Peter Robinson - Close To Home (aka The Summer That Never Was)

There was nothing more to be gained from staying up there, and the black walls were beginning to oppress her, so she told Robin she had finished. They went back downstairs, where Martin Armitage was still sitting on the sofa.

“I understand you sent Luke to Eastvale Comprehensive instead of a public school, like Braughtmore,” Annie said.

“We don’t believe in public schools,” said Martin, his West Yorkshire accent getting thicker as he spoke. “They’re just breeding grounds for effete civil servants. There’s nothing wrong with a comprehensive-school education.” Then he paused and smiled. Annie got the impression it was a gesture that had worked for him often with the media, the sudden flow of charm turned on like an electric current. “Well, maybe there’s a lot wrong with it – at least that’s what I keep hearing – but it was good enough for me, and it’s good enough for most kids. Luke’s intelligent and hardworking. He’ll do fine.”

Judging from her body language – the folded arms and lips pressed together – Annie surmised that Robin didn’t agree, that Luke’s education had been a matter of some heated discussion.

“Is he happy at school?” she asked.

“He’s never complained,” said Martin. “No more than any kid would. You know, he doesn’t like his geography teacher, doesn’t like games, and algebra’s too hard. That sort of thing.”

“He’s not a sports fan?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Martin. “I’ve tried to get him interested, but…” He shrugged.

“What about the other boys at school? Even if he is, as you say, a bit of a loner, he must have some contact with his classmates?”

“I suppose so, but I’ve never seen any evidence of it.”

“He’s never brought friends to the house?”

“Never.”

“Or asked permission to visit their houses?”

“No.”

“Does he go out a lot?”

“No more than any other boy his age,” said Martin. “Maybe even less.”

“We want Luke to have a normal life,” said Robin. “It’s hard knowing what to allow and what not to. It’s hard to know how much discipline to apply. If you don’t give enough, then the child runs wild, and the parents get the blame. If you keep too strict control, he doesn’t develop naturally, and he blames you for screwing him up. We do our best to be good parents and strike a fair balance.”

Annie, an outsider herself at school because she was brought up in an artists’ commune, the “hippie chick” to the other kids, understood just how alienated Luke might feel, not through any fault of his parents. For a start, they lived in an out-of-the-way place like Swainsdale Hall, a grand place at that; secondly, they were minor celebrities; and thirdly, he sounded like an introverted personality anyway.

“I’m sure you do,” she said. “What did he do yesterday?” she asked.

“He went into the town center.”

“How did he get there?”

“Bus. There’s a good service, at least until after teatime.”

“Did he have any particular reason to go to Eastvale yesterday?”

“Nothing in particular,” Robin answered. “He just loves hunting for secondhand books, and he wanted to look at some new computer stuff.”

“That’s all?”

“As far as I know. It was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Has he ever stopped out all night before?”

“No,” said Robin, putting her hand to her throat. “Never. That’s why we’re so worried. He wouldn’t put us through this unless something… something awful’s happened.”

She started to cry, and her husband held her, smoothing her silky spun-gold hair. “There, there, darling. Don’t worry. They’ll find him.” All the time his intense eyes were looking right at Annie, as if daring her to disagree. Not that she wanted to. A man used to having his own way. A man of action, too, Annie had no doubt, used to running ahead with the ball and slamming it into the back of the net.

“What about the rest of the family – uncles, aunts, grandparents?” she asked. “Was he close to anybody in particular?”

“Robin’s family’s down in Devon,” said Martin. “My parents are dead, but I’ve got a married sister living in Dorset and a brother in Cardiff. Of course, we rang everyone we could think of, but nobody’s seen him.”

“Did he have any money with him?”

“Not much. A few pounds. Look, Inspector,” he said, “I do appreciate your questions, but you’re on the wrong track. Luke has his mobile. If he wanted to go somewhere or do something that meant he wouldn’t be coming home, or that he’d be late, then why wouldn’t he give us a buzz?”

“Unless it was something he didn’t want you to know about.”

“But he’s only fifteen, ” said Martin. “What on earth could he be up to that’s so secret he wouldn’t want his parents to know about it?”

Do you know where your children are? Do you know what your children are doing? It was Annie’s experience, both through her own memories and as a policewoman, that there was no one more secretive than an adolescent, especially a sensitive, lonely adolescent, but Luke’s parents just didn’t seem to get this. Hadn’t they been through it themselves? Or had so much else happened since their own childhoods that they had forgotten what it was like?

There were any number of reasons why Luke might have thought it necessary to go off for a while without telling his parents – children are often selfish and inconsiderate – but they couldn’t seem to think of one. Still, it wasn’t the first time Annie had come across such an astonishing gap between parental perception and reality. More often than she would have expected, she had found herself facing the parents of missing children who said they had simply no idea where young Sally could have gone or why she would want to go off anywhere and cause them such pain.

“Have there ever been any threats against you?” she asked.

“No,” said Martin. “Why do you ask?”

“Celebrities often attract the wrong sort of attention.”

Martin snorted. “We’re hardly Beckham and Posh Spice. We’re not much in the public eye these days. Not for the past five years or so, since we moved here. We both keep a very low profile.”

“Did it cross your mind that someone might have thought Luke was worth kidnapping?” she asked.

“Despite what you think,” Martin said, “we’re actually not all that wealthy.” He gestured around. “The house, for a start… it just eats up money. We’d be very poor marks for a kidnapper, believe me.”

“The kidnapper might not know that.”

Robin and Martin looked at each other. Finally, Robin spoke. “No, I don’t think so. As I said, we always wanted Luke to have a normal life, not like mine. We didn’t want him surrounded by bodyguards and security. Maybe it was foolish of us, unrealistic, but it’s worked until now. Nothing bad ever happened to him.”

“And I’m sure nothing has now,” said Annie. “Look, I realize it’s probably second nature to you, but if anyone from the press comes around asking questions-”

“Don’t worry,” said Martin Armitage. “They’ll have me to deal with.”

“Very good, sir. And just to be on the safe side, do you think we could arrange to have any phone calls intercepted?”

“But why?” asked Robin.

“In case of ransom demands.”

She put her hand to her cheek. “But surely you don’t think…?”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“It’s an unlisted number,” Martin said.

“Even so.”

He held Annie’s gaze for a few beats before nodding. “Very well. If you must.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll arrange for the technician to drop by later this morning. Do you have a business office?”