Children of the Revolution

by Peter Robinson

  ‘For you? What things?’ Annie asked. ‘Personal? Or is it something we should all know about?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know yet. Somebody else who might be lying. It depends on the answers.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, then,’ said Banks, ‘we’re either all back where we started, or we begin a new journey into the heart of darkness.’

  ‘You’re being a bit cryptic, aren’t you?’ Annie said. ‘Even for you.’

  ‘There’s something you’re not telling us, sir?’ Winsome prodded.

  Banks sighed. ‘It might be nothing,’ he said, but he knew he had to tell them his concerns about Lady Veronica Chalmers.

  It was after nine o’clock, and Banks was into his second glass of wine and Jesse Winchester’s first album when the doorbell rang. He put down the report on Lady Chalmers’ life he had been reading and went through to the front to answer it. When he got there, he found a very nervous Gerry Masterson standing on his doorstep in her jeans and woolly jumper, a scarf wrapped around her neck.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, sir,’ she said. ‘But I thought I should come and report in person.’

  Curious, Banks invited her to hang up the scarf by the door and led her through the little den and the kitchen into the conservatory. ‘Wine?’ he offered, brandishing the half-full bottle.

  ‘No, sir. Thanks. But I’m driving. A cup of tea would go down nicely, though. This is a nice place you’ve got, sir.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Banks. ‘Tea it is.’ He disappeared into the kitchen. The kettle boiled in no time, and he carried the teapot, mug and milk and sugar on a tray back to the conservatory. He also grabbed the packet of chocolate digestives on his way. Jesse Winchester was singing ‘Biloxi’, which Banks thought was such a beautiful song that it made you want to go there.

  ‘That’s lovely music, sir,’ Gerry said, leaning forward in her wicker chair. She had the CD jewel-case in her hand. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Jesse Winchester.’

  ‘Before your time,’ said Banks. ‘He was an American draft dodger who ended up in Canada. But I’m glad you like it. Now what brings you here at such an hour?’

  ‘The reason I’m so late is that I was waiting for a phone call from western Canada. They’re eight hours behind us.’

  ‘I never could get those time zones right,’ said Banks. ‘I always seem to get them the wrong way around and upset people. So what did you find out?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t easy, sir. I mean, it was about thirty years ago, for a start. It’s hard to find the right people to talk to.’

  ‘But you managed, I gather? Milk? Sugar? Biscuit?’

  Gerry accepted the tea and biscuit Banks handed her. ‘To cut a long story short, I managed to find out that Gavin Miller spent the years between 1979 and the end of 1982 teaching at a small college in a place called Nelson, British Columbia. It’s in the “interior”, apparently, or I think that’s what they called it. I assume that means it’s not on the coast. Anyway, the problem was that the college closed down in 1983, and the lecturers scattered to the four winds. That’s around the time Miller went back home to Banbury.’

  ‘So what about his travels around the US? Hanging out with the Grateful Dead, following Jack Kerouac’s trail?’

  ‘Tall stories,’ said Gerry. ‘He was teaching at the college year round. I’m sure he got a few weeks off now and then, though, and he may have travelled in the States if he made enough money – I really can’t seem to get anywhere with US Immigration on that – but most of the time he was working in the interior of British Columbia, Canada.’

  ‘I see,’ said Banks. ‘So I also assume it’s unlikely that he mixed with Lady Chalmers and her crowd in Beverley Hills?’

  ‘Extremely doubtful. Their time in North America overlapped, yes, but they would have moved in very different social circles, and so far there’s no evidence of his ever visiting California. It’s quite a long way. The thing is, though, and the real reason I came to see you in person rather than just phoning, is that I found out something else. Something that might be much more important.’ She put her mug down on the table and clasped her hands on her knees. Banks could see the excitement in her flushed face and glittering eyes. ‘Remember when I told you Veronica Chalmers’ age, and you were shocked because you thought she was much younger?’

  Banks nodded.

