‘That’s right. Around that time. And I think that’s what he said his name was.’
‘It was him. The call that lasted for almost seven minutes, as I told you yesterday. You said it was something to do with alumni donations, but that hardly takes seven minutes, especially if you weren’t interested. Can you tell me what else the two of you talked about during that time?’
‘My client doesn’t have to tell you anything,’ interjected Nathan. ‘Her word should be enough.’
Anthony Litton beamed down on the lawyer.
‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘But I’m sure you understand, Mr Nathan, that we need all the information we can get on Gavin Miller and his state of mind in the period leading up to his death. If Lady Chalmers could help us in any way—’
‘But I can’t,’ protested Lady Chalmers. ‘It was exactly as I told you. Some chat about how the university was doing in tough economic times and so on. New building projects, residences. I wasn’t really paying attention.’
‘You’ve heard what Lady Chalmers has to say,’ said Litton. ‘Is there really any point in continuing with this?’
Banks ignored Litton and kept his eyes on Lady Chalmers. ‘As far as we can ascertain,’ he said, ‘Gavin Miller had no connection whatsoever with the Alumni and Development Team at the University of Essex. He had nothing to do with the place since he graduated in 1974.’
‘Then he was lying,’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘But that’s what he told me. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say.’
‘The man was clearly trying to con my sister-in-law out of some money,’ said Litton. ‘He was nothing but a common criminal. These things happen all the time, in case you didn’t know. Telephone fraud. Perhaps if you devoted a bit more of your time to protecting honest, law-abiding citizens instead of interrogating them …?’
‘How long have you lived in Eastvale?’ Banks asked Lady Chalmers. He could see Litton in his peripheral vision, clearly irritated by the lack of response to his sarcasm.
‘Since Angelina was born, in 1988.’
‘Did you know that Gavin Miller worked as a lecturer at Eastvale College from 2006 until he was dismissed four years ago?’
‘How would I know that?’
‘He was dismissed for sexual misconduct. You might remember the case? It was pretty well hushed up, though you can’t keep a scandal like that completely under wraps.’
‘I don’t remember it. But then I usually don’t pay much attention to such scandals.’
‘Do you know Kayleigh Vernon or Beth Gallagher?’
‘No. Who are they?’
A sudden idea came to Banks. Winsome had mentioned that Lisa Gray was working on a dark fantasy script. Lady Chalmers wrote historical fiction under a pseudonym, but everyone knew it was her, and Sir Jeremy was in theatre production. Perhaps Lisa had approached them, asked for their advice on how to get published or produced. ‘What about Lisa Gray?’
Lady Chalmers didn’t waver. ‘No.’
‘Mr Banks. Please stop badgering my client.’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I was badgering her. Pardon me if it seemed that way, Lady Chalmers. I’m just confused, that’s all.’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Lady Chalmers, smiling, clearly emboldened by Nathan’s interruption. ‘I’m confused as to why you’re here questioning me for the second day in a row when I’ve already told you everything I know.’
‘You haven’t told me anything. Consider it from my perspective. You were at the same university as the victim during exactly the same time period, yet you say you never met him. You lived in the same town as him for three years, yet you say you never met him. You were both in North America between 1979 and 1983. He made a seven-minute telephone call to your number a week before he was murdered, which you admit you took, yet you say you never knew him. Don’t you know how suspicious that all seems?’
‘Suspicious?’ said Litton. ‘In what way? This has gone far enough. What you’re implying is absurd. Thousands of people live in this town, and my sister-in-law doesn’t know all of them. And as for the population of North America – well, I suggest you work out the odds on that one yourself. Besides, why should she know a bloody college teacher who was fired for, what did you say, sexual misconduct? It’s ridiculous. Are you suggesting that my sister-in-law is lying? That she was somehow responsible for this man’s death?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Banks. He turned back to Lady Chalmers. ‘I’d just like to know why you’re not telling me the whole truth.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Nathan, getting authoritatively to his feet. ‘This is nothing but a mass of coincidences and circumstance. I don’t know how you dare suggest such things.’ He glanced at Lady Chalmers and Sir Anthony, then back to Banks and Annie. ‘And now, Mr Banks, Ms Cabbot, I think it’s time for you to go. I’m sure you can find your own way out.’
