Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

but when I heard, I just felt… I don’t know. It was a big part of my adolescence, Annie, Graham just disappearing like that, and I suppose it’s a big part of me now, always has been. I can’t explain, but there it is. I told you about the man by the river, the one who tried to push me in?”

“Yes.”

“If it was him, then maybe I can help them find him, if he’s still alive. I can remember what he looked like. Odds are there could be a photo on file.”

“And if it wasn’t him? Is that it? Is this the guilt you talked about before?”

“Partly,” said Banks. “I should have spoken up. But it’s more than that. Even if it’s nothing to do with the man by the river, someone killed Graham and buried his body. Maybe I can remember something, maybe there was something I missed at the time, being just a kid myself. If I can cast my mind back… Another?”

Annie looked at her glass. Half full. And she was driving. “No,” she said. “Not for me.”

“Don’t worry,” said Banks, catching her anxious glance as he went to the bar. “This’ll be my last for the evening.”

“So when are you going down there?” Annie asked when he came back.

“First thing tomorrow morning.”

“And you’re going to do what, exactly? Present yourself at the local nick and offer to help them solve their case?”

“Something like that. I haven’t thought it out yet. It’ll hardly be high priority with the locals. Anyway, surely they’ll be interested in someone who was around at the time? They interviewed me back then, you know. I remember it clearly.”

“Well, you said yourself they won’t exactly welcome you with open arms, not if you go as a copper trying to tell them how to do their jobs.”

“I’ll practice humility.”

Annie laughed. “You’d better be careful,” she said. “They might have you down as a suspect.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Anyway, it’s a pity you’re not sticking around. We might be able to use your help up here.”

“Oh? What’s on?”

“Missing kid.”

“Another?”

“This one disappeared a bit more recently than your friend Graham.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“You know it does, Annie. Far more girls are abducted, raped and killed than boys.”

“A boy.”

“How old?”

“Fifteen.”

That was almost Graham’s age when he disappeared, Banks thought. “Then the odds are good he’ll turn up none the worse for wear,” he said, though Graham hadn’t.

“That’s what I told the parents.”

Banks sipped his beer. There were some compensations to being back in Yorkshire, he thought, looking around the quiet, cozy pub, hearing the rain patter on the windows, tasting the Black Sheep and watching Annie shift in her chair as she tried to phrase her concerns.

“He’s an odd kid,” she said. “Bit of a loner. Writes poetry. Doesn’t like sports. His room is painted black.”

“What were the circumstances?”

Annie told him. “And there’s another thing.”

“What?”

“He’s Luke Armitage.”

“Robin’s boy? Neil Byrd’s son?”

“Martin Armitage’s stepson. Do you know him?”

“Martin Armitage? Hardly. Saw him play once or twice, though. I must say I thought he was overrated. But I’ve got a couple of CDs by Neil Byrd. They did a compilation three or four years ago, and they’ve just brought out a collection of outtakes and live performances. He really was very good, you know. Did you meet the supermodel?”

“Robin? Yes.”

“Quite the looker, as I remember.”

“Still is,” said Annie, scowling. “If you like that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Oh, you know… skinny, flawless, beautiful.”

Banks grinned. “So what’s the problem?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just me. He’ll probably turn up safe and sound.”

“But you’re worried?”

“Just a teeny bit.”

“Kidnapping?”

“It crossed my mind, but there’s been no ransom demand yet. We searched the house, of course, just in case, but there was no sign he’d been back home.”

“We did talk to the Armitages about security when they first moved to Swainsdale Hall, you know,” Banks said. “They installed the usual burglar alarms and such, but beyond that they said they just wanted to live a normal life. Nothing much we could do.”

“I suppose not,” Annie agreed. She brought out her notebook and showed Banks the French words she had copied down from Luke’s wall. “Make any sense of this? It’s awfully familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Banks frowned as he peered at the text. It looked familiar to him, too, but he couldn’t place it, either. Le Poete se fait voyant par un long, immense et raisonne dereglement de tous les sens. He tried to decipher it word by word, reaching far back into his memory for his grammar school French. Hard to believe now that he had been quite good at it at one time, even got a grade two in his O-Levels. Then he remembered. “It’s Rimbaud, I think. The French poet. Something about the total disordering of all the senses.”

“Of course!” said Annie. “I could kick myself. Robin Armitage told me Luke was into Rimbaud, Baudelaire and Verlaine and all that stuff. What about these?” She named the subjects of Luke’s posters. “I mean, I’ve heard of some of them, Nick Drake, for example, and I know Kurt Cobain was in Nirvana and killed himself, but what about the others?”

Banks frowned. “They’re all singers. Ian Curtis used to sing with Joy Division. Jeff Buckley was Tim Buckley’s son.”

“Used to? Was? There’s an ominous past tense to all this, isn’t there?”

“Oh, yes,” said Banks. “They all either committed suicide or died under mysterious circumstances.”

“Interesting.” Annie’s mobile buzzed. Excusing herself, she walked over to the front door before taking it out of her shoulder bag and stepping outside. When she came back two minutes later she looked puzzled.

“Not bad news, I hope?” said Banks.

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite.”

“Do tell.”

“That was Robin. Robin Armitage. Apparently, Luke just rang them.”

“And?”

“He says he just needed some space, that he’ll be back home tomorrow.”

“Did he say where he was?”

“Wouldn’t tell them.”

“What are you going to do?”

Annie finished her drink. “I think I’d better go down the station, scale down the manhunt. You know how expensive these things are. I don’t want Red Ron on my back for wasting our time and money.”

“Scale down?”

“Yes. Call me overly suspicious, if you like, but I’m not going to call off the search completely until I see Luke