Children of the Revolution

by Peter Robinson

  ‘Or disprove?’

  ‘Practically impossible. Yes. I’m not saying that Gavin was a complete innocent, and he was certainly foolhardy, but in all the time I knew him, which admittedly was only two or three years, I had never known him behave in any other way than as a gentleman towards the opposite sex. He was, in fact, rather shy.’

  ‘So what actually happened? What was his “sexual indiscretion”?’

  Lomax shrugged. ‘That’s just the problem. Nobody knows. They haven’t installed CCTV in all our offices. Not yet. Gavin said he put his arm around the Vernon girl to comfort her when she cried after failing an important test. She said he made a pass at her and indicated that if she slept with him, he would make sure her test result was modified accordingly.’

  ‘That’s it? But where’s the evidence?’

  ‘That’s all there is.’

  Annie felt her jaw drop. As a victim of serious sexual abuse herself, she was hardly sympathetic towards predatory males, but even she could hardly believe that a man could lose his livelihood based on such flimsy hearsay. ‘That’s not evidence,’ she said. ‘It’s her word against his.’

  ‘I know. That’s my point. She could just as easily have been lying.’

  ‘Why would she lie?’

  ‘Search me. But it’s a possibility. Teenage girls, even when they’re nineteen, as Kayleigh Vernon was at the time, can be very confused emotionally, and very vindictive.’

  ‘And Kayleigh was both?’

  ‘I don’t know her well enough to answer that question. All I can tell you is that Gavin told me he got the impression she had been sort of flirting with him all term, you know, making innuendos, making eyes, leading him on, teasing, that sort of thing. He admits to putting his arm around her because she was distressed, which, whatever else you might say, was really his biggest mistake of all. Whether she took it as a sign of his affections and felt affronted when he rebuffed her …’

  ‘Is that what you think happened?’

  ‘I think it’s more than likely, and I think Gavin should have been given the benefit of the doubt, but as I said before, in this present climate, there is no benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘But if he thought she was leading him on, might he not have responded, and might he not have misread the signals?’

  Lomax nodded glumly. ‘That’s also possible. But she didn’t say he attempted to assault her; she said he tried to blackmail her into having sex.’

  ‘What was the girl like?’

  ‘Ordinary enough, as far as I know. Unexceptional. No one ever claimed she was a slut or a trollop, or anything like that. And Gavin was certainly no Lothario.’

  ‘What happened to the girl?’

  ‘Kayleigh? She graduated eventually. I don’t know where she is now.’

  ‘And the other complainant?’

  ‘Beth Gallagher? Gone, too. Now, she was a troublemaker. She was also Kayleigh’s best friend. It was very likely she egged Kayleigh on in her pursuit of Gavin, if indeed such a pursuit did occur, perhaps with the goal of humiliating him, and that she came out in her friend’s defence when the going got too rough.’

  ‘She lied, too?’

  ‘That’s not what the committee or the board believed.’

  ‘But is it what you think?’

  Lomax stared down at his cluttered desk, as if mentally rearranging the objects on its surface. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. It was more of a sigh than anything else. ‘She said he let his hand “accidentally” brush across her breast in his office when they were discussing an essay she had written.’

  ‘So again it was her word against Gavin’s?’

  ‘Her word and Kayleigh’s. Two to one. He didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Did either of them have any motive for hurting Gavin Miller?’

  Lomax hesitated before answering, and Annie got the sense that he was quickly making a decision on just how much to tell her, that he was probably going to hold something back. She filed away the reaction for later. She often found it was good to have a little unexpected ammunition in your arsenal for a second meeting, should one be necessary. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘As I said, I think it was just an adolescent game, a cruel game that got out of hand. Beyond a certain point, there was no turning back.’

  ‘They could have retracted, told the truth.’

  ‘It wasn’t an option. If they did that, they would have been disciplined. They might have lost everything they had been working towards.’

  ‘Did Mr Miller try to get in touch with either of the girls later, to berate them or ask them to come clean about what they did?’

  ‘Not that I know of. If he did, they certainly didn’t report it to the college, and he didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Were their parents involved?’

  ‘Well, I assume they knew about it, of course, but they played no official role.’

  ‘Any further incidents?’

  ‘What sort of incidents?’

  ‘Involving Gavin Miller and the parents, for example, or the girls’ boyfriends, older brothers. Anything of a violent nature, threats made, that sort of thing?’

  ‘I never heard of anything like that. Look, I’m not an expert on this. There’s a lot I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Annie. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you’d just bear with me and answer the questions as best you can. Did Gavin complain officially about his treatment?’

  ‘I believe he did put in a formal complaint and appeal after his sacking, but it went nowhere.’

  ‘Climate of the times?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘There was no publicity about the incident or the dismissal. Why was that?’

  ‘It was what everyone agreed to at the time,’ Lomax said.

  ‘Even Gavin?’

  ‘Especially Gavin. Some members of the board made it quite clear to him how his name would get dragged through the mud in full view if it ever became public knowledge.’

  ‘So that’s why he never went to the press?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, there were rumours, of course. You can’t keep something like that a complete secret. But they died down. Gavin’s name and alleged offences were never made generally known.’

