Chapter TEN
On Sunday morning, Banks paid his visit to Robin Allott, who lived in his parents' modest semi about ten minutes walk away. A tiny, bird-like woman answered his knock and fluttered around him all the way into the living room.
'Do sit down, Inspector,' she said, pulling out a chair. 'I'll call Robin. He's in his room reading the Sunday papers.'
Banks looked quickly around the room. The furniture was a little threadbare and there was no VCR or music center, only an ancient-looking television. Quite a contrast from the Ottershaws' opulence, he thought.
'He's coming down,' Mrs. Allott said. 'Can I make you a cup of tea?'
'Yes, please,' Banks said, partly to get her out of the way for a while. She made him nervous with her constant hovering. 'I hope I'm not disturbing you and Mr. Allott,' he said. 'Oh no, not at all.' She lowered her voice. 'My husband's an invalid, Inspector. He had a serious stroke about two years ago and he can't get around much. He stays in bed most of the time and I look after him as best I can.'
That explained the badly worn furnishings, Banks thought. Whatever help the social services gave, the loss of the breadwinner was a serious financial setback for most families.
'It's been a great help having Robin home since his divorce,' she added, then shrugged. 'But he can't stay forever, can he?'
Banks heard footsteps on the stairs, and as Robin entered the room, Mrs. Allott went to make the tea.
'Hello,' Robin said, shaking Banks's hand. He looked an almost unnaturally healthy and handsome young man, despite the unmistakable signs of his chestnut-brown hair receding at the temples. 'Sandra said you might call.'
'It's about Alice Matlock,' Banks said. 'I'd just like to find out as much as I can about her.'
'I don't really see how I can help you, Inspector,' Robin said. 'I told Sandra the same, but she seemed quite insistent. Surely you'll have found out all you want to know from her close friends?'
'She only had one, it seems: a lady called Ethel Carstairs. And even they haven't been friends for long. Most of Alice's contemporaries appear to have died.'
'I suppose that's what happens when you reach her age. Anyway, as I said, I don't know how I can help, but fire away.'
'Had you seen her recently?'
'Not for a while, no. If I remember correctly, the last time was about three years ago. I was interested in portrait photography and I thought she'd make a splendid subject. I have the picture somewhere-I'll dig it out for you later.'
'And before that?'
'I hadn't seen her since my gran died.'
'She and your grandmother were close friends?'
'Yes. My father's mother. They grew up together and both worked most of their lives in the hospital. Eastvale's not such a big place, or it wasn't then, so it was quite natural they'd be close. They went through the wars together, too. That creates quite a bond between people. When I was a child, my gran would often take me over to Alice's.'
Mrs. Allott appeared with the tea and perched at the opposite end of the table.
'Can you tell me anything about her past?' Banks asked Robin.
'Nothing you couldn't find out from anyone else, I don't think. I did realize later, though, when I was old enough to understand, what a fascinating life she'd led, all the changes she'd witnessed. Can you imagine it? When she was a girl cars were few and far between and people didn't move around much. And it wasn't only technology. Look at how our attitudes have changed, how the whole structure of society is different.'
'How did Alice relate to all this?'
'Believe it or not, Inspector, she was quite a radical. She was an early struggler for women's rights, and she even went so far as to serve with the International Brigade as a nurse in the Spanish Civil War.'
'Was she a communist?'
'Not in the strict sense, as far as I know. A lot of people who fought against Franco weren't.'
'What were your impressions of her?'
'Impressions? I suppose, when I was a child, I was just fascinated with the cottage she lived in. It was so full of odds and ends. All those alcoves just overflowing with knick-knacks she'd collected over the years: tarnished cigarette lighters, Victorian pennies and those old silver three-penny bits-all kinds of wonderful junk. I don't imagine I paid much attention to Alice herself. I remember I was always fascinated by that ship in the bottle, the Miranda. I stared at it for hours on end. It was alive for me, a real ship. I even imagined the crew manning the sails, doing battle with pirates.'
Mrs. Allott poured the tea and laughed. 'He always did have plenty of imagination, my Robin, didn't you?' Robin ignored her. 'How did it happen, anyway? How was she killed?'
'We're still not sure,' Banks said. 'It looks like she might have fallen over in a struggle with some kids come to rob her, but we're trying to cover any other possibilities. Have you any ideas?'
'I shouldn't think it was kids, surely?'
'Why not?'
'Weil, they wouldn't kill a frail old woman, would they?'
'You'd be surprised at what kids do these days, Mr. Allott. As I said, they might not have killed her intentionally.'.,.
Robin smiled. 'I'm a teacher at the College of Further Education, Inspector, so I'm no great believer in the innocence and purity of youth. But couldn't it have happened some other way?'
'We don't know. That's what I'm trying to determine. What do you have in mind?'
'Nothing, I'm afraid. It was just an idea.'
'You can't think of anyone who might have held a grudge or wanted her out of the way for some other reason?'
'I'm sorry, no. I wish I could help, but…'
'That's all right,' Banks said, standing to leave. 'I wasn't expecting you to give us the answer. Is there anything else you can think of?'
'No. I can dig out that portrait for you, though, if you're interested.'
Out of politeness' sake, Banks accompanied Robin upstairs and waited as he flipped through one of his many boxes of photographs. The picture of Alice, when he found it, was mounted on a mat and still seemed in very good shape. It showed a close-up of the old woman's head in semi-profile, and high-contrast processing had brought out the network of lines and wrinkles, the vivid topography of Alice Matlock's face. Her expression was proud, her eyes clear and lively.
'It's very good,' Banks said. 'How long have you been interested in photography?'
'Ever since I was at school.'
'Ever thought of taking it up professionally?'
'As a police photographer?' Banks laughed. 'I didn't have anything as specific as that in mind,' he said.
'I've thought of trying it as a freelance, yes,' Robin said. 'But it's too unpredictable. Better to stick to teaching.'
'There is one more thing, while I'm here,' Banks said, handing the photograph back to Robin. 'It's just something I'm curious about. Do you ever get the impression that anyone at the Camera Club might be… not too serious… might be more interested in the models you get occasionally than in the artistic side?'
It was Robin's turn to laugh. 'What an odd question,' he said. 'But, yes, there's always one or two seem to turn up only when we've got a model in. What did Sandra say?'
'To tell the truth,' Banks said, 'I didn't like to ask her. She's a bit sensitive about it and I've probably teased her too much as it is.'
'I see.'
'Who are these people?'
