Children of the Revolution

by Peter Robinson

  This must have happened during the ‘lost years’ Gerry Masterson had referred to. It would be worth passing it on to her. ‘Did he ever mention drugs?’

  Farrell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you thinking that’s what got him killed?’

  ‘I’m not thinking anything yet, Mr Farrell,’ said Banks. ‘As I told you, we don’t know what happened. I’m just trying to keep an open mind and find out as much as I can.’

  ‘Aye, well there’s no drugs in here, I can tell you that. I wouldn’t have it. I’m not saying there aren’t some in town might indulge, you’d get that anywhere, wouldn’t you, but I’ll have none of it in here.’

  ‘So Gavin Miller never mentioned drugs?’

  ‘Not in front of me.’

  Banks moved on. ‘Do you know of anyone who wished him any harm?’

  ‘Not here, in the village, certainly.’

  ‘What about women? Did he ever come here with a girlfriend, try to chat up any of the regulars, tourists, whatever?’

  ‘I never saw him try. Not that we get many in here worth picking up. He was quite pally with Josie, the barmaid over there.’

  Banks followed his glance towards the bar and saw a woman with bottle-blonde hair, probably in her mid-forties, pulling a pint. ‘I understand that he was in here on Friday night. Did you see him then?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t working – had a Licensed Victuallers do – but Josie was on. She might remember something.’

  ‘Can you send her over?’

  Banks finished his bangers and mash while Bob Farrell went to cover for Josie. She came and perched on the chair beside him just as he had emptied his plate. ‘Josie. I’m DCI Banks. I wonder if I could have a quick word with you about Gavin Miller. I understand you knew him?’

  Josie nodded. ‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t get my head around it. I was saying to Geoff over there at the bar that he was in here just the other night, Gavin, Friday it was, living and breathing, just like you and me.’

  ‘Was he any different from usual on Friday?’

  ‘Come to think of it, he was. Quite chipper, really. For Gavin. He even managed to crack a smile or two.’

  ‘What time did he come in?’

  ‘About half past five, with his shopping. Almost forgot it and all when he left about half nine.’

  ‘That’s a long time to spend here, isn’t it?’

  ‘He did drink a bit more than usual, though I wouldn’t say he was really drunk, if you know what I mean. He just seemed in a good mood right from the moment he came in. Not that he was a misery all the rest of the time, mind you, though, like I said, he often did seem a bit sad, depressed, you know, weighted down with the burdens of the world. He seemed in a much lighter mood on Friday.’

  ‘You say he had more to drink than usual?’

  Josie nodded. ‘I asked him if his boat had come in, and he just tapped the side of his nose, like, and said, “Never you mind, Josie, my love, never you mind.” Then he asked if I wanted a drink, myself. First time he’s ever done that.’

  Banks guessed that Miller had been less cautious about spending what little money he had because he was expecting a larger sum in a few days, which meant that he already knew by Friday that he was going to receive five thousand pounds on Sunday. It was just another little piece of evidence that seemed to indicate Miller might have arranged to meet someone at the bridge, and that meeting had ended in his death. Also, if he was in such good spirits on Friday, it was hardly likely that he committed suicide on Sunday, though circumstances could change drastically in three days. ‘Did he say why he was in such a good mood?’

  ‘No. It were just general good spirits, I thought. And I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  ‘What did you think of him, in general? You said you knew him. Did he tell you his troubles?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. We just passed the time of day. He might tell me about a book he was reading – he was a great reader, was Gavin – or some music he’d listened to. You know, just chit-chat.’

  ‘What about his friend? Apparently he sometimes came in with a chap called Jim. Did you ever meet him?’

  ‘Yes. I think they used to work together or something,’ said Josie. ‘I can’t I say as I took to Jim at all. Far too full of himself.’

  ‘Did he try to chat you up?’

  ‘Thought he was God’s gift.’

  ‘And Gavin?’