  ‘And the girls?’

  ‘They didn’t want their private lives splashed all over the morning papers, did they?’

  ‘Was there anything more to all this?’

  ‘Well, I’ve always thought the college had a hidden agenda, that they wanted rid of Gavin anyway, and this was their golden opportunity.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lomax struggled. ‘Gavin was a bit of an outsider. He didn’t quite fit in. He marched to the beat of his own drum, and he didn’t always follow college guidelines in matters such as curriculum and set texts and so on. He often couldn’t be bothered to attend departmental meetings. That sort of thing. The college is a pretty conservative institution, on the whole, and Gavin was a bit of a maverick, not to mention politically left of centre.’

  ‘I thought all academics were lefties?’

  ‘Not here.’

  Annie paused a beat. ‘Were either of the girls involved with drugs?’

  ‘I never heard anything about drugs.’

  The answer had come too quickly and was too definitive, Annie thought. And Lomax didn’t look surprised enough by the sudden change of direction in questioning. More ammunition for a later interview, perhaps. She made some notes and sipped some more coffee before it went cold. ‘Not much more to go, now, Mr Lomax. I’m sorry to rake up all this unpleasantness, but we need to know.’

  Lomax managed a grim smile. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You have your job to do. And if I can be any help at all. Poor Gavin.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “well”, but I did consider him a close acquaintance, if not exactly a friend. There was always something a bit distant, a bit private, about Gavin. As if he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let you get really close to him. We i
nvited him to dinner once or twice – Sally, that’s my wife, and I – but he said he felt a bit awkward not having anyone to bring. We even fixed him up with one of Sally’s work colleagues once. She’s a physiotherapist.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They went out together for a while, I believe, then it fizzled out. I told you he wasn’t very good with women. I should imagine he went on about the Grateful Dead, Fellini or existentialism a bit too much for her liking.’

  ‘Existentialism?’

  ‘You know, Sartre, Camus? The idea that the universe is arbitrary, meaningless, absurd.’

  ‘I know what existentialism is. I’m just surprised to hear that it’s a belief anyone subscribes to these days.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t so much of a belief. I’d say when it came to that, Gavin was probably an atheist. But it was a philosophy that appealed to him.’

  ‘Can you give me the girlfriend’s name?’

  ‘Really, it was nothing.’

  ‘I’d still like to talk to her.’

  ‘Very well. Her name’s Dayle Snider. She works at the health centre in town.’

  ‘I know it.’ Annie had been there on several occasions for physio, but she didn’t know Dayle Snider. She made a note of the name. ‘Did Gavin have any other friends or acquaintances around here?’

  ‘I suppose Jim Cooper was a mate of his. He’s in Media Studies. He teaches some general courses and specialises in music, as Gavin did in literature and film. I have my doubts about someone who professes to like the Cure teaching music, but it’s not my decision. Give me a bit of Beethoven any day.’

  ‘I’m rather partial to One Direction, myself. Did you ever visit Gavin at his home?’

  ‘Where? You mean the Eastvale flat?’

  ‘No, sorry. The signalman’s cottage in Coverton.’

  ‘After he left? Yes. I dropped by now and then to make sure he was all right. Damn awkward place to get to.’

  ‘How did you get there?’

  ‘There is a sort of road that runs up to the front, but you have to go miles out of your way to get there by a very circuitous route. To tell you the truth, I found it easier to park in the village, walk up the old railway line and climb the embankment path, if the weather was at all decent.’

  ‘And was he all right on those occasions you visited him?’

  ‘Not really. I don’t think he ever recovered from the shock of what happened. Sometimes he got depressed. I don’t think it was clinical or chronic or anything, just sort of depressed, the way we all get sometimes. He was always short of money, too. I’m afraid the college didn’t come up with much of anything in the way of a settlement or pension. He’d only been with us three years, for a start, and then there were the circumstances of his dismissal. I’d give him a tenner every now and then, but it was just a stopgap, really. Beer and ciggies money. It wouldn’t pay his mortgage. I’m afraid, on my salary, I couldn’t run to that.’

  ‘How did he feel about what was done to him?’

  ‘How do you think he felt? He was angry, resentful, bitter.’

  ‘Even in a universe he believed to be absurd and without meaning? You’d think he’d be gratified at having his philosophy borne out by reality.’

  ‘Philosophy is one thing, Detective Inspector, but emotions are quite another.’

  ‘Did he ever talk of suicide?’

  ‘Only in a philosophical way. I mean, he never said he was actually contemplating it personally, or anything like that, but he sometimes argued for it as a valid philosophical proposition. I mean, if you read Schopenhauer and Camus, you can’t help but meditate upon the idea of suicide.’

  Annie had read a little philosophy at university, but mostly old stuff like Plato and Aristotle. She knew nothing of the modern philosophical ideas except what she had picked up growing up in the artists’ colony with her father. That was where she had first heard of existentialism, and she had even read a Jean-Paul Sartre novel once to impress a boyfriend. It hadn’t worked, so she never read another. ‘What do you mean by the idea of suicide?’ she asked.

