‘He never knew about it.’
‘Trevor didn’t tell him?’
‘No. He thought it would only upset him more, as it clearly wasn’t going to go towards getting him his job back.’
‘It all sounds like a bit of a mess, doesn’t it?’
‘It does. I think a lot of the people involved were going through hard times. Drugs were involved, and we still think they may be involved with Gavin Miller’s death. Did you know anyone called Kyle McClusky?’
‘Kyle McClusky? The name is vaguely familiar. Is he a student?’
‘Was. He hung around with Beth and Kayleigh. Gavin Miller warned him off selling drugs around campus, and he dropped out. He blamed Gavin for all his woes.’
‘That’s right. Gavin did mention someone called Kyle dealing drugs. One of his students. I suggested he have a quiet word, and maybe he’d disappear before we had to bring in the authorities. Is that what happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘But? I can see a “but” coming.’
‘But he enlisted Beth and Kayleigh to help him get his revenge. They thought it sounded like fun.’
‘So that’s why they …?’
‘Yes. There’s no evidence either way, of course, but there never was in the first place.’
‘But this means that Gavin was telling the truth, doesn’t it? That he didn’t do it.’ Cooper surprised Annie by putting his face in his hands and sighing deeply. ‘My God, poor Gavin. I’m so sorry. I should have done more.’
‘You really didn’t know about any of this?’
‘No. On my word. Do you think I would ever have advised him just to give that dealer a warning if I’d known how it would all turn out? I’d have said to bring in the police right away.’
‘Life is full of what ifs,’ said Annie. ‘There’s no point dwelling on them. You never bought any drugs from Kyle McClusky?’
‘I didn’t even know him. And me? Drugs? What do you take me for?’
Despite herself, Annie actually found herself inclined to believe him. ‘You didn’t know it was a set-up. Gavin didn’t know. As far as we can gather, apart from the girls themselves, and Kyle, of course, the only people who knew were Trevor Lomax and the person who told him.’
‘And this person who told Lomax was the one who overheard Beth and Kayleigh talking about what they’d done?’
‘Yes. Three weeks or so after Gavin Miller was fired.’
‘God, this is awful. But why would they be talking about it so long afterwards?’
‘I have no idea. That’s a good point.’
‘Neither Lomax nor his informant told anyone else?’
‘Lomax told his wife. That’s all. Lomax said it was too late, and that the source was untrustworthy.’
‘But he didn’t even try.’ Cooper shook his head slowly. His earring dangled. ‘That’s Lomax all over. Why shake things up when everything’s running on an even keel? The bastard. I’ll bet that wife of his helped him make up his mind. The Snider woman, too, I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it. Sally Lomax only thought about her husband’s career, and Dayle Snider had history with Gav. Bad history.’
‘Point taken. Look, I’m sorry this all came as such a shock to you,’ Annie said. She handed him her card. ‘But if you do think of anything that might help us, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
Cooper held her gaze with his and nodded. His eyes were damp. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘I certainly will.’
After making arrangements to go to Armley Jail, as HM Prison Leeds was commonly known, to talk to Kyle McClusky on Monday, Banks had picked up the disk of scanned photos from the lab towards the end of Friday afternoon and got Gerry Masterson to print them off for him. She and Winsome had just got back from talking to Kayleigh Vernon in Salford, and they had found out nothing. Unlike Beth, Kayleigh still vehemently denied making up her accusations against Gavin Miller, said she had nothing to do with drugs and had not been in touch with anyone from the old college days in years. She said she had been working at the time of Miller’s murder, and her alibi checked out, as had Beth’s. Winsome had also taken a little time to check up on Lisa Gray’s alibi, and that checked out, too, providing that her friends were telling the truth, which was always a caveat in such matters. If they found any other evidence pointing to Lisa, they’d bring in the friends and give them a more comprehensive grilling. For the moment, though, it appeared that Beth, Kayleigh and Lisa Gray could be ruled out as suspects based on their alibis.