  ‘Gavin? That’s a good one. If you’d known him you wouldn’t be asking that. Gavin wouldn’t know how to chat up a paid escort.’

  Banks laughed but said nothing.

  ‘I suppose in a way he might have been interested, though,’ Josie went on, touching her hair.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. Well, you know, a woman can tell these things.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘But it would never have worked.’

  ‘No? Why not?’ Banks sipped his orange juice. ‘Not your type?’

  ‘I wonder if he was anybody’s type,’ Josie said wistfully. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘And just between you and me, he wasn’t exactly number one in the personal hygiene chart, if you catch my drift.’

  Banks remembered the absence of toothbrush and deodorant at Miller’s cottage.

  ‘All in all,’ Josie concluded, ‘I felt sorry for him, and I quite liked him, he was a nice bloke, but frankly speaking, I thought he’d be too much work. Sorry, I’d better get back behind the bar now, Bob’s giving me some funny looks. Ta-ta.’

  Banks thanked Josie for her time and told her there was an incident van in the car park in case she, or any of her customers, thought of anything else, then he left to pick up Winsome.

  After he had dropped off Winsome back at the station, Banks had spent a good part of the afternoon watching Dr Glendenning at work on the post-mortem, which revealed that Miller’s poor general state of health before his death was partly due to malnutrition and alcohol, and partly to personal neglect. The main thing as far as the investigation was concerned, though, was that Dr Glendenning had been able to confirm time of death and that some of the contusions on Miller’s body, along with internal injuries, a broken nose and a split lip, were ante-mortem, and were indicative of some sort of a violent struggle. According to the traces of post-mortem lividity that remained, despite the blood loss, the body had also not been moved after it had hit the ground.

  Dr Glendenning was also able to establish that the violence was caused very shortly before death, certainly not hours or days, and as no one knew anything about Gavin Miller getting beaten up, they now had a probable killing on their hands. Given that it would have taken a bit of effort to lift Miller up and heave him off the bridge, Banks was leaning more towards murder than manslaughter, though a clever barrister might convince a jury that no killer could be certain that such a fall would have resulted in the death of his victim.

  At half past five, Banks gathered the troops in the squad room for an informal end-of-the-day meeting. Doug Watson was still out manning the mobile unit in the car park off Coverton High Street, and PC Kirwan was making the rounds of the local farms, but Winsome, Annie and Gerry were all present, along with some of the civilian staff and CSIs. All Winsome had been able to discover from Mrs Stanshall was that the car was dark, shiny and ‘ordinary-looking’, by which she meant not a van or a people mover, and that she was positive the person who got in was a man, medium height and build. He had hair, but she couldn’t say what colour other than ‘darkish’. There had been no interesting mail in Miller’s post-office box, either, only final demands for electricity and broadband bills.

  What was it they used to say on the old quiz programme? ‘Would the real Gavin Miller please stand up?’ Where was the real Gavin Miller? Banks wondered. They still didn’t know why he had been out on the bridge that Sunday night – probably some time between ten and half-past, if Mrs Stanshall was as right as she thought she was. They didn’t know why a man who was, to all intents and purposes, broke had
five thousand pounds in his pocket, or why he had got into a scuffle that may have resulted in his death. More than twenty-four hours had gone by since the discovery of the body on Monday morning, and they didn’t seem to be any the wiser. The only other thing close to a lead they had was the list of calls, and Gerry Masterson was working on them.

  ‘So what have we come up with today?’ he asked the assembled team. ‘Gerry? Please tell me you’ve got some leads from the phone calls.’

  ‘Well, sir, there are one or two I still have to track down, but in addition to Trevor Lomax and Jim Cooper from the college, there’s not much else.’ Gerry opened the file in front of her. ‘The most recent calls,’ she said, ‘were on Friday morning. He made three calls, which is very unusual in the light of his limited usage. One was to a dentist on Coverton High Street.’

