Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

she said.

“Who are these people?” Martin butted in.

“And what will you do if I tell you, Mr. Armitage?” Annie said. “Go and beat them up?”

Armitage’s chin jutted out as he spoke. “It’s no less than they deserve if what you say is true. Giving my son drugs.”

“Mr. Armitage,” Annie said. “What did you do when you went out for two hours the night Luke disappeared?”

“I told you. I just drove around looking for him.”

“Drove where?”

“Eastvale.”

“Any particular areas or streets?”

“I don’t remember. I just drove around. Why is it important?”

Annie’s chest felt tight, but she forged ahead. “Did you find him?”

“Of course I didn’t. What are you talking about? If I’d found him, he’d be here safe and sound right now, wouldn’t he?”

“I’ve seen a demonstration of your temper, Mr. Armitage.” There, it was out. “I also know from talking to several people that you and your stepson didn’t get along very well.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Armitage’s tone chilled Annie, but it was too late to stop now. “That if anything happened that evening… Some sort of… accident… then it’s better to tell me now than have me find out by some other means.”

“Accident? Let me get this straight. Are you asking me if I found Luke, picked him up in my car, then lost my temper and killed him?”

“I’m asking you if you did see him that night, yes, and if anything happened between you that I should know about.”

Armitage shook his head. “You really are a piece of work, DI Cabbot. First you act rashly and probably cause my son’s death, then you accuse me of killing him. For your information, I did exactly what I told you. I drove around Eastvale looking for Luke. It was probably pointless, I know, but I had to do something. I needed to act. I couldn’t just sit around and wait. I didn’t find him. All right?”

“Fine,” said Annie.

“And I resent your accusation.”

“I haven’t accused you of anything.”

Martin Armitage stood up. “It shows how little progress you’ve made, scraping the bottom of the barrel like this. Will that be all? I’m going back to my study now.”

Annie felt relieved when Armitage had left the room.

“That was cruel,” said Robin. “Martin loved Luke like his own son, did his best for the boy, even if they didn’t always agree. Luke was no angel, you know. He could be difficult.”

“I’m sure he could,” said Annie. “All teenagers can. And I’m sorry I had to ask those questions. Police work can be uncomfortable at times, but the solution often lies close to home, and we’d be derelict in our duty if we didn’t pursue such lines of inquiry. Did you know that Luke had a girlfriend?”

“Certainly not.”

“He never said anything to you?”

“I don’t even believe he had a girlfriend.”

“Everyone says he was mature for his age, and he was a good-looking boy, too. Why shouldn’t he?”

“He just never…”

“It might have been someone he didn’t feel he could bring home to meet his parents. Maybe even Liz Palmer, the girl in the group.”

“You think that’s why he was killed? Because of this girl?”

“We don’t know. It’s just one possibility we’ve been looking at. What about Lauren Anderson?”

“Miss Anderson? But she was his English teacher. You can’t think…”

“I don’t know. It’s not as if these things don’t happen. Rose Barlow?”

“Rose? The head teacher’s daughter? Well, she came round to the house once, but it was all perfectly innocent.”

“Rose Barlow came to your house? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“But it was ages ago.”

“February? March?”

“Around that time. Yes. How do you know?”

“Because somebody else noticed Luke and Rose were spending time together then, thought maybe they were going out together.”

“I don’t think so,” said Robin. “It was something to do with a school project.”

“Did she visit often?”

“Only the once.”

“And she never came back?”

“No.”

“Did Luke ever talk about her?”

“Except to say that he’d ended up doing most of the project himself, no. Look, I don’t understand all this, all your questions. Don’t you think he just wandered off and someone kidnapped him?”

“No,” said Annie. “I don’t think that’s what happened at all.”

“Then what?”

Annie stood up to leave. “Give me a little more time,” she said. “I’m getting there.”

Michelle had made three important discoveries before lunch that day, and it seemed a nice goal to set oneself. Who was it, she tried to remember, who had made it a point to believe six impossible things before breakfast? Was it Alice in Through the Looking Glass?

Well, the things Michelle had discovered were far from impossible. First, she had gone back to the log book for the summer of 1965 and found the reference to the Mandeville house. On the first of August that year, an anonymous informant had telephoned the station with allegations of underage sex and homosexuality. The possibility of drug-taking was also mentioned. A young DC called Geoff Talbot had gone out to make inquiries and had arrested two men he said he found naked together in a bedroom there. After that, nothing more appeared on the case except a note that all charges were dropped and an official apology issued to Mr. Rupert Mandeville, who, she discovered from an Internet search, had served as a Conservative Member of Parliament from 1979 to 1990 and was granted a life peerage in 1994.

It took Michelle a bit longer to track Geoff Talbot down, as he had left the police force in 1970 to work as a consultant with a television company. Eventually, through a patient personnel officer, she managed to find his address in Barnet, a north London suburb. She had rung him and he had agreed to talk to her.

After that, Michelle had enlisted DC Collins’s aid and discovered through local land registry records that Donald Bradford’s shop had been owned by a company linked to Carlo Fiorino, the late but unlamented local crime kingpin. The company had also owned Le Phonographe discotheque and several other newsagents’ shops in the Peterborough area. Ownership of Bradford’s shop went to the Walkers when he sold, but many of the other shops remained under Fiorino’s control well through the new town expansion into the seventies.

What it all meant Michelle wasn’t too sure, but it looked very much as if Carlo Fiorino had set up the perfect retail distribution chain for his wholesale porn business, and who knew what else besides? Drugs, perhaps? And maybe even some of those advertising cards in the newsagents’ windows weren’t quite so innocent after all.

All this she told to Banks as she drove through a steady drizzle down the A1 to Barnet. As they talked, she kept a keen eye on her rearview mirror. A gray Passat seemed to stay on their tail a bit too long and too close for comfort, but it finally turned off at Welwyn Garden City.

“Bradford must have got Graham involved somehow, through the magazines,” said Banks. “But it didn’t stop there. He must have come to the attention of Fiorino and Mandeville, too. It helps to explain where all that extra money came from.”

“Look, I know he was your friend, Alan, but you have to admit that it looks as if he was up to some unsavory