  ‘And then you said it might be important. Well, it is. You were right in your suspicions. Gavin Miller and Veronica Chalmers were exact contemporaries at the University of Essex.’

  ‘Bingo,’ said Banks.

  ‘I got one of the admin assistants to dig back through the records. We’ve struck it lucky. Both Veronica Bellamy, as she was then, and Gavin Miller were students at the University of Essex between 1971 and 1974.’

  ‘How many students were there at that time?’

  ‘Around two thousand.’

  ‘That’s not very many. She said she didn’t know him, that she’d never talked to him before, but if they were exact contemporaries … Miller was visiting a lot of websites tracking down early seventies stuff – albums, movies, books and so on. On a nostalgia fishing trip. What if Veronica Bellamy was part of that? Part of that lost time he wanted to recapture? He even started smoking cannabis again. Did they know one another?’

  Gerry seemed disappointed. ‘That I can’t say, sir. I’m going to have to dig a bit deeper for that. The admin assistant wasn’t around back then. I do know that Veronica studied History and Politics, and Gavin took English literature, so they probably weren’t in the same classes, though they may have had subsidiary subjects that overlapped. And uni is as much about social life and clubs and stuff as it is about learning. At least that’s my recollection of it. It’s certainly possible their paths crossed.’

  ‘You’re right. But we need more than that. Is there any way you can check whether they did meet? You know, whether they were members of the same clubs, societies, that sort of thing? I still don’t believe she’s telling us the full story.’

  ‘I should be able to get class lists easily enough. Maybe even society membership details.’

  ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘From there, I might be able to track down somebody who actually knew Veronica Bellamy or Gavin Miller back then, or knows someone who did. But remember, sir, it was forty years ago. Is it worth it? I mean, do we take Lady Veronica Chalmers seriously as a suspect? Might we not be just be wasting our time? And looking for trouble?’

  ‘We won’t know that until we’ve followed all the leads, Gerry,’ said Banks. ‘At the moment I’m curious to know where she stands in all this. I certainly think there’s more of a connection between her and Gavin Miller than she’s saying. That phone call explanation doesn’t ring true at all. Or the alumni business. What did you find out about Miller’s links with alumni affairs?’

  ‘He didn’t have any, sir. I spoke to the director of the alumni and development team, and she’s never heard of him. He wasn’t on any of the lists they had, either of donors or fundraisers. And Lady Chalmers, as she told you, is already a generous donor.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Banks. ‘Why should she want to lie about it?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, but I did find out one thing. They have Lady Chalmers’ ex-directory number at Essex, and one of the junior people in the alumni office gave it to Miller. He sounded legit. Said they were old friends and he’d lost touch and needed to contact her about an informal reunion of some kind. Sounds a bit thin to me, but she took pity on him. I suppose some people just want to be helpful, like that nurse who told the press about Kate Middleton’s condition and then committed suicide. She was thorough, though, the woman in the alumni office. She checked out his connection with the university and everything, discovered the two of them were there at the same time before she rang back to give him the number.’

  ‘Well, that’s one mystery solved,’ said Banks.

  ‘But what possible involvement could Lady Chalm
ers have, sir?’

  ‘None that I can think of. But that doesn’t make her much different from any of the other suspects we might have in this case. The same goes for alibis. They’re all flimsy.’ Banks sipped some wine and let the music wander in his mind for a few moments while he thought things over. Gerry seemed on edge, anxious to leave now that she had delivered her news. ‘Look,’ said Banks finally, ‘I understand your concerns, and I’m honestly not sure myself how, or how far, we should proceed with this. But putting aside the fact that we’re talking about a “Lady” who lives in The Heights and knows the chief constable, Veronica Chalmers is clearly lying about the reason for that telephone call. She went to the same university at exactly the same time as Miller. That’s three years they had to make one another’s acquaintance, among a student population of around two thousand. I can’t believe they weren’t aware of one another. Their times in the States overlapped, even though we think it unlikely they met there, and they both lived in Eastvale for three years when Miller was teaching at the college, even though their social circles would have been worlds apart. I don’t know about you, but that’s too many coincidences for me. Lady Chalmers certainly merits another visit.’ Banks paused. ‘Have you entered all this into the system?’