Not inclined to give Nathan any kind of concession, Banks ignored him and asked Lady Chalmers, ‘What are you hiding? Why don’t you want to admit to knowing Gavin Miller? Was he blackmailing you?’
‘Because I don’t know him! Didn’t know him. Why can’t you just believe me and leave me alone?’ Her eyes were pleading. She turned away. ‘I’ve got nothing more to say on the matter. If you want to talk to me any further, you’ll have to arrest me and take me down to the station, or whatever it is you people do.’
‘I don’t think we’ve quite got to that point yet,’ said Annie.
Lady Chalmers shot her a glance. ‘Then perhaps you should leave.’
Anthony Litton walked over to Lady Chalmers and rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘I think my sister-in-law is right,’ he said. ‘You’re bullying her, and you’ve got no proof of anything. She’s had enough. She’s upset. It’s time for you to leave. She clearly had nothing to do with this man.’
There was no Oriana to lead them back across the broad chequered floor this time. They had definitely gone down in the world, Banks thought as they got back in the car.
Winsome had decided to take Gerry Masterson with her to interview Beth Gallagher because the young DC needed the experience, and Gerry had located both Beth and Kayleigh for her. Kayleigh Vernon was a researcher at the new BBC studio complex on Salford Quays. They would talk to her later. Beth Gallagher, whom they were on their way to see at the moment, had moved to London to work for a TV production company, but she was presently assigned to a TV police drama near Thornfield Reservoir. Gerry had told her that Beth was a floor runner, which Winsome guessed was a sort of gofer or general dogsbody.
The flooding wasn’t too bad on the road out of Harrogate towards Thornfield Reservoir, apart from a deceptively deep puddle every now and then, when the car sent sheets of water whooshing up on either side. Luckily, there was never anyone walking by the roadside so far from civilisation. Gerry had got good directions over the phone, and she seemed to be a decent enough driver, even if she did go too fast on occasion, Winsome thought as they followed the makeshift signs to the base unit.
The reservoir appeared below them, beyond the woods that straggled down the hillside. It was full almost to the brim, and there were no signs of the village that used to be there, cupped in the hollow. Winsome vaguely remembered Banks telling her once about an old case there, before her time, when the water had dried up one summer and revealed the remains of an old village, including a body that dated back the Second World War. Not much chance of it drying up these days, she thought.
Just past the eastern end of the reservoir, the road dipped down into a vale and a sign on a tree showing an arrow pointing left directed them through the farm gate and into the field the TV people were using as their base camp. It was filled with caravans, trailers, vans and cars, people wandering everywhere, like an encampment of Travellers. At the centre of it all stood a blue double-decker bus, which seemed to have been converted into a canteen. The gate was closed, and a rent-a-guard asked them their business and examined their identification before opening it
for them.
Winsome suggested that they park close to the gate to avoid getting the car too bogged down in the mud, which was churned up and glistening everywhere. There had not been enough heat recently to allow the water to evaporate from the rain-soaked earth. Anticipating the lie of the land, Gerry had put their wellies in the back of the car, and they struggled to get them on before stepping out. Winsome’s felt half a size too small. The mud squelched unpleasantly beneath her feet, like the slippery innards of some slaughtered farmyard animal.
They walked towards the first group of caravans and saw a row of several trailers with the actors’ names on the doors. The star’s was the largest, of course; it seemed quite luxurious from the outside, big enough for an en suite, Winsome thought. The people they passed paid them no attention, as if they were used to strangers wandering around their camp. Winsome accosted a bearded young man in torn jeans and a woolly jumper and asked him where they could find the floor runner.
