Peter Robinson - Piece Of My Heart

“What was he like with the girls?”

“Oh, they all fancied Robin. He was so pretty with that mass of dark curls and all, but I’m not sure… I mean, I don’t think he really cared that much for anyone, underneath it all. I didn’t know him long, but he never had any sort of relationship during that time. It was all rather mechanical for him. He took what he was offered, then cast them aside. He was more into metaphysical and occult things.”

“Black magic?”

“Tarot cards, astrology, eastern philosophy, the cabala, that sort of thing. A lot of people were into it back then.”

“As they are again now,” said Banks, thinking of Madonna and all the other stars who had discovered the cabala of late, not to mention Scientology, which had also been a powerful presence in the late sixties. If you just wait, everything comes around again.

“I suppose so,” Tania said. “Anyway, Robin was usually immersed in some book or other. He didn’t say much. As I said, I didn’t really know him. Nobody did. His life outside the band was a mystery to all of us. If he had one.”

“Did Linda like him?”

“She said he was cute, yeah, but like I said, she was into other things at the time. Men weren’t really high on her list of priorities.”

“But she wasn’t off them completely?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure she’d have been interested if the right person had come along. She was just tired of the attitude some of the guys had. Free love . What they thought it meant was that they could screw any woman they wanted.”

“What about relations between Robin and Vic Greaves?”

“Nothing unusual, really. Robin seemed upset sometimes that Vic got more of his songs performed, but Vic was the better songwriter. Robin’s lyrics were too arcane, too dark.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, as far as I know. It was nothing more serious. Mostly they got along just fine.”

“And the rest of the band?”

“Same. There were disagreements, of course, as there always are when groups of people spend too much time cooped up together, but they weren’t at each other’s throats all the time, if that’s what you mean. I’d say, as things go in this business, as a group they were a pretty well-behaved bunch of kids, and I’ve seen some bad behavior in my time.”

“And after you joined?”

“Everyone treated me with respect. They still do.”

“What were the other members like as individuals?”

“Well, Vic was the sensitive poet, and Robin, as I said, the intellectual and the mystic. Reg was the angry one. The working-class boy made good with a bloody great chip on his shoulder. He’s over it now, more or less – I think a few million quid might have had a bit to do with that – but it was what drove him back then. Terry was the quiet one. He’d had a rough background. Apparently his father died when he was just a kid and his mother was really weird; I think she ended up in an institution eventually. He was troubled, but he never really talked about it. He seems to be a bit better adjusted these days. At least he manages to smile and speak a civil word now and then. And Adrian, well, he was the joker, the fun-lover. Still is. Laugh a minute, Adrian.”

“And you?”

Tania raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “Me? I’m the enigmatic one.”

Banks smiled. “What about your relationship with Chris Adams?”

“It faded over time. It’s hard to keep a relationship going, the punishing schedule we had those first two or three years. We were touring or recording constantly. But we’re still friends, have been ever since.”

“The night Robin Merchant drowned,” Banks said, “did you really expect the police to believe that you were all sound asleep in bed?”

She seemed taken aback by the question, but she answered without much hesitation. “They did, didn’t they? Death by misadventure.”

“But you weren’t all asleep all the time, were you?” Banks pressed, shooting in the dark, hoping for a hit.

Tania looked at him, her green eyes disconcerting. He could tell she was trying to weigh him up, figure out what he knew and how he might have found out. “It’s a long time ago,” she said. “I can’t remember.”

“Come off it, Tania,” Banks said. “Why did you all lie?”

“For God’s sake, nobody lied.” She shook her head, puffing on her third cigarette. “Oh, what the hell. It was just a lot easier that way. None of us killed Robin. We knew that. Why would we? If we’d said we were all up and about, they’d only have asked more stupid questions, and we were all a bit the worse for wear. We just wanted to be left alone.”

“So what really happened?”

“I honestly don’t know. I was drunk, if you must know.”

“Drugs?”

“Some of the others. I stuck to vodka. Believe it or not, I never did anything else, except for a few tokes once in a while. Anyway, it was a big house. People were all over the place. You couldn’t possibly keep track of one another even if you wanted to.”

“Were people out by the swimming pool?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t. If anybody saw Robin in there, then they knew it was too late to do anything for him.”

“So you just left him there until the gardener came the next morning?”

“You’re putting words into my mouth. I’m not saying that’s what happened. I didn’t see him there, and I don’t know for a fact that anyone else did.”

“But someone could have?”

“Of course someone could have, but what use is could have, especially now?”

“And someone could have pushed him in.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe things weren’t all as peachy as you say they were.”

Tania sat forward. “Look, I’ve had enough of this. You come into my house and call me a liar to my face…”

“I’m not the one calling you a liar. You’ve already admitted you lied to the police in 1970. Why should I believe you now?”

“Because I’m telling the truth. I can’t think of any reason on earth why any of us would have wanted Robin dead.”

“I’m just trying to find the connection between then and now.”

“Well, maybe there isn’t one. Have you thought of that?”

“Yes, I’ve thought of that. But put yourself in my position. I have one definite murder in September 1969, and though the killer was apparently caught and jailed, there’s still room for doubt in my mind. We have another death in June 1970, easily explained as an accident at the time, but now you tell me that people were up and about most of the night; maybe there’s some doubt about that, too. And the common factor to all of these: the Mad Hatters. And Nick Barber was going to write their story, specifically Vic Greaves’s story, and he made reference to a murder.”

Tania drew on her cigarette, thought for a moment. “Look,” she said, “I know when you put it like that it sounds suspicious, but they’re all just coincidences. I was at that party when Robin died, and to my recollection there were no arguments. Everyone just had a good time and that was that. We all went off to bed – I was with Chris at the time – but it was hard to sleep, a hot night, and maybe people got the munchies, whatever, and wandered around, went to raid the fridge. I mean, I heard people around the place on and off. Voices. Laughter. Vic was tripping, as usual. Maybe some of the group even swapped partners. It happened.”

“You weren’t asleep the whole time?”

“Of course not.”

“And Chris Adams was with you all night?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, Tania.”

“Well, I… I mean, maybe not every minute of the night.”

“So you woke up and he wasn’t there?”