Now he sat in his conservatory, sipping red wine, listening to Van Morrison’s St Dominic’s Preview and examining the photos for the second time. It was the weekend, and the investigation would scale down a bit over the next couple of days. Not so much for Banks, or for Gerry Masterson, but for the rest of the team. The rain had stopped, and the weather seemed to have settled down to a sort of dull uniform grey, with occasional periods of drizzle. The remains of the pizza he had picked up on his way home still sat on the glass-topped table.
After separating out the pure landscapes and cityscapes, Banks pored over the group shots, some of which clearly featured a younger Miller, without beard and with a thicker head of fair hair, still worn long, fuller in the face. He had already asked Gerry to crop and print enhanced versions showing Miller alone, then to make several copies and distribute them among the team. Though the photographs had been taken in the late eighties, by the looks of them, outside a college of some description, they might come in useful when Gerry was trying to refresh people’s memories about Essex in the early seventies. Certainly no one from back then would recognise Gavin Miller from the more recent photograph.
The earliest photographs had clearly been taken at the Isle of Wight pop festival in 1970. Some of them showed the stage below, to the left, and the vast crowd stretching as far as the lens could see. It was impossible to make out who was playing, of course, but Banks recognised that the photos had been taken from the tent city that sprang up on ‘Desolation Hill’, where he had spent part of the festival with his girlfriend of the time, Kay Summerville. The rest of the time at the Isle of Wight they had been in the thick of the crowd, closer to the stage. The Who, the Doors, Miles Davis, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Jimi Hendrix. They hadn’t slept for three nights. After the festival, they had pitched their tent on a clifftop near Ventnor for a few days and done nothing but make love, stare out to sea and go to the pub.
The early seventies had been Banks’s own brief period of freedom between school and the police, then marriage and children. He sometimes regretted that he hadn’t simply flown the coop and gone on the road for a while after his time at London Polytechnic. It wasn’t so much that he regretted what he had done with his life, but he sometimes regretted what he hadn’t done. Sometimes it seemed that one life wasn’t enough. He wanted to live parallel lives. Do it all. The brief taste of freedom he had enjoyed in the Powys Terrace flat hadn’t amounted to a great deal, but it had been a lot of fun. He’d had no interest in drugs, but he went to a lot of gigs and met plenty of girls. He remembered the excitement of the music. Some of Banks’s favourite albums were from this period: Van Morrison’s Moondance, The Who Live at Leeds, Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush. Then came the new crowd, with Bowie, Roxy Music, King Crimson and T. Rex leading the way. Heady times, indeed.
It was almost 10.30 when his mobile rang. Thinking it might be Brian on the road, he answered quickly. At first he heard only a faint voice on the other end, sounding more like a whisper.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Can you speak up a bit? I can’t hear you very well.’ Perhaps the music was a bit too loud, but Banks didn’t want to go to the entertainment room and turn it down.
‘It’s me, Ronnie,’ the voice said.
‘Ronnie?’ For a moment, Banks was puzzled. He didn’t know any Ronnies. Then it dawned on him. ‘Lady Chalmers?’
‘Please. Just Ronnie. Forget about the lady.’<
br />
But that was as difficult as before; her voice was still posh, even though she sounded the slightest bit tipsy. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘In London. In a hotel. Jem’s out with his luvvie pals at the Ivy, no doubt downing cognac and telling stories about Larry and Dickie. I’m watching TV and having a little drink, myself. Drinking alone. Isn’t that terrible of me?’
Banks looked at the glass in his hand. ‘Why didn’t you go with him?’
‘Those evenings bore me. Besides, I’m not feeling very sociable tonight.’
‘You shouldn’t be calling,’ Banks said. ‘I’m not supposed to be talking to you.’
‘Is that Van Morrison I can hear in the background. “Listen to the Lion”?’
‘Yes,’ said Banks.
There was a pause. ‘I love Van Morrison. That was always one of my favourites, Saint Dominic’s Preview. And Veedon Fleece. I always wondered what a veedon fleece was, didn’t you?’
‘Why are you calling me, Lady Chalmers? Has something happened I should know about?’
‘I told you, it’s Ronnie. No, nothing’s happened. I’m just calling to apologise. I feel bad about it.’
