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The search of Luke’s room didn’t reveal much except a cassette tape marked “Songs from a Black Room,” which Banks, with Robin’s permission, slipped in his pocket to listen to later. Luke’s desktop computer contained nothing of interest. There was hardly any e-mail, which was only to be expected, and most of the Web sites he visited were co
Banks was surprised at the range of Luke’s musical tastes. There was the usual stuff, of course, the CDs A
He had also read some of the stories and poems A
Unlike A
Brian had gone on to make a career of music, and now his band was on the verge of recording its first CD for a major label. After getting over the initial shock that Brian wasn’t going to follow any safe paths in life, Banks had come to feel very proud of him, a leap of faith that his own parents hadn’t seemed able to make yet. Banks wondered if Luke had been any good. Maybe the tape would tell him. From what A
Josie and Calvin Batty lived in their own small apartment upstairs at the far eastern end of Swainsdale House. There, they had a sitting room, bedroom and a small kitchen, in addition to a WC and bathroom with a Power-Shower, all modernized by the Armitages, Josie told them as they stood with her in the kitchen while she boiled the kettle for tea. The whole place was brightly decorated in light colors, creams and pale blues, and made the best of the available light.
Josie looked as if she could be quite an attractive young woman if she made the effort, Banks thought. But as it was, her hair seemed lifeless and ill-cut, her clothes rather plain, shapeless and old-fashioned, and her complexion pale and dry. Her husband was short and thickset with dark, gypsyish coloring and heavy eyebrows that met in the middle.
“What exactly are your duties here?” Banks asked the two of them when they were settled in the living room opposite an enormous TV-and-VCR combination with a tray of tea and chocolate digestives in front of them.
“General, really. I do most of the washing, ironing, cleaning and cooking. Calvin does odd jobs, takes care of the cars and any heavy work, building repairs, garden, that sort of thing.”
“I imagine there must be a lot of that sort of thing,” Banks said, glancing at Calvin. “A big old house like this.”
“Aye,” Calvin grunted, dunking a biscuit in his tea.
“What about Luke?”
“What about him?” asked Josie.
“Did any of your duties involve taking care of him?”
“Calvin’d give him a lift to school sometimes, or bring him back if he happened to be in town. I’d make sure he was well fed if Sir and Madam had to go away for a few days.”
“Did they do that often?”
“Not often, no.”
“When was the last time he was left alone here?”
“Last month. They both went down to London for some fancy gala charity do.”
“What did Luke do when he was left alone in the house?”
“We didn’t spy on him,” said Calvin, “if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Not at all,” said Banks. “But did you ever hear anything? TV? Stereo? Did he ever have his friends over? That sort of thing.”
“Music were loud enough, but he didn’t have no friends to ask over, did he?” said Calvin.
“You know that’s not true,” said his wife.
“So he did entertain friends?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Did he, Mrs. Batty?”
“Not here.”
Banks took a deep breath. “Where, then?”
She hugged her gray cardie closer to her. “I shouldn’t be telling tales out of school.”
A
Josie looked at Banks, uncertain.
“DI Cabbot’s right,” he said. “All bets are off when it’s murder. Who was this friend?”
“Just someone I saw him with, that’s all.”
“Where?”
“In Eastvale. Swainsdale Centre.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“Past week or two?”
“A bit longer.”
“A month?”
“Aye, about that.”
“How old? His age? Older? Younger?”
“Older. She wasn’t no fifteen-year-old, I can tell you that.”
“How old?”
“Hard to say when they’re that age.”
“What age?”
“Young woman.”
“How young? Late teens, early twenties?”
“Aye, around that.”
“Taller or shorter than him?”
“Shorter. Luke were a big lad for his age. Tall and ski
“What did she look like?”
“Dark.”
“You mean she was black?”
“No, her skin was pale. She just dressed dark, like him.
And her hair was dyed black. She had red lipstick on and them studs and chains all over t’place. And she had a tattoo,” she added in a hushed tone, as if saving the greatest sin for last.
Banks glanced at A
Josie touched her upper left arm, just below the shoulder. “There,” she said. “She was wearing one of them leather waistcoats over a T-shirt.”
“What was the tattoo?” A
“Couldn’t tell,” said Josie. “Too far away. I could just see there was a mark, like.”
This woman shouldn’t be too difficult to find if she lived in or near Eastvale, Banks thought. It was hardly Leeds or Manchester when it came to girls in black with studs, chains and tattoos. There was only one club, The Bar None, which catered to such a crowd, and then only two nights a week, the rest of the time being reserved for the techno-dance set. It was possible she was a student at the college, too, he thought. “Would you mind if we sent a sketch artist over to work on an impression with you this afternoon?” he asked.
“I suppose not,” said Josie. “If Sir and Madam don’t mind, like. Only I’m supposed to be doing t’upstairs.”
Banks looked at her. “I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Armitage will mind,” he said.
“All right, then. But I can’t promise owt. Like I said, I didn’t get a close look.”
“Can you tell us anything more about her?” Banks asked.
“No. It was just a quick look. I were having a coffee and a KitKat at the food court when I saw them walk by and go into that there big music shop.”