‘Probably running somewhere,’ he said. When Winsome didn’t respond to his attempt at humour, he pointed to a white caravan not far from the bus. ‘That’s the office,’ he said, and went on his way.
Winsome and Gerry squelched on towards the caravan and knocked on the door. Though they had talked to the line producer, they hadn’t called Beth Gallagher to let her know they were coming because Winsome stressed the need for the element of surprise. If Beth had lied or was keeping something back, then they didn’t want to give her time to fabricate a story or bolster it up or, worse, run away. There was no answer.
‘If you’re looking for Beth,’ said a young woman passing by, ‘she’s just gone out to the shooting location to deliver some script revisions to the AD.’
‘AD?’
‘Sorry. Assistant director. Anyway, it’s open. You can wait inside for her if you want. She shouldn’t be long.’
Winsome thanked her, and they scraped the mud off their boots as best they could on the metal steps and went inside. Someone had placed a sheet of cardboard just inside the door, and it was covered with muddy footprints. The office was heated by a small electric fire, turned off at the moment. There were two desks, both of them rather messy, and the walls were plastered with schedules, notes and photos of the cast. There was a battered sofa against the only free wall, and they both sat down.
It was only about ten minutes or so before the door opened, during which time Gerry had played a game of Solitaire on her smartphone and Winsome had gone over her notes for the interview. The woman who came in would have been about Beth’s age, and they confirmed that it was indeed her. She seemed surprised to see them waiting, and then nervous when she found out who they were. She was taller than Winsome had expected, long-legged, with her jeans tucked into her wellies, and full-breasted under the tight sweater, with an oval face framed in curly chestnut hair. She positively radiated youth and health.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened? Is my dad all right?’
‘Your dad’s fine, as far as we know,’ said Winsome. ‘No, it’s about something else entirely.’
Beth sat down on the swivel chair at the desk and swung it around so she was facing them, stretching out her legs and crossing them. The chair squealed. ‘What is it?’
‘Did you hear about Gavin Miller?’
‘Gavin Miller? No. What …?’
‘He’s dead,’ Gerry said. ‘We think he was killed, in fact.’
‘Oh … I … I don’t know what you expect me to say.’
‘As long as you don’t say you’re glad he’s dead,’ said Winsome, smiling.
‘Oh, I would never say that. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But why come to me?’
‘We’re talking to everyone we can find who was ever connected with him. He didn’t seem to have a lot of friends, so we’re mostly talking to his enemies.’
‘We weren’t enemies,’ said Beth. ‘He abused me, yes. But we weren’t enemies.’
‘You forgave him?’ Winsome asked.
Beth twirled one of her curls around her long tapered index finger. ‘I suppose so. It was a long time ago. I don’t think about it any more.’
‘Four years, give or take a bit.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re doing all right?’
‘I know it doesn’t seem like much,’ Beth said, ‘but it’s what I want. It’s a rung on the ladder. Lots of ADs, even line producers, start as floor runners. You do a bit of everything, get to learn all about the business from the ground up.’
‘Is that what you want to be?’ Winsome asked. ‘A director?’
‘I wouldn’t necessarily aim that high – I’m not really that artistic – but I’d like to get into production at some level.’
Winsome, who had never been clear about the difference between directors and producers, let alone assistant directors and line producers, let that go. ‘Well, good luck, then.’
‘Thank you. Er … I really am very busy. I’m still the junior around here. We’ve got the author coming in this afternoon – the author of the books the series is based on – and I have to take care of him. We like to keep the authors happy. That way they won’t complain too much about what we do to their books.’
‘We shouldn’t keep you very long,’ Winsome said, and nodded towards Gerry, who took out her notebook. ‘We’d like to talk to you about Gavin Miller.’
‘I really thought I’d put all that behind me. I don’t know anything about him.’