  ‘The telephone numbers on Gavin Miller’s mobile, the university details. I had to, sir. It’s—’

  Banks waved her down. ‘It’s all right. I’m not criticising. You’re absolutely right to do so. In fact, I’m the one in serious breach for not writing up the visit I paid her this morning. But let me worry about that. The next visit will be a lot more official, and I’ll take DI Cabbot with me. That’s not a reflection on you at all, Gerry, in case you’re wondering. Your work on this so far has been sterling, but … well, let’s just say there might be repercussions. What I’d like you to do, as discreetly as possible, but with full openness in terms of gathering and entering information – in other words, by the book, under my instructions – is to continue your investigation into Lady Chalmers in general, and the Essex years in particular. If there is a connection, find it. Let’s not forget, Liam told me that Gavin Miller had been doing a lot of computer research into the early seventies in the days or weeks before he died. Winsome also said that Lisa Gray told her Miller was nostalgic about old times, haunted, as if he were searching for his lost youth. Maybe Veronica Bellamy was a part of that. It’s a line of inquiry we can’t afford to overlook. But it’s delicate. Tread carefully.’

  ‘What if I have to go to Colchester?’

  ‘Go where you need, within reason. Just keep me posted where you are and what you find out.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Gavin Miller is turning into a far more interesting and complicated person than I ever imagined when this business started,’ Banks said. ‘By the way, does Lady Chalmers have anything to do with Eastvale College?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, but I’ll look into it.’

  ‘And have any of the people we’ve talked to already, or even Miller himself, ever had anything to do with Sir Jeremy Chalmers? After all, there are plenty of artsy types involved, and he’s in the theatre world. It’s not beyond belief.’

  ‘Again, I’ll see if I can find anything.’

  Banks saw Gerry to the door, then settled down with his wine again. Jesse Winchester was singing ‘Yankee Lady’, and the case was beginning to get very interesting.

  6

  ‘So let me get this straight. You’re all concerned about protecting poor Little Miss Masterson, but you’re quite happy to drag me down in the shit with you. Is that the way it is?’

  Banks laughed. ‘Well, since you put it like that, I suppose so. But look at it another way, Annie. Would you be really happy spending the whole day at your desk on the phone and computer instead? Would you like to enter the data into HOLMES? Do you want to be the crime analyst on this?’

  ‘You’ve got a point. How do we approach Lady Chalmers?’

  Banks pulled into the drive and stopped outside the front door. ‘Softly, softly. Leave her to me. But we know more than she knows we know this time, so let’s see if we can’t corner her somewhere she can’t scramble out of so easily.’

  ‘How did she sound on the phone?’

  This time, Banks had telephoned ahead to set up an appointment in the interests of making the visit more official. Perhaps it wasn’t a full official interview, but it was more than just a social chat, and he wanted Lady Chalmers to know that. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘A little puzzled, even anxious, perhaps, but fine on the whole. At least she didn’t try to wriggle out of it.’

  Oriana answered the door, though she wasn’t smiling this time. Loyalty to her mistress no doubt dictated that she disapproved of police interest, even when it came from Brian Banks’s father. Banks hoped he wasn’t losing his son a fan in the process of the investigation. Two, if you counted Samantha Chalmers.

  Lady Chalmers was waiting in the same room as before, and she had two people with her. A young man in an expensive pinstriped suit sat beside her. Banks thought he had seen him before, around the courts. The other man leaned against the fireplace. He was wearing a tan V-neck jumper over a cream shirt, and he looked as if he might have just come from the golf course. He was probably a few years older than Banks, with a fine head of grey hair and a reddish complexion. There was an air of authority about him, as well as anger, and Banks’s first thought was that he must be Lady Chalmers’ husband Sir Jeremy, hurriedly returned from New York. He tried to run any photographs he might have seen of Sir Jeremy through his mind, but he couldn’t remember paying attention to any.