‘For what?’
‘Did you get into trouble? You did, didn’t you?’
‘When?’
‘After you came to see me with your colleague. Annie, isn’t it? When Ralph and Tony were there.’
Banks was still smarting from the unpleasant half-hour he had spent with Red Ron and Madame Gervaise. ‘Maybe a little,’ he said. ‘Probably no more than I deserved. It’s not your fault.’
‘But I feel responsible. You didn’t deserve it. I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for anything like that to happen.’
‘You don’t have to apologise to me. If you think I was out of line—’
‘No. It’s not that. It wasn’t me.’
‘What do you mean?’
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to make him think Lady Chalmers had fallen asleep or dropped the phone on the bed, but then she came back on the line again. Van Morrison was still singing about the lion inside him. Banks was wondering where she had got his number, but remembered he had given her his card. ‘It was Tony,’ she said. ‘My brother-in-law. Jem was away, so I rang Tony and told him you’d been to talk to me and were coming back again. I told him I needed some support. Tony drove straight up from Derbyshire and said it would be a good idea to have our solicitor there, too. After you’d left the second time, Tony rang your chief constable and reported the conversation. I just want to say that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for all that to happen. I’m not really that sort of person. You were only doing your job. But I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know why you’re picking on me. Is there some reason you don’t like me?’
‘I’m not picking on you, and I don’t dislike you. And I appreciate the apology, but there’s really no need for it. These things happen.’
‘Especially when you’re still a little bit of a rebel? I know. But even so … I don’t tell tales out of school. I just wanted you to know that. I just wanted someone on my side, that’s all. I’m not a tattle-tittle.’
‘Tittle-tattle.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Well, I appreciate it,’ said Banks. ‘But don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me again.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I thought we might actually have quite a bit in common. You like Van Morrison, for a start. In another time, under different circumstances, perhaps we could be friends.
‘Goodnight, Lady Chalmers. And thanks for calling.’
‘Ronnie, please. Goodnight. Enjoy the rest of the music.’
And the line went dead.
Banks reached for his glass and took another sip of wine. What the hell was all that about, he wondered? Was she flirting? It sounded like it. She was certainly apologising when she didn’t need to. Maybe she was trying to ingratiate herself to him. He had thought she had been lying to him when he questioned her about Gavin Miller, and he had been just as sure that it was her who had set the brass on him. Perhaps he was wrong. Anthony Litton seemed like the sort of man who was used to exerting influence where it counted. After all, there was a cabinet reshuffle coming in just under a week, and his son Oliver’s name was on everyone’s lips as the possible new Home Secretary. On the other hand, maybe Lady Chalmers had just had a few drinks too many, her husband had left her alone, or they’d had a row or something, so she’d phoned out of boredom or annoyance. But why him? It still didn’t make sense. Was she trying to tell him something? There had been something in her tone that could have been fear, or anxiety. Was she worried about something? In danger, even? Had he been rude? He thought he had.
For one mad moment, the phone in his hand, he thought of calling her back, then he decided against it. If any word of this got back to Gervaise, he would be in serious trouble. That wouldn’t necessarily bother him if he thought it was worth it, but in this case he wasn’t at all sure. Perhaps there was more to Miller’s phone call than she had admitted, for reasons he didn’t understand, but perhaps also the call had nothing to do with Miller’s murder. Perhaps, as Red Ron and Madame Gervaise had suggested, the murder was more to do with drugs or the college scandal.
And why had Anthony Litton dashed all the way up from Derbyshire? To intimidate the police? A family closing ranks? Lady Chalmers was his sister-in-law, of course, and she had told him she needed his support, but it all seemed a bit melodramatic. Why had Litton insisted on the lawyer’s presence, and why had he complained about Banks to the chief constable afterwards? It was tale-telling of the worst kind.
The more Banks thought about the last interview with Lady Chalmers, the more he felt that neither he nor Annie had crossed any lines. It had all been polite and above board, trying to clear up some confusing contradictions. So why the overreaction?