‘Things have a way of coming back to haunt us all. Were you telling the truth about what happened in his office?’
‘What do you mean? Of course I was. Are you suggesting that I was lying?’
‘Well, were you?’
‘No.’
Someone opened the door to the caravan, another woman, a few years older than Beth. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, glancing at Winsome and Gerry. ‘Didn’t know you had company. I’ll come back later, shall I?’
‘Sure, fine,’ said Beth. She glanced at her watch. ‘Give us fifteen minutes.’
The door closed again and Winsome carried on. ‘Can you tell us exactly what happened that day?’
Beth slouched sulkily in her chair. ‘I’ve been over it hundreds of times with the board and the committee and whatever. Do I have to go through it all again?’
‘Humour me,’ said Winsome.
Beth scowled and twisted her lips about a bit, then said, ‘I was in his office. Professor Miller’s. He wasn’t really a professor, but we called him that. We were going over an essay I’d done on the production problems in Heaven’s Gate. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but—’
‘If you want this to be quick, Beth, you’d better skip the movie précis.’
Beth glared at Winsome briefly, then went on, ‘It was an important project. Twenty per cent of my final mark. And part of it was that you had to be able to discuss it, defend it, to the prof. So, anyway, there I was, sitting on the other side of his desk, reading out a particular section, when he got up, walked behind me and reached down to point out something on the page over my shoulder, and as he did so, his fingers brushed … you know … by my breast.’
‘Was there any possibility this was accidental?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’d seen him taking surreptitious glances at them before, when he thought I didn’t know about it. Even in class sometimes. It wasn’t as if I wore low-cut tops or tight sweaters or anything. I can’t help having large breasts.’
‘Did he grasp it or squeeze it?’
‘No.’
‘Just brushed his fingers lightly against it?’
‘Hard enough that I could feel it. Isn’t that enough?’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I told him to geroff, and he scuttled off back to his chair a bit red-faced. He wrapped things up pretty quickly after that, told me the essay was fine, and I left.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Why not?’
Beth chewed her lower lip. ‘I know it doesn’t look good, but I was worried that if I said anything, if I reported him before the end of term, then he’d fail me. I was doing quite well, and I didn’t want to screw things up.’
‘Did he have that much power? Enough to derail your academic chances?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking it through logically. All I know is that he still hadn’t marked me on the essay or the final exam, and I didn’t want to jeopardise my chances of passing.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Winsome.
‘Weren’t you concerned about other students, though, Beth?’ Gerry asked. ‘If it had happened to you, it could happen to others, couldn’t it? And it could have gone further with some. I mean, what if he’d asked you to have sex with him in order to get a good mark. Would you have done that?’
Beth seemed flustered. ‘But he didn’t, did he? He touched my breast.’
‘Even so, you can’t have felt very secure with someone like that working in the department.’
‘I didn’t really think it through, I told you. I just … you know … I tried to forget about it. I didn’t want to make a fuss.’
‘But you didn’t succeed in forgetting about it, did you?’ Winsome said. ‘When your friend Kayleigh Vernon complained about Gavin Miller, you came forward and added your complaint to the list. That was also before your final marks were in, I believe.’
‘If there were two of us, then they would have to listen to what we said, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t just be able to ignore us. He wouldn’t be able to get revenge by failing us.’
‘Is that really what you thought?’
‘Of course. Wouldn’t you?’
Winsome didn’t know. If there had been any such behaviour going on at her school, everyone in the community would have known about it, and it wouldn’t have been tolerated. Her father was always complaining about how people took the law into their own hands, but he was a part of the community, too. He understood the people, and he turned a blind eye on many occasions. Later, when Winsome was at university in Manchester, she had thought she was more than capable of taking care of herself in such a situation, though it had never occurred. ‘I suppose it’s true that there’s strength in numbers,’ she said. ‘Could that have been why you added your story to Kayleigh’s?’
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