Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

Josie opened the door and the dog sniffed Annie’s crotch as she walked in. Josie collared it and took it away. Only Robin Armitage sat on the large living room sofa in jeans and a navy-blue top, flipping through a copy of Vogue. Annie breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Martin was out. She’d have to talk to him, but a little procrastination wouldn’t do any harm. Robin wore no makeup and seemed to have grown older since Luke’s death. She looked as if a strong gust of wind would blow her away. She stood up when Annie entered, gave her a thin smile and bade her sit down. She asked Josie to bring in some coffee.

“Is your husband not home?” Annie asked.

“He’s in his study. I’ll ask Josie to send for him when she brings the coffee. Are you making any progress?”

“Some,” said Annie. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you both again, ask you a few questions.”

“Are you all right? Your mouth still looks bruised.”

Annie put her hand up to her jaw. “I’m fine.”

“I’m really sorry for what happened. I know Martin is absolutely guilt-stricken.” She managed a weak smile. “It’ll take him all his courage to come down and face you again.”

“No hard feelings,” Annie said, which wasn’t exactly the truth, but there was no point taking it out on Robin.

Josie came in with the coffee and digestive biscuits on a tray and Robin asked her to call Mr. Armitage down. When he walked into the living room a couple of minutes later, Annie felt a wave of panic. It passed, but it left her heart pounding and her mouth dry. This was ridiculous, she told herself, but her body couldn’t help but respond that way to whatever aura of violence Martin Armitage emanated. It just seemed closer to the surface in him than in most people.

Naturally, he was contrite and embarrassed. “Please accept my apologies,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never laid a finger on a woman before.” Robin patted his knee.

“It’s all right,” said Annie, eager to move on.

“Of course, if there are any medical expenses…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How’s Mr. Wells?”

Annie had talked with the hospital and discovered that, while Norman Wells’s physical injuries were healing well, the psychological damage went a lot deeper. He seemed, they said, to be suffering from depression. He couldn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to get out of bed, had no interest in food and seemed unconcerned about his future. Hardly surprising, Annie thought, given what the poor sod had been through over the past week or so. And now the newspapers had got hold of the story, there’d be no more bookshop for Wells. Once everyone knew what he had been accused of, nobody would go down there, or if they did, it would only be to cause damage. Norman Wells would become a pariah.

“He’ll be fine,” Annie said. “Actually, I have a few more questions for the both of you.”

“I can’t imagine what more we can tell you,” said Robin. “But please go ahead.”

“First of all, do either you or your husband have a prescription for Valium or any other form of diazepam?”

Robin frowned. “Martin doesn’t, but I do. Nerves.”

“Have you noticed any missing lately?”

“No.”

“Would you?”

“Of course.” Robin reached for her handbag on the sofa beside her and took out a small plastic container. “Here they are,” she said. “Look. Almost full. Why do you ask?”

Annie looked, then dunked her digestive biscuit in her coffee. Though she had to eat it carefully, avoiding the loose teeth, it tasted good, and it gave her a moment to phrase her response to avoid using images that might upset Robin. “It’s just that the pathologist found traces in Luke’s system,” she said – it sounded better than “stomach contents.” “We were wondering where he got it from.”

“Luke? Valium? Certainly not from us.”

“And I assume he didn’t have a prescription of his own?”

Martin and Robin looked at each other, frowning. “Of course not,” said Robin. “Someone else must have given him it.”

“Is that what killed him?” Martin Armitage asked.

“No,” said Annie. “It’s just another complication I’d like to get out of the way, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry we can’t help you,” said Robin.

Annie struggled to phrase her next question, too. Talking to these two was like walking on eggs, but it had to be done. “Mrs. Armitage – Robin – you know Luke was confused about his biological father, don’t you?”

“Neil? Well, yes, I suppose… But, I mean, Luke never knew him.”

“Surely you knew he must have wondered what happened, why his father didn’t want him?”

“It wasn’t like that. Neil just couldn’t cope. He was a child himself in so many ways.”

“And a drug addict.”

“Neil wasn’t an addict. He used drugs, but they were just a sort of tool for him, a means to an end.”

Annie didn’t bother arguing that that was what they were for most people; it would be easier if she took Neil Byrd’s exalted artistic status in her stride, especially when talking to Robin. “But you knew Luke couldn’t listen to his music, didn’t you?”

“I never asked him to. I don’t listen to it myself anymore.”

“Well, he couldn’t,” Annie said. “Any reference to Neil Byrd or his music upset him. Did he ever talk to either of you about any friends of his called Liz and Ryan?”

“Not to me, no,” said Robin. “Martin?”

Martin Armitage shook his head.

“He was in a band with them. Didn’t you know?”

“No,” said Robin. “He didn’t tell us.”

“Why would he keep it from you?”

Robin paused and looked at her husband, who shifted in his seat and spoke, “Probably because we’d already had arguments about that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I thought Luke was devoting far too much of his time to poetry and music, and that he ought to get more involved in team sports, get more exercise. He was starting to look pasty-faced from spending all his time indoors.”

“How did he react to this?”

Martin looked at Robin, then back at Annie. “Not well. We had a bit of an argument about it. He insisted he was the best judge of how to spend his time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

“Because it didn’t seem relevant. It still doesn’t.” Martin sat forward and stared at her with that intense, disconcerting look of his. “Someone kidnapped Luke and murdered him, and all you can do is ask questions about Neil Byrd and my relationship with Luke.”

“I think I’m the best judge of what questions I should be asking, Mr. Armitage,” said Annie, aware of her heart pounding again. Surely they could all hear it. “Did you agree with your husband?” she asked Robin.

“Sort of. But I didn’t want to stand in the way of Luke’s creative development. If I’d known about the band, I would have been concerned. I wouldn’t have wanted him getting into that kind of life. Believe me, I’ve seen it at first hand. I’ve been there.”

“So you wouldn’t have been thrilled, either, if you’d known that Luke was playing in a group?”

“No.”

“Was drug use a concern?”

“We warned him about drugs, of course, and he swore he didn’t take them.”

“He didn’t,” Annie said. “At least not until the day he disappeared.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “What are you saying? You know how he died?”

“No. No, we don’t know that yet. All we know is that he was with two friends, that he took some drugs and they played him his father’s music. Luke got upset and left. We still don’t know where he went after that.”

Robin put her coffee cup down in the saucer. Some of the coffee spilled. She didn’t notice. “I can’t believe it,”