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“You used your notebook?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
“Same as usual, I suppose.”
“You also found two men together?”
“Yes. I looked in some of the rooms, and in one bedroom I saw two men in bed together. Naked.”
“Were they doing anything?”
“Not when I opened the door. They were just… very close together. I’d never seen anything like that before. I mean, I knew about homosexuality, I wasn’t that naive, but I’d never actually seen it.”
“Did either of them look underage?”
“No. One I pegged at early twenties, the other older, maybe forty. But it didn’t matter how old you were back then.”
“So what did you do?”
“I… er… I arrested them.”
“Did they resist?”
“No. They just laughed, put their clothes on and went back to the station with me.”
“What happened then?”
“Jet Harris was waiting for me. He was furious.”
“He was at the station waiting for you? On a Sunday morning?”
“Yes. I suppose someone from Mandeville’s house must have phoned him.”
“Probably dragged him out of church,” Banks said.
“What did he do?” Michelle asked.
“He had a private talk with the two men, let them go and had his little chat with me. That was the end of it. No further action.”
“Just out of interest,” Michelle asked, “how old was Rupert Mandeville at the time?”
“Quite young. In his thirties. His parents had been killed in a plane crash not too long before, I remember, and he’d inherited a fortune, even after tax. I suppose he was just doing what many young people would have done if they’d gained their freedom and had unlimited funds.”
“Ever hear of Donald Bradford?” Michelle asked.
“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Bill Marshall?”
“He was one of Fiorino’s muscle men. I ran into him a couple of times in Le Phonographe. Tough character. Thick as the proverbial pig shit.”
“Thank you, Mr. Talbot.”
“You’re welcome. Look, I can’t see as I’ve been any help, but…”
Banks placed the photograph of Graham Marshall in front of him. “Do you recognize that boy?”
Talbot paled. “My God, isn’t that the boy who…? His photograph was in the papers only a few weeks ago.”
“Did you see him at the Mandeville house?”
“No… I… but that’s the room. Mandeville’s living room. I remember the sheepskin rug and the fireplace. Does that mean what I think it means? That the boy’s death is somehow co
“Somehow,” said Michelle. “We’re just not quite sure how yet.”
Talbot tapped the photo. “If we’d had something like that back then, we’d have had some evidence,” he said.
“Possibly,” said Banks. “If it ever saw the light of day.”
They stood up and Talbot showed them to the door. “You know,” he said, “I felt at the time that there was more going on than met the eye. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d pushed it a bit harder, not let go too easily.”
“You’d have probably ended up under a field with Graham Marshall,” said Banks. “Bye, Mr. Talbot. And thank you.”
Gavin Barlow was in his study when A
“I won’t take up much of your time,” A
“Rose? I’m afraid she’s out.”
“Perhaps you can answer my questions, then.”
“I’ll try. But look, if Rose is in any sort of trouble…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should call my solicitor or something.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Just tell me what you’ve come to say.”
“Your daughter came to the station and made some pretty serious allegations about Lauren Anderson and Luke Armitage.”
“She did what?”
“And now it turns out that she was seeing Luke earlier this year. She even visited him at Swainsdale Hall on at least one occasion. Do you know anything about that?”
“Of course. It was a school project the students were asked to partner up on. To promote working together, task-sharing. Rose worked with Luke.”
“Her choice or his?”
“I don’t know. I should imagine the teacher assigned them.”
“Lauren Anderson?”
“No, actually. It was a science project. It would have been Mr. Sawyer.”
“Do you know if Luke and Rose had any sort of romantic involvement?”
“Not as far as I know. Look, Ms. Cabbot, I’m not so naive as to think that teenagers their age don’t form liaisons. I’ve been a head teacher too long to think otherwise. I’ve even come across my share of teenage pregnancies. But I also know my own daughter, and believe me, I would have known if she’d been seeing Luke Armitage.”
“They were seen talking together in and around the school. Did she ever talk to you about Luke?”
“She might have mentioned him once or twice, yes. It was only natural. I mean, they were in the same class, he was a little odd, and something of a minor celebrity. At least his parents are.”
“Was she obsessed with him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Would you have approved if they had been going out together?”
Barlow pursed his lips. “I can’t say that I would, no.”
“Why not?”
“She’s my daughter, for crying out loud. You don’t think I’d have wanted her going out with that…”
“That what, Mr. Barlow?”
“I was going to say that boy.”
“Oh, were you?”
“Yes. But I’ll admit that, as a father, I thought Luke Armitage just a little too weird for my daughter.”
“How far would you have gone to stop them going out together?”
“Now, hold on a minute. I won’t have you-”
“Where were you and Rose the night Luke disappeared? That’s a week ago last Monday, in case you don’t remember.”
“Here.”
“Both of you?”
“As far as I know. My wife will remember.”
“Why would Rose want to make trouble for Ms. Anderson?”
“I don’t know.”
“How well does your daughter do at English?”
“It’s not her best subject, or her favorite.”
“Was she jealous?”
“Of what?”
“Of the attention Luke got from Lauren Anderson?”
“Why don’t you ask Lauren?”
“I will. But I’m asking you first.”
“And I’m telling you I don’t know.”
They stared at each other, and A
Barlow sighed and stared out of the window. The clouds had split in places and shafts of light lanced the distant hills. The laptop hummed on his desk.
“Mr. Barlow?”
He turned back to face her, and his facade of benevolent authority had disappeared. In its place was the look of a man with a burden. He stared at her a long time before speaking. “It was nothing,” he said finally, his voice little more than a whisper. “Really. Nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
“Ms. Anderson. Lauren. If you’ve seen her, you must have noticed she’s an attractive woman, quite the Pre-Raphaelite beauty,” Barlow said. “I’m only as human as the next man, but everyone expects me to be above reproach.”
“You’re a head teacher,” said A
“Oh, good Lord, no. Nothing like that. I might have flirted a bit, as one does, but Lauren wasn’t interested in me. She made that quite clear.”
A
A thin smile twisted his lips. “Don’t you? Sometimes things can seem other than they are, and any attempt to explain them away only makes you seem more guilty.”