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘I rang the dentist, and he was only too happy to tell me that Mr Miller had made an appointment to come in for some bridgework, whitening, and possible implants. The dentist was quite chatty, really. Even asked if I’d ever thought of having any cosmetic work done, myself.’

  ‘Cheeky bastard.’ Banks smiled and perched on the edge of Doug Watson’s empty desk. ‘Dr Glendenning remarked on the poor condition of his teeth at the PM,’ he said, feeling that terrible fear in the pit of his stomach because he had been avoiding a visit to the dentist’s for too long now, and he would have to make an appointment soon. ‘I must say, the timing is interesting. Isn’t that kind of dental work expensive?’

  ‘It can be,’ said Gerry. ‘Usually is. Anyway, the second person he spoke to that day was a fellow vinyl collector. There was some rare Japanese pressing of an early John Lennon LP on eBay, and they were discussing whether it was worth making an offer for it. The other chap – George Spalding, he’s called – said it was a pity neither of them would be able to afford it, but apparently Miller seemed to think he might be in with a chance if the price didn’t go too high. Spalding checks out. He lives in Splot and he’s got an alibi. It sounded legit to me, sir.’

  ‘Splot?’ said Winsome. ‘Where on earth is that?’

  Gerry Masterson smiled. ‘Cardiff,’ she said. ‘Lovely-sounding place, isn’t it?’

  ‘And the third phone call?’ Banks asked.

  ‘Interesting. An estate agent called Keith Orville. I’ve talked to him, too, and it seems that Gavin Miller was interested in renting a small storefront in Coverton High Street. Apparently, he was thinking of opening a specialist vinyl record shop.’

  ‘Interesting, indeed,’ said Banks. ‘So here we have a man who’s so poor he can’t pay his mortgage or his utility bills, is suffering from malnutrition, and can only afford a night at the pub every two weeks or so, and two days before he dies he’s making appointments for expensive dental work, planning to bid for a pricey piece of vinyl on eBay, and inquiring about renting retail premises. Doesn’t that tell us something?’

  ‘Other than that he didn’t have any business sense?’ said Annie. ‘Well, let’s see. No money had been reported missing, so he couldn’t have just found it in the street, and he hadn’t withdrawn it from his bank account, so obviously he had come into, or was soon expecting to come into, some money.’

  ‘Right.’ Banks told them about Miller’s good mood in the Star & Garter the Friday before his death. ‘He hadn’t got it by then,’ he went on, ‘but he seemed certain enough of getting it, and he already had plans for using it. Which pretty much convinces me that the five thousand pounds he was carrying was definitely his, wherever it came from, whoever gave it to him, and that he was hardly likely to be giving it away. In fact, it seems to indicate that he had been given it at a meeting shortly before he was killed, either by the person who had given him it – who for some reason or other wasn’t able to take it back – or by someone who watched the meeting, or who knew about the transaction in advance, and planned to rob Miller afterwards. Again, he didn’t manage to get his hands on the five thousand pounds, either. I’ve thought and thought about that, and apart from the obvious – that the killer thought he heard someone approaching and ran off – I can think of only two other reasons offhand why the money was still in Gavin Miller’s pocket when his body was found some ten or eleven hours after his death. First, and most obvious, is that the killer didn’t know about it. And second, perhaps less obvious, is that the killer didn’t want it.’

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’ Winsome asked.

  ‘I mean, maybe money didn’t mean anything to the killer. Maybe that wasn’t what it was all about. Maybe the killer already had enough money. Maybe he could afford to leave five thousand pounds behind?’

  ‘Nobody ever has enough money, sir,’ said Winsome. ‘With all due respect, I don’t believe anyone would leave five thousand pounds behind just because he didn’t need it. Certainly not anyone capable of murder.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Banks. ‘I’m only putting it forward as a vague possibility. Maybe he was worried it was marked with SmartWater or something? Anyway, I can’t think of any other reasons than those three. If one of you can, please let me know.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something else,’ said Annie. ‘If he was planning on getting his teeth fixed and renting a shop, he wouldn’t get much change out of five thousand pounds to bid for anything on eBay.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Banks. ‘So perhaps it was only the first instalment?’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Possibly. All we know is that it meant a lot to Gavin Miller, even if we don’t know how he came by it. Meant enough for him to start making plans about turning his life around. Perhaps he had some valuable records to sell, to get the business started? Or could he simply have been selling drugs? Winsome? Is this all about a drug deal gone sour?’

