Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

still trembling when she got in her own car. She gripped the steering wheel tightly to steady herself, took several deep breaths and waited until her heart rate slowed to normal before she set off back to the station.

“Can you manage by yourself for a day or so?” Banks asked Annie over a lunchtime pint in the Queen’s Arms. Like most of the pubs in the area since the outbreak of foot-and-mouth, it was half-empty, and even the jukebox and video machines were mercifully silent. One of the local farmers, who had already had too much to drink, stood at the bar fulminating against the government’s mishandling of the outbreak to the bar owner, Cyril, who gave a polite grunt of agreement every now and then. Everybody was suffering, not only the farmers, but the pub owners, bed and breakfast owners, local tradesmen, the butcher, baker and candlestick maker, Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all. And, unlike the farmers, they didn’t get any compensation from the government. Only a week or so ago, the owner of a walking-gear shop in Helmthorpe had committed suicide because his business had gone down the tubes.

Annie put her glass down. “Course I can,” she said. “What’s up?”

“It’s Graham Marshall’s funeral tomorrow. There’ll likely be some old friends around. I’d like to go down this evening.”

“No problem. Have you asked the boss?”

“Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe has given me permission to be absent from school for two days. I just wanted to clear it with you before taking off.”

“I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied. Talking about school, you told me you weren’t satisfied with your Alastair Ford interview yesterday?”

Banks lit a cigarette. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not. Not at all.”

“So is he a suspect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe his coming hot on the heels of Norman Wells was just a bit too much for me. His house is very isolated, which makes it a good place to keep someone prisoner, or kill someone and dump the body in the middle of the night without any neighbors noticing. But then you could probably get away with murder in the town center, too, given most people’s powers of observation and unwillingness to get involved.”

“Except for the CCTV.”

“And a damn lot of good that’s done us. Anyway, Ford is a solitary. He jealously protects his privacy, probably feels superior to people who are content to make small talk and share their opinions. He may be homosexual – there was something distinctly odd about the way he responded to my question about boyfriends – but even that doesn’t make him a suspect. We don’t know the motive for Luke’s murder, and according to Dr. Glendenning there was no evidence of sexual assault, although a few days in the water might have taken care of any traces of that. You know, Annie, the more I think about it, the more the kidnapping seems as if it was just a smoke screen, but oddly enough, it might turn out to be the most important thing.”

Annie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why? If somebody just wanted Luke dead, whatever the reason, then why come up with this elaborate and iffy kidnapping scheme and increase the risk of getting caught?”

“Money?”

“Well, yes, but you told me yourself whoever it was set his sights remarkably low. It wasn’t a professional job.”

“That did bother me. It’s what made me think he knew about the Armitages’ finances. I mean, they could certainly manage ten grand to get Luke back, but hardly more, at least not at such short notice.”

“But Luke was already dead.”

“Yes. Perhaps he tried to escape.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe we need to look a lot closer to home.”

“The parents?”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Banks said. “Maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe Martin Armitage killed Luke and set up the elaborate hoax of a kidnapping just to put us off the scent.”

“Martin?”

“Why not? He was gone for two hours the evening Luke disappeared, according to his statement, just driving around, or so he says. Maybe he found Luke and they had an argument and Luke ended up dead. An accident, even. Excessive roughness. That wouldn’t be unusual for Martin Armitage. According to Lauren Anderson and everything you’ve told me, Luke had a difficult relationship with his stepfather. Armitage is the antithesis of Neil Byrd in many ways. Byrd was sensitive, creative, artistic, and he also had many of the problems that seem to come with that territory – drugs, drink, an addictive personality, need for oblivion, experimentation, self-absorption, mood swings, depression. It can’t have been easy being Neil Byrd, as his songs tell us so many times, but he was aiming at some kind of exalted spiritual state, some sort of transcendence, and he believed he caught glimpses of it from time to time. They gave him enough faith to keep going, for a while, at least. I often thought some of the songs were also a cry for help, and Luke’s songs echo that in a weird way.”

“And Martin Armitage?”

“Physical, rational, powerful, clean-living. Football was his life. It got him out of the slums and made him a national figure. It also made him rich. I dare say he’s had his share of ale, but I doubt he tried anything more experimental. I don’t think he has the capability to understand or tolerate the artistic temperament his stepson seems to have inherited. Probably the kind who associates artistic interests with homosexuality. I’m sure he tried to be a loving father, treated the lad as his own, but Luke had Neil Byrd’s genes.”

“And Robin?”

“Now, there’s an interesting one,” Banks said. “You tell me. You’ve seen more of her than I have.”

“She clearly had a wild youth. Sex, drugs, rock and roll. Early fame and fortune often seem to send people over the top. But however she did it, she came through, and with a son. I’d say she’s tougher than she looks, and no doubt she loved Luke but had no more idea how to deal with his problems than her husband had. I think boys like Luke invent secret worlds to exclude adults and protect themselves, even from their contemporaries. He probably spent most of his time in his room reading, writing or recording his songs. That black room.”

“Do you think he had ambitions to follow in his father’s footsteps?”

“Musically, perhaps. But I think his attitude toward his father was very complex and ambiguous. A mix of admiration and anger at abandonment.”

“None of this seems to transform into a motive, though, does it?” said Banks. He stubbed out his cigarette. “What about Josie and Calvin Batty?”

“As suspects?”

“In general.”

“Josie is the only person we’ve talked to so far who says she saw Luke with the tattooed girl.”

“Norman Wells recognized the description.”

“Yes,” Annie pointed out. “But not in connection with Luke. I’m not saying we stop looking for her, just that we don’t pin all our hopes on her. We still have to keep an open mind on this one.”

“Agreed.”

“By the way, Winsome ran a check on all cars reported stolen in the Eastvale area the night Luke disappeared. There are two possibilities, one abandoned near Hawes, in Wensleydale, and the other in Richmond.”

“Then we’d better have Stefan’s team check them both for any signs of blood.”

Annie made a note. “Okay.”

The server brought their lunches over: a salad sandwich for Annie and lasagne and chips for Banks. He didn’t usually like pub lasagne – it was too soupy – but Cyril’s wife Glenys made a good one.

“Talking about cars,” Banks said after pausing for a few mouthfuls. “How are forensics coming on with Norman Wells’s?”

“Stefan called in a couple of hours ago. Nothing yet. Do you really expect anything?”

“Maybe not. But it’s got to be done.”

“Do you think we should have detained him?”

Banks took a sip of beer before answering. “We’ve nothing to hold him on,” he said. “And he does have his business to run. Besides, I don’t think Mr. Wells is going anywhere.”

“What about Lauren Anderson?”