Sir Jeremy had been in New York when the murder occurred, but, like Lady Chalmers, he was resourceful, and he wouldn’t necessarily dirty his own hands with such a distasteful act. Could he have had something to do with it? Would a theatrical producer know where to find a hired killer? Maybe in New York he would. And was Lady Chalmers unsuspecting, worried, perhaps even a little frightened by the events going on around her?
Well, he might never know the answers, he realised, as he stood up to refill his glass in the kitchen and put on another CD in the entertainment room. This time he chose Veedon Fleece. Like Lady Chalmers – Ronnie – Banks had always wondered what a veedon fleece was, too.
8
‘I don’t like all this sneaking around, sir,’ said Gerry Masterson over tea and toasted teacakes in the Golden Grill. ‘It makes me nervous.’
‘Gerry, you don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. Honestly. You can bow out anytime you like, and there’ll be nothing said.’
Then Gerry smiled. ‘I don’t dislike it all that much,’ she said. ‘I just worry sometimes what’ll happen if we get caught. It’s bound to happen.’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,’ said Banks. ‘For now, what did you find out over the weekend?’
‘You asked me to check whether Lady Chalmers was involved with Eastvale College at all, and the answer’s no. Also, I can’t find any connections between Gavin, or anyone else involved in the case, and Sir Jeremy. It doesn’t mean there’s nothing there, of course, but nothing leaps out.’
‘It was a long shot, anyway,’ said Banks. ‘It vaguely crossed my mind the other day that Sir Jeremy might have something to do with it, but I doubt it very much. Anything else?’
‘I managed to get in touch with Gavin Miller’s ex-wife. She’s called Roxanne Oulton now, and she lives in Christchurch.’
‘Have anything to say?’
‘Not much. She hasn’t been back over here since she married her second husband.’
‘The plumber?’
‘Yes. She admits that her marriage to Gavin came to a nasty end, and Gavin felt betrayed. She
felt guilty about having the affair, but she said it was the only way she could get free of him.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Banks. ‘Sometimes people need someone else to go to when a relationship ends, to help get them out of it. It doesn’t always last, though.’
‘Well, this one seems to be lasting. Anyway, Gavin and Roxanne didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, and she spent most of the phone call telling me how useless and self-centred Gavin was.’
‘Sounds like a typical ex-wife’s complaint,’ said Banks. ‘Did she know anything about his university days? Canada? Lady Chalmers?’
‘No. They didn’t meet until later, when he was teaching in Exeter, and apparently he wasn’t so obsessed with the past back then.’
‘What about the university? Get anything from them?’
‘It wasn’t easy. Most of the staff aren’t there, of course. Some people still have the concept of weekends off, you know.’
‘I vaguely remember,’ said Banks, smiling in sympathy.
‘Anyway, I managed to get the class lists before end of play on Friday, and I’ve been going through them, trying to contact anyone who might have had classes with Veronica Bellamy or Gavin Miller back then.’
‘Any luck?’
‘It’s a long job. First you’ve got to track them down, then you’ve got to catch them in. Remember, it was forty years ago, and there are quite a few people on the lists. Some are dead, some have moved away, left the country. Someone did tell me that he thought that Ronnie Bellamy was a mover and shaker in the Marxist Society.’
‘Do we know if Gavin Miller was involved in that, too?’
‘Nothing so far.’
‘Pity. I was thinking maybe they were both recruited by Moscow as sleepers, and that’s why Lady Chalmers was so disturbed by Miller’s phone call and his murder.’
Gerry laughed. ‘Really, sir?’
‘Yes. He gave her the password that was deeply implanted in her brain, the one that activated her.’ Banks shrugged. ‘It was worth a try.’
‘Well, I did also manage to get through to someone who was sure that Veronica Bellamy lived in one of the student residences, a place called Rayleigh Tower, at least during her first year. I should be able to get through to student accommodation, and perhaps get copies of the old Marxist Society lists today, and they might have some records. After all, it’s not a very old university, and you’d think they’d want to keep a record right from the start. I should be able to find someone who was in the same residence at the same time as her.’
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