  ‘The idea, not the reality. I mean that you might discuss the philosophical validity of murder, for example, or of incest, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to go out and murder someone or sleep with your mother. And anyway, isn’t all this rather moot? I understand you said on the telephone you were investigating the murder of Gavin Miller. That indicates to me that he was killed by someone. There’s no possibility of suicide, is there?’

  Annie could have kicked herself. She should never have said murder. It was far from definite yet, not until after the post-mortem. ‘We try to keep an open mind. Do you know of anybody who would want to kill him?’

  ‘Surely you must be dealing with a gang of yobs, or someone who kills for the pleasure of it? Like a serial killer?’

  ‘You’ve been watching too much telly, Mr Lomax,’ she said. ‘For a start, you need at least three murders under your belt to be called a serial killer, and in the second place, the manner of Mr Miller’s death … well, let me just say it wasn’t consistent with the psychology of that sort of crime.’

  ‘How do you know there aren’t any others?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How do you know that the person who killed Gavin hasn’t killed others before him? Perhaps not around here, but elsewhere. Don’t some of these people have jobs that take them all over the country? Isn’t that how the Yorkshire Ripper slipped through your fingers?’

  ‘I’m afraid my fingers were busy turning the pages of Jackie when the Yorkshire Ripper was caught,’ said Annie, ‘but you make a good point. I’ll make sure I take it up with my boss.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lomax. ‘I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. We’re always grateful for as much help as we can get from members of the public.’ Annie put her notebook away and got up to leave. ‘Just for the record, where were you on Sunday night?’

  ‘Me? At home. With Sally.’

  ‘All evening?’

  ‘Yes. We were watching TV. Downton Abbey.’

  Annie smiled. ‘Ah, yes. Very good.’

  Lomax glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost lunchtime,’ he said, turning on the charm and smoothing his hair with one hand. ‘There’s a decent pub around the corner. Perhaps you’d let me buy you a drink and a meal? We could discuss existentialism. Or something.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Annie, her hand on the doorknob. ‘I’ve got a nice rissole with my name on it waiting for me in the police canteen, and you’ve got a lovely wife called Sally at home.’

  The computer lab was located in the annexe, just down the corridor through the double doors from Banks’s office, and it didn’t seem to have been suffering too much from budget cuts. Their computer equipment was state of the art, and the spacious room in which it was housed was fitted with a machine that surreptitiously sucked the dust off your shoes and clothes when you went in. As far as Banks knew, it even sucked the dandruff out of your hair. When computers were first used in businesses, Banks remembered, they filled whole rooms with whirring tape machines – the kind you see in old James Bond movies – and dust was anathema. It didn’t seem such a big deal today – his own computer got pretty dusty at times – but old habits die hard. Scientists, he had found, and CSIs in particular, were absolutely obsessed with contamination of evidence. He even had to wear a white lab coat over his suit, not to mention the ubiquitous latex gloves.

  The turnover in CSI technical computer personnel was fast and frequent. Rumour had it that as soon as they reached puberty, they had to be replaced by a younger version. Liam Merchant, however, was at least forty, and Banks had known him for a couple of years. They even had a pint together occasionally after work, and sometimes Liam’s partner Colin joined them. Liam was an opera buff and something of a wine expert, so they had those interests in common. Before working for the North Yorkshire police, he had been a software designer for a s
uccessful private company. He was still a civilian, not a police officer.

  ‘Alan,’ he said, extending his gloved hand to shake. There was something rather perverted, Banks always felt, about the clasping of hands in latex, but he tried not to let it bother him. ‘Your timing is impeccable, as always.’

  ‘We aim to please. How’s Colin?

  ‘Thriving, thank you.’

  ‘Tell him I said hello. So what have you got for me?’

  ‘Where do you want to start?’

  ‘Anything on the computers?’

  Liam led Banks over to a workbench, on which sat Gavin Miller’s laptop and desktop computers. ‘We’re only just beginning, but first off,’ Liam said, ‘I have to tell you that there’s nothing special about them. They’re your common or garden, on sale at PC World every other week, computers. At least they would have been about four years ago. Still using Windows Vista, for crying out loud. Of course, they’re perfectly adequate for most people, if a bit slow and prone to seizing up every now and then for no reason, but cheap and … well, not exactly nasty, but hardly in the Rolls-Royce or BMW class, either. Not even a Ford Focus, to be honest.’

  Banks knew that Liam was as much a snob about computers as he was about wine and opera recordings, but it was worth putting up with an occasional outburst of snobbery for the useful tips that Liam tossed his way. ‘Anything interesting on them?’ Banks asked.

  ‘Depends what you mean by interesting. No modifications, just the bog-standard factory presets. Not even a few extra modules of RAM, which the laptop could certainly use. On them? Well, the usual. Antivirus and anti-spyware programmes. Reasonable quality, so-so settings, but free software, thus limited.’ He waved his hand from side to side to demonstrate the precarious nature of Gavin Miller’s computer protection. ‘Which is living dangerously when you visit some of the sites he did.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Banks, interested at last.