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

“Can we get down to business?”

“Yes, of course,” said Robin, sitting on the sofa in jeans and a pale green blouse, long legs crossed, hands folded on her lap. Without makeup and with her famous gold-blond hair tied back in a ponytail, she still looked gorgeous, Banks thought, and the crow’s-feet only enhanced her beauty. She had the classic model’s face – high cheekbones, small nose, pointed chin, perfect proportion, but she also had character and individuality in her features.

Banks had once worked on a case for the Met involving a modeling agency and he had been surprised that so many of these women who looked beautiful in magazines and on television lacked something in real life, their features perfect but bland, unformed and unfinished, like a blank canvas or an actor without a role. But Robin Armitage had presence.

“I’m sure you know,” said Banks, “that Luke’s death changes everything. It changes the way we proceed in the investigation, and we’re going to have to go over much of the same ground again. This may seem tedious and pointless to you, but believe me, it’s necessary. I’m new to the case, but I took the time this morning to familiarize myself with the investigation so far, and I have to say that I’ve found nothing out of order, nothing I wouldn’t have done had I been in charge myself.”

“Like I said,” Martin chipped in, “you lot stick together. I’ll be complaining to the chief constable. He’s a personal friend of mine.”

“That’s your privilege, but he’ll only tell you the same as I’m telling you. If everyone gave in to a kidnapper’s demands without informing the police, it would be the most popular crime in the country.”

“But look what happened when we did inform the police. Our son is dead.”

“Something went wrong. This was an unusual case from the start; there are a number of inconsistencies.”

“What are you suggesting? That it wasn’t a straightforward kidnapping?”

“There was nothing straightforward about it at all, Mr. Armitage.”

“I don’t understand,” said Robin. “The phone call… the ransom demand… they were genuine, surely?”

“Yes,” said Annie, taking a cue from Banks. “But the ransom demand came an unusually long time after Luke disappeared, the kidnapper didn’t let you speak to your son, and the sum he asked for was ridiculously low.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Martin. “We’re not made of money.”

“I know that,” Annie said. “But how would the kidnapper know? To all intents and purposes, footballers and models make millions, and you’re living in a mansion.”

Martin frowned. “I suppose you’ve got a point. Unless…”

“Yes?” Banks picked up the questioning again.

“Unless it was someone close to us.”

“Can you think of anyone?”

“Of course not. I can’t imagine any of our friends doing something like this. Are you insane?”

“Mrs. Armitage?”

Robin shook her head. “No.”

“We’ll still need a list of people to talk to.”

“I’m not having you going around bullying our friends,” said Martin.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be discreet. And, don’t forget, you’re the one who suggested it might be someone close to you. Anyone have a grudge against either of you?”

“A few goalies, I suppose,” said Martin, “but nothing serious, no.”

“Mrs. Armitage?”

“I don’t think so. Modeling can be a brutally competitive career, and I’m sure I stood on my share of toes on the catwalk, but nothing so… terrible… I mean, nothing to make anyone do something like this, especially so long after.”

“If you’d both like to think about it for a while, it would be a great help.”

“You said it was odd that he wouldn’t let us talk to Luke,” Robin said.

“It’s unusual, yes,” Annie answered.

“Do you think it was because… because Luke was already dead?”

“That’s possible,” said Annie. “But we won’t know until the pathologist has finished his job.”

“When will that be?”

“Perhaps by this evening or early tomorrow.” Dr. Burns, the police surgeon, had been unable to give an accurate estimate of time of death at the scene, so they would have to wait until Dr. Glendenning had finished his postmortem examination of Luke’s body. Even then, they had learned not to expect miