going here?”
“Lauren said she was visiting you the day Luke disappeared. That’d be a week ago last Monday. Is that true?”
“Yes. Look, I’ve already been through all this with the other detective, the one who came by a few days ago.”
“I know,” said Annie. “That was one of the locals helping us out. It’s not always possible to get away. I’m sorry to bother you with it, but do you think you could bear to go through it again with me?”
Vernon folded his arms. “I suppose so. If you think it’s necessary.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“It’s just as I told the chap the other day. We had rather too much to drink and Lauren stayed over.” He patted the sofa. “It’s comfortable enough. Safer than trying to drive.”
“Admirable,” said Annie. People always seemed to make nervous comments about drinking and driving when police officers were around, as if that were the only crime they had time to pursue, all they were interested in. “Where were you drinking?”
“Where?”
“Which pub?”
“Oh, I see. We didn’t go to a pub. She came here for dinner and we had wine.”
“What kind?”
“Just an Australian Chardonnay. On sale at Sainsbury’s.”
“Did your sister visit you often?”
“Fairly often. Though I can’t see what that’s got to do with anything. Our father’s ill and Mother’s not coping too well. We had a lot to talk about.”
“Yes. I know about the Alzheimer’s. I’m sorry to hear it.”
Vernon’s jaw dropped. “You know? Lauren told you?”
“It’s surprising the information you pick up sometimes in this job. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure I’d got all the times right, for the record, you know. You’d be amazed if you knew how much of our job is just paperwork.”
Vernon smiled. “Well, as I remember, she arrived at about six o’clock, and that was it. We ate at around half past seven.”
“What did you cook?”
“Venison in white wine. From Nigella Lawson.”
It didn’t sound very appetizing to a vegetarian such as Annie, but to each his own, she thought. “And no doubt there was a fair bit of wine to wash it down with?”
“A couple of bottles. That’s why Lauren ended up staying. That and the Grand Marnier.”
“Liqueurs, too. You were really pushing the boat out.”
“I’m afraid we both got a bit upset. Over Father. Lauren had paid a brief visit home at half-term and he hadn’t recognized her. I know alcohol doesn’t help solve problems, but one does tend to reach for it in times of trouble.”
“Of course,” said Annie. “So you went to bed around what time?”
“Me? I’m not sure. It’s a bit of a blur. Probably around midnight.”
“And your sister?”
“I don’t know how late she stayed up.”
“But she did stay all night?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember going to the toilet once. You have to go through the living room. She was asleep on the sofa then.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look at my watch. Dark, though.”
“But she could have been gone for a few hours and returned, couldn’t she?”
“I’d have heard her.”
“Are you certain? If you’d had that much to drink you probably slept quite heavily.”
“Don’t forget, we both had too much to drink.”
“Did she receive any phone calls during the evening?”
“No.”
“What time did she leave?”
“About eleven o’clock the following morning.”
“It must have been a bit of a rough morning for you at work, after all that drink. Or did you take the day off?”
“I’m presently unemployed, if it’s any of your business. And I can handle the drink. I’m not an alcoholic, you know.”
“Of course not.” Annie paused for a moment. “Did you ever get any hints that Lauren’s relationship with Luke might have been a bit more than the normal teacher-pupil one?”
“I certainly did not.”
“She never talked about him in an affectionate way?”
“I’ve had quite enough of this,” Vernon said. “It’s one thing checking up on times, but quite another to suggest that my sister had some sort of affair with this boy.” He stood up. “Look, I’ve told you what you want to know. Now why don’t you just go and leave me alone.”
“What’s wrong, Mr. Anderson?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You seem a bit agitated, that’s all.”
“Well, wouldn’t you feel agitated if someone came into your house and started flinging accusations around?”
“What accusations? I’m simply trying to make certain that your sister didn’t see Luke Armitage the night he was killed. Can’t you see how important this is, Vernon? If she did see him, he might have told her something. She might have had some idea of where he was going, who he was seeing.”
“I’m sorry. I still can’t help. Lauren was here all night.”
Annie sighed. “All right, then. Just one more thing before I leave you in peace.”
“What?”
“I understand you have a criminal record.”
Vernon reddened. “I wondered when that would come out. Look, it was a long time ago. I forged my boss’s signature on a check. I’m not proud of it. It was a stupid thing to do, okay, but I was desperate. I paid the price.”
“Well, that’s all right, then, isn’t it,” said Annie, who was thinking it was amazing what people would do when they were desperate. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Anderson.”
Vernon said nothing, just slammed the door behind her. Annie had noticed a bookie’s on the main road, just around the corner from Vernon’s street. She glanced at her watch. Time for a quick call before it closed. In her experience, bookies’ shops were always full of smoke, so she took a deep breath and went inside.
If this was the face of evil, then it was remarkably bland, Banks thought as he and Michelle were ushered into Rupert Mandeville’s presence by a young man who looked more like a clerk than a butler. In fact, Mandeville reminded Banks of the old prime minister, Edward Heath, who came to lead the party in opposition in 1965. Casually dressed in white cricket trousers, a cream shirt open at the collar, and a mauve V-neck pullover, he had the same slightly startled, slightly befuddled look about him as Heath, the same silver hair and pinkish skin. Why was it, Banks wondered, that every politician he had ever seen had skin like pink vinyl? Were they born that way?
The sheepskin rug was gone, replaced by a carpet with a complex Middle Eastern design, but the fireplace was the same one as in Graham’s photograph. Being in the room where the picture had been taken all those years ago made Banks shiver. What else had happened here? Had Graham been involved in sex acts, too? With Mandeville? He realized that he would probably never know. Reconstructing the past after so long was as faulty and unreliable a process as memory itself.
At least they now had some idea how Mandeville knew about the progress of Michelle’s investigation, even if they couldn’t prove anything. According to a local reporter Michelle had rung from the station, Mandeville had spies everywhere; it was how he had managed to survive so long in such a ruthless world as politics. It was also rumored that he had close contacts within the police force, though no names were mentioned. That must have been how he knew so much about the investigation into Graham’s death, and the threat that it was beginning to pose for him.
Mandeville was courtesy personified, pulling out a chair for Michelle and offering refreshments, which they refused. �
�It’s been many years since I had a visit from the police,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Would Geoff Talbot’s visit have been the one you’re thinking about?” Michelle asked. It was still her case, Banks knew, and he was only present because she had invited him; therefore, she got to ask the questions.
“I can’t say I remember the young man’s name.”
“You ought at least to remember the month and year: August 1965.”
“So long ago. How time flies.”
“And the reason for the visit.”
“It was a mistake. An apology was offered, and accepted.”
“By Detective Superintendent Harris?”
“Again, I must confess I don’t remember the person’s name.”
“Take my word for it.”
“Very well. Look, I sense a little hostility in your tone. Can you please either tell me why you’re here or leave?”
“We’re here to ask you some questions relating to the Graham Marshall investigation.”
“Oh, yes. That poor boy whose skeleton was uncovered some days ago. Tragic. But I don’t see how that has anything to do with me.”
“We’re just tying up a few loose ends, that’s all.”
“And I’m a loose end. How fascinating!” His glaucous eyes gleamed with mockery.
Banks took the photo from his briefcase and slid it across the table to Mandeville, who looked at it without expression.
“Interesting,” he said. “But, again…”
“Do you recognize the boy?” Michelle asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Do you recognize the fireplace?”
Mandeville glanced toward his own Adam fireplace and smiled at her. “I’d be a liar if I said I don’t,” he said. “Though I hardly imagine it’s the only one of its kind in existence.”
“I think it’s unique enough for our purposes,” Michelle said.
“Photographs can be faked, you know.”
Michelle tapped the photo. “Are you saying this is a forgery?”
“Of course. Unless someone has been using my house for illicit purposes in my absence.”
“Let’s get back to 1965, when this photo was taken, in this room,” Michelle said. “You were quite famous for your parties, weren’t you?”
Mandeville shrugged. “I was young, wealthy. What else was I to do but share it around a bit? Maybe I was foolish, too.”
“Parties that catered to every taste, including drugs, prostitutes and underage sex partners, male and female.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“This boy was fourteen when that photo was taken.”
“And he was a friend of mine,” said Banks, catching Mandeville’s eye and holding his gaze.
“Then I’m sorry for your loss,” said Mandeville, “but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“You had him killed,” said Michelle.
“I did what? I’d be careful, if I were you, young lady, going around making accusations like that.”
“Or what? You’ll have your chauffeur break into my flat again, or try to run me over?”
Mandeville raised his eyebrows. “I was actually going to warn you about the possibility of slander.”
“I did a bit of homework before I came out here,” Michelle said. “Checked into the background of your employees. Derek Janson, your chauffeur, served a prison sentence for burglary fifteen years ago. He came to be regarded as somewhat of an expert at picking locks. I’m sure he knows how to drive a van, too.”
“I know about Derek’s background,” Mandeville said. “It’s very difficult for ex-convicts to get employment. Surely you can’t fault me for doing my little bit for Derek’s rehabilitation? I happen to trust him completely.”
“I’m sure you do. When the investigation into Graham Marshall’s disappearance was reopened, after we found his remains and discovered that he had been murdered, you did everything in your power to put me off.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because he was using the photo to blackmail you, and you asked Carlo Fiorino to take care of him. You paid Fiorino well for his various services, so he obliged.”
“This is absurd. You have no evidence for any of this.”
“We’ve got the photograph,” Banks said.
“As I said before, photographs can be faked.”
“They can be authenticated, too,” Banks said.
Mandeville stared at them, assessing the damage. Finally, he stood up, put his hands on the table, palms down, and leaned forward. “Well,” he said, “that’s quite a story the two of you have concocted. It’s a pity that none of it will stand up in court, or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Michelle said. “But you still have to admit that it doesn’t look good. Some mud’s bound to stick.”
“I’m not without influence, you know.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I don’t stoop to threats.”
“No, you get someone else to do that for you.”
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Whatever I can to make sure you pay for what you did. For a start, we’ll have a nice chat with Mr. Janson.”
Mandeville walked over and leaned against the fireplace, smiling. “Derek won’t tell you anything.”
“You never know. We’re not without influence, either, especially with ex-cons. Then there’s Geoff Talbot’s notebook. Jet Harris didn’t bother to remove that from the archives. No reason to. There was no investigation.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Names,” said Banks. “Talbot made a note of the names of the people he talked to when he came up here. I’m sure if we dig around a bit, we’ll find one or two people who remember the old days: partygoers, perhaps, or club patrons.”
Mandeville’s face darkened and he went back to sit at the table. “I’m warning you,” he said. “If you attempt to spread these vicious lies about me, I’ll have your jobs.”
But Michelle was already out of the room, striding toward the front door.
Banks took the opportunity of a few seconds alone with Mandeville to lean in close, smile and lower his voice. “And if DI Hart so much as trips on a banana skin, I’ll be right back here to rip out your spine and shove it down your throat. Your lordship.”
He couldn’t swear to it, but judging by the change in Mandeville’s expression, he thought he had got his point across.
It was already the evening of a long day, and the shadows were lengthening when Lauren Anderson led Annie into the book-lined living room. Classical music was playing, a violin concerto of some sort, but Annie didn’t recognize it. Banks would have done, she thought. Lauren was barefoot, wearing ice-blue jeans and a white sleeveless top. Her shoulders were pale and freckled, like her face. Her mane of auburn hair was fastened behind her head by a leather barrette. “What do you want?” she asked. “Have you caught them?”
“I think so. But first sit down and listen to what I have to say. You can correct me if I’m wrong about anything.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You will in a minute. Sit down, Lauren.” Annie crossed her legs and leaned back in the armchair. She had worked out how to approach Lauren on the drive back from Harrogate, then made a couple of phone calls and picked up DC Winsome Jackman, whom she had instructed to stay outside in the car for the time being. She didn’t expect any trouble, and it would be easier for her to talk to Lauren alone. “We know where Luke was shortly before he was killed,” she began. “Did he ever mention a girl called Liz Palmer to you?”
“No. Why?”
“Are you sure? She meant a lot to Luke.”
Lauren shook her head. “No, that can’t be true. I don’t believe you.”
“Why not, Lauren? Why can’t it be true?”
“Luke…he didn’t…he wasn’t like that. He was devoted to art.”
“Oh,
come off it, Lauren. He was just a randy adolescent, like any other. This Liz was a bit older than him and she—”
“No! Stop it. I won’t listen to this.”
“What’s the problem, Lauren?”
“I won’t have you tarnishing Luke’s memory.”
“Tarnishing? What’s so wrong about a fifteen-year-old boy losing his virginity to an older woman? It’s a time-honored tradition, even if it is technically having sex with a minor. Who cares about a few petty rules and regulations? Especially if it’s the boy who’s underage and not the woman. At least we know now Luke got to enjoy the pleasures of sex before he died.”
“I don’t know why,” Lauren said, looking into Annie’s eyes, “but you’re lying to me. There is no ‘Liz.’”
“Yes there is. I can introduce you.”
“No.”
“What is it, Lauren? Jealous?”
“Luke meant a lot to me. You know he did. He was so talented.”
“It was more than that, though, wasn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were lovers, weren’t you?”
Lauren hesitated for a moment, then said, “What if we were? Are you going to arrest me for that?”
“No. I’m going to arrest you for murder.”
Lauren jerked upright. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious, all right. You see, Liz and her boyfriend live about five minutes’ walk away from here, and Luke was distraught when he left their flat. I asked myself: Where would he go? Maybe it took me too long to come up with the right answer, the only possible answer, but that was because of the clever smokescreen you put up. The kidnapping. We thought we were looking for a man or someone closer to home. But Luke couldn’t have gone home because the last bus had gone and we checked all the taxis. We suspected his music teacher, Alastair Ford, too. But Luke couldn’t have gone to his house because it’s so remote, and he had no means of getting there. That leaves you, Lauren. Luke didn’t have a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. Also, he was very upset. You’re the one he talked to about his emotional problems. How long had you been lovers, Lauren?”
Lauren sighed. “Near the end of term. It just happened. It was so…so natural. I wasn’t trying to seduce him or anything like that.” Annie could see tears clouding her eyes. “We were looking at some pictures. Pre-Raphaelites. He remarked on my resemblance to one of the models.”
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