Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

anyway?”

Banks looked at Michelle before continuing. “That puzzled me for a while, too,” he said. “I can only conclude that he knew which police officer not to tell.”

“How do you mean?”

“Graham had definitely been to the Mandeville house. What if he saw someone there? Someone who shouldn’t have been there, like a certain detective superintendent?”

“That’s absurd. John wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t like what? Mandeville’s parties catered to all tastes. According to his wife, John Harris was homosexual. We don’t know if Mandeville or Fiorino found out and blackmailed him or if they set him up. Maybe that’s how he took his payoffs from Fiorini and Mandeville, in young boys. Or drugs. It doesn’t matter. Point is, I think Graham saw him there or knew he was connected in some way and made this clear to Bradford, too, that he’d go elsewhere with his story.”

Shaw turned pale. “John? Homosexual? I don’t believe that.”

“One of my old school friends has turned out to be gay,” said Banks. “And I didn’t know that, either. John Harris had two damn good reasons for keeping it a secret. It was illegal until 1967, and he was a copper. Even today you know how tough it is for coppers to come out. We’re all such bloody macho tough guys that gays terrify the crap out of us.”

“Bollocks. This is all pure speculation.”

“Not about John Harris,” Michelle said. “It’s what his ex-wife told me.”

“She’s a lying bitch, then. With all due respect.”

“Why would she lie?”

“She hated John.”

“Sounds like she had good reason to,” Banks said. “But back to Graham. He threatened to tell. I don’t know why. It could have been greed, but it could also have been because Mandeville wanted him to do more than pose for photos. I’d like to think that was where Graham drew the line, but we’ll probably never know. It also explains why he was preoccupied when we were on holiday in Blackpool just before he disappeared. He must have been worrying about what to do. Anyway, Graham knew he’d better go farther afield than the local nick. And he had the photo as evidence, a photo that could incriminate Rupert Mandeville. He compromised the whole operation. Mandeville’s and Fiorino’s. That was why he had to die.”

“So what happened?”

“The order went down to Donald Bradford to get rid of him. Bradford had to be at the shop by eight o’clock, as usual, that morning. That gave him an hour and a half to abduct Graham, kill him and dispose of the body. It takes a while to dig a hole that deep, so my guess is that he planned it in advance, picked the spot and dug the hole. Either that or he had help and another of Fiorino’s henchmen buried the body. Either way, with Harris on the payroll, Bradford could at least be certain that no one was looking too closely at his lack of an alibi.”

“Are you saying that John Harris ordered the boy’s death, because-”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’d say it was Fiorino, or Mandeville, but Harris had to know about it in order to misdirect the investigation. And that makes him just as guilty in my book.”

Shaw closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not John. No. Maybe he didn’t always play by the rules, maybe he did turn a blind eye to one or two things, but not murder. Not a dead kid.”

“You have to accept it,” Banks went on. “It’s the only thing that makes sense of later events.”

“What later events?”

“The botched investigation and the missing notebooks and actions. I don’t know who got rid of them – you, Harris or Reg Proctor, but one of you did.”

“It wasn’t me. All I’ve done was discourage DI Hart here from digging too deeply into the past.”

“And set Wayman on me.”

“You won’t get me to admit to that.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Banks. “So Harris took them himself when he left. That makes sense. It wasn’t his finest hour, and he wouldn’t want the evidence hanging around for anyone to see if Graham’s body ever did turn up. Insurance. Cast your mind back. You were there in the summer of 1965. You and Reg Proctor covered the estate. What did you find out?”

“Nobody knew anything.”

“I’ll bet that’s not true,” said Banks. “I’ll bet there were one or two references to ‘Dirty Don’ in your notebooks. One of my old mates remembered referring to him that way. And I’ll bet there was a rumor or two about porn.”

“Rumors, maybe,” said Shaw, looking away, “but that’s all they were.”

“How do you know?”

Shaw scowled at him.

“Exactly,” said Banks. “You only know because Harris told you so. Remember, you were just a young DC back then. You didn’t question your superior officers. If anything showed up in your interviews that pointed you in the right direction – Bradford, Fiorino, Mandeville – then Harris ignored it, dismissed it as mere rumor, a dead end. You just skimmed the surface, exactly as he wanted it. That’s why the action allocations are missing, too. Harris was in charge of the investigation. He’d have issued the actions. And we’d have found out what direction they all pointed in – the passing pedophile theory, later made more credible by Brady’s and Hindley’s arrest – and, what’s more important, what they pointed away from. The truth.”

“It’s still all theory,” said Shaw.

“Yes,” Banks admitted. “But you know it’s true. We’ve got the photo of Graham, taken at Mandeville’s house, Bradford’s connection with the porn business and the possible murder weapon, and the missing notebooks. Go ahead, see if it adds up any other way.”

Shaw sighed. “I just can’t believe John would do something like that. I know he gave Fiorino a lot of leeway, but I thought at the time that he got his reward in information. Fair exchange. That’s all I was trying to protect. A bit of tit for tat. All those years I knew him… and I still can’t fucking believe it.”

“Maybe you didn’t really know him at all,” said Banks. “No more than I knew Graham Marshall.”

Shaw looked over at Banks. His eyes were pink and redrimmed. Then he looked at Michelle. “What do you think about all this?”

“I think it’s true, sir,” Michelle said. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. You didn’t want me to look too closely at the past because you were worried I’d find out something that might tarnish Harris’s reputation. You suspected he was bent, you knew he gave Fiorino a wide berth in exchange for information, and something about the Graham Marshall case bothered you. You didn’t want it stirring up again because you didn’t know what would come to the surface.”

“What next?” Shaw asked.

“There’ll have to be a report. I’m not going to bury this. I’ll report my findings and any conclusions that can be drawn to the ACC. After that, it’s up to him. There might be media interest.”

“And John’s memory?”

Michelle shrugged. “I don’t know. If it all comes out, if people believe it, then his reputation will take a bit of a knock.”

“The lad’s family?”

“It’ll be hard for them, too. But is it any better than not knowing?”

“And me?”

“Maybe it’s time to retire,” Banks said. “You must be long past due.”

Shaw snorted, then coughed. He lit another cigarette and reached for his drink. “Maybe you’re right.” His gaze went from Banks to Michelle and back. “I should have known it would mean big trouble the minute those bones were found. There wasn’t much, you know, in those notebooks. It was just like what you said. A hint here, a lead there.”

“But there was enough,” said Banks. “And let’s face it, you know as well as I do that in that sort of an investigation you first look close and hard at the immediate family and circle. If anybody had done that, they’d have found one or two points of interest, some lines of inquiry that just weren’t followed. You dig deepest close to home. Nobody bothered. That in itself seems odd enough.”

“Because John steered the investigation?”