“Though I hardly imagine it’s the only one of its kind in existence.”
“I think it’s unique enough for our purposes,” Michelle said.
“Photographs can be faked, you know.”
Michelle tapped the photo. “Are you saying this is a forgery?”
“Of course. Unless someone has been using my house for illicit purposes in my absence.”
“Let’s get back to 1965, when this photo was taken, in this room,” Michelle said. “You were quite famous for your parties, weren’t you?”
Mandeville shrugged. “I was young, wealthy. What else was I to do but share it around a bit? Maybe I was foolish, too.”
“Parties that catered to every taste, including drugs, prostitutes and underage sex partners, male and female.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“This boy was fourteen when that photo was taken.”
“And he was a friend of mine,” said Banks, catching Mandeville’s eye and holding his gaze.
“Then I’m sorry for your loss,” said Mandeville, “but I still don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“You had him killed,” said Michelle.
“I did what? I’d be careful, if I were you, young lady, going around making accusations like that.”
“Or what? You’ll have your chauffeur break into my flat again, or try to run me over?”
Mandeville raised his eyebrows. “I was actually going to warn you about the possibility of slander.”
“I did a bit of homework before I came out here,” Michelle said. “Checked into the background of your employees. Derek Janson, your chauffeur, served a prison sentence for burglary fifteen years ago. He came to be regarded as somewhat of an expert at picking locks. I’m sure he knows how to drive a van, too.”
“I know about Derek’s background,” Mandeville said. “It’s very difficult for ex-convicts to get employment. Surely you can’t fault me for doing my little bit for Derek’s rehabilitation? I happen to trust him completely.”
“I’m sure you do. When the investigation into Graham Marshall’s disappearance was reopened, after we found his remains and discovered that he had been murdered, you did everything in your power to put me off.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because he was using the photo to blackmail you, and you asked Carlo Fiorino to take care of him. You paid Fiorino well for his various services, so he obliged.”
“This is absurd. You have no evidence for any of this.”
“We’ve got the photograph,” Banks said.
“As I said before, photographs can be faked.”
“They can be authenticated, too,” Banks said.
Mandeville stared at them, assessing the damage. Finally, he stood up, put his hands on the table, palms down, and leaned forward. “Well,” he said, “that’s quite a story the two of you have concocted. It’s a pity that none of it will stand up in court, or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Michelle said. “But you still have to admit that it doesn’t look good. Some mud’s bound to stick.”
“I’m not without influence, you know.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I don’t stoop to threats.”
“No, you get someone else to do that for you.”
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Whatever I can to make sure you pay for what you did. For a start, we’ll have a nice chat with Mr. Janson.”
Mandeville walked over and leaned against the fireplace, smiling. “Derek won’t tell you anything.”
“You never know. We’re not without influence, either, especially with ex-cons. Then there’s Geoff Talbot’s notebook. Jet Harris didn’t bother to remove that from the archives. No reason to. There was no investigation.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Names,” said Banks. “Talbot made a note of the names of the people he talked to when he came up here. I’m sure if we dig around a bit, we’ll find one or two people who remember the old days: partygoers, perhaps, or club patrons.”
Mandeville’s face darkened and he went back to sit at the table. “I’m warning you,” he said. “If you attempt to spread these vicious lies about me, I’ll have your jobs.”
But Michelle was already out of the room, striding toward the front door.
Banks took the opportunity of a few seconds alone with Mandeville to lean in close, smile and lower his voice. “And if DI Hart so much as trips on a banana skin, I’ll be right back here to rip out your spine and shove it down your throat. Your lordship.”
He couldn’t swear to it, but judging by the change in Mandeville’s expression, he thought he had got his point across.
It was already the evening of a long day, and the shadows were lengthening when Lauren Anderson led Annie into the book-lined living room. Classical music was playing, a violin concerto of some sort, but Annie didn’t recognize it. Banks would have done, she thought. Lauren was barefoot, wearing ice-blue jeans and a white sleeveless top. Her shoulders were pale and freckled, like her face. Her mane of auburn hair was fastened behind her head by a leather barrette. “What do you want?” she asked. “Have you caught them?”
“I think so. But first sit down and listen to what I have to say. You can correct me if I’m wrong about anything.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You will in a minute. Sit down, Lauren.” Annie crossed her legs and leaned back in the armchair. She had worked out how to approach Lauren on the drive back from Harrogate, then made a couple of phone calls and picked up DC Winsome Jackman, whom she had instructed to stay outside in the car for the time being. She didn’t expect any trouble, and it would be easier for her to talk to Lauren alone. “We know where Luke was shortly before he was killed,” she began. “Did he ever mention a girl called Liz Palmer to you?”
“No. Why?”
“Are you sure? She meant a lot to Luke.”
Lauren shook her head. “No, that can’t be true. I don’t believe you.”
“Why not, Lauren? Why can’t it be true?”
“Luke… he didn’t… he wasn’t like that. He was devoted to art.”
“Oh, come off it, Lauren. He was just a randy adolescent, like any other. This Liz was a bit older than him and she-”
“No! Stop it. I won’t listen to this.”
“What’s the problem, Lauren?”
“I won’t have you tarnishing Luke’s memory.”
“Tarnishing? What’s so wrong about a fifteen-year-old boy losing his virginity to an older woman? It’s a time- honored tradition, even if it is technically having sex with a minor. Who cares about a few petty rules and regulations? Especially if it’s the boy who’s underage and not the woman. At least we know now Luke got to enjoy the pleasures of sex before he died.”
“I don’t know why,” Lauren said, looking into Annie’s eyes, “but you’re lying to me. There is no ‘Liz.’”
“Yes there is. I can introduce you.”
“No.”
“What is it, Lauren? Jealous?”
“Luke meant a lot to me. You know he did. He was so talented.”
“It was more than that, though, wasn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were lovers, weren’t you?”
Lauren hesitated for a moment, then said, “What if we were? Are you going to arrest me for that?”
“No. I’m going to arrest you for murder.”