  ‘This is Mr Ralph Nathan, our family solicitor,’ Lady Chalmers said, pointing to the younger man first. ‘And this is my brother-in-law, Anthony Litton.’ Nobody made a move to smile or shake hands. The two men just nodded curtly at Banks and Annie.

  ‘Hardly necessary, I’d have thought,’ muttered Banks. The presence of the solicitor and the doctor raised his hackles; it would change the whole tenor of the interview. So this was what it was going to be like from now on, he thought. War. Whether she knew it or not, Lady Chalmers had raised the stakes.

  ‘I’m simply here as an observer, Mr Banks,’ said Nathan, with a smarmy grin. ‘Please don’t pay me the slightest bit of attention.’ Anthony Litton just cast his cold eye over them all from his spot by the hearth.

  ‘Easily enough done,’ said Banks. When they were all seated, and Annie had her notebook out, he glanced through the rain-streaked windows at the town below, noting the shafts of sunlight on the river and the castle keep, the faint beginnings of a rainbow over the hill. ‘Lady Chalmers,’ he began, ‘is it true that you attended the University of Essex between the years 1971 and 1974?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ said Lady Chalmers, apparently surprised by the question. ‘Didn’t I tell you before that was where I went? I studied History and Politics. Why?’

  ‘Just out of interest, why did you choose Essex?’

  ‘Why does one choose any one thing over another? It was a new university. Progressive. I was young. Progressive. I really didn’t want to go to one of those old fuddy-duddy establishments where people like me were expected to go.’

  ‘Like Oxford or Cambridge?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Though you went to Cambridge later to do postgraduate work.’

  ‘Maybe I’d grown up a bit by then. I was a rebellious young woman, Mr Banks, as many people were at that time. Though why it should be of any interest to you is beyond me.’ She cocked her head. ‘Tell me, weren’t you also just the teeniest bit rebellious when you were young?’

  ‘I still am. Did you know Gavin Miller?’

  Her expression hardened, and the air around her seemed to chill. Banks noticed she was twisting her hands on her lap. ‘I told you yesterday. No.’

  ‘But he was also at the University of Essex between the years 1971 and 1974, studying English literature.’

  ‘Then there’s no reason we would have
met. It’s a big university.’

  ‘Not that big. Not then. Around two thousand students, I believe. And both departments were on the Wivenhoe Park campus, just outside Colchester. You were both students. You’d have shared certain facilities, the student pub, residences, the refectory, perhaps gone to the same concerts? Lou Reed? Slade? King Crimson?’

  ‘You’ve got me there,’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘And you’ve done your homework. I went to two of those. I can’t say I was ever a Slade fan.’

  ‘And yet you maintain that you never met this man?’ Banks showed her the photo again.

  ‘She’s already answered that,’ said Anthony Litton. It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice had an impatient edge. He sounded like a man who was used to being listened to. Obeyed, even, without having to explain himself.

  Lady Chalmers glanced at her brother-in-law, then turned back to Banks and went on. ‘No. At least, I certainly don’t recognise him from that photograph. I suppose he must have looked much younger back then.’

  Banks made a mental note to try to get Liam to put a rush on copies of the older photos of Miller they had got from the search of his house. The only photo they had at the moment, from the camera in his computer, made him appear more like a tramp than anything else. ‘But he hadn’t changed his name,’ he said.

  ‘Then, no. I don’t remember him. But I’m not very good with names.’

  That sounded a bit disingenuous to Banks. Someone in her position, with a heavy social calendar, had to be good with names. He looked out of the window again. Two magpies landed high in a tree below the garden, frightening away a flock of sparrows. Mr Nathan was starting to fidget, straightening the creases in his trousers and brushing imaginary hairs from his lapels, as if he were eager for an opportunity to break into the conversation. Banks turned back to Lady Chalmers. ‘Yesterday you told me you received a telephone call from Gavin Miller at two p.m. a week ago last Monday.’