  ‘It could have been,’ Winsome answered, ‘but we’ve no evidence of that. Apart from the cannabis and two LSD tablets he had at his cottage, clearly for personal consumption, I’ve not been able to get a lead on any other activities in that area. I spoke with the drugs squad earlier this afternoon. They’ve never heard of Gavin Miller.’

  ‘Still,’ said Banks, ‘they don’t know everything. Especially if he was just starting out.’

  ‘No, sir. But I think they’d know if he was dealing in any sort of quantity. Certainly five thousand pounds’ worth.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m still liaising with them, like you suggested, and right now they’re trying to track down anyone who might have sold him the stuff we found. Stefan’s given them an accurate chemical analysis, so they’ve got plenty to go on. I understand that many of these illegal substances have various tags or markers that can link them to certain batches and shipments. Anyway, because it’s not a great amount, just street level, and because Miller doesn’t appear to have travelled any further than Eastvale or Coverton in the past while, they think they should be able to get a lead on his local supplier soon enough. There aren’t that many in the area. If we lean on the supplier a bit, he should be able to tell us whether Miller was a player. Personally, though, I doubt it. I mean, look at the way he lived. If he was selling drugs, he certainly wasn’t making much money at it, was he? And how would he get around to meet his contacts? He didn’t even have a car.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Banks. ‘But maybe this was the first shipment? And maybe he wasn’t working alone? Keep at it.’

  ‘I don’t really know if this is worth mentioning,’ Annie said, ‘But Trevor Lomax at Eastvale College suggested that Miller’s murder could be part of a series. Watching too much telly, I said, but I thought it was worth an hour or two on the computer.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing so far. I’ve been checking national records for the past three years. No mysterious deaths under similar circumstances – victims thrown from high places – and no vinyl-collecting connections or anything as far as I can tell.’

  ‘So Lomax thought there was some homicidal Dead Head running around kil
ling vinyl collectors?’

  Annie smiled. ‘Something like that. I suppose it must be hard for him to accept that Miller killed himself, or that he was killed by someone close to him. He was a bit full of himself, but he’s the closest we’ve found to a friend of Miller’s so far, and he did give me a couple more names to check out.’

  ‘We know about Cooper,’ said Banks. ‘Who else did he mention?’

  ‘A woman called Dayle Snider, an old girlfriend of Miller’s.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Banks. ‘Keep working the college angle. Talk to Cooper. Talk to the Snider woman. There could be something there. I’m far from convinced that we know all there is to know about this sexual misconduct business, too.’

  ‘It’s ludicrous,’ said Annie. ‘The word of two “gum-chewing airheads”, as Lomax put it. There has to be more to it.’

  ‘If there is,’ said Banks, ‘I’m counting on you to find out what. OK, that’s it for today.’

  Banks had picked up a Chinese takeaway on the road out of Eastvale and was warming it up in the microwave. The drive to Helmthorpe and Gratly hadn’t been too bad when he made it around seven o’clock, but if the rain continued to fall all night, as the forecasters predicted, then there was a good chance that the area by the bridge at the Relton turn-off in Fortford would be closed by morning. That would mean a two-mile diversion via the Lyndgarth road, if the Leas weren’t flooded, and three if they were. Still, he was getting used to it now. The same areas had flooded every time it had rained that summer, and there was no reason for them not to flood now. Neither the county nor the local councils had done a thing to change the situation, as far as Banks knew. People just learned to avoid the affected areas and wait for the water to go away, the same way they did with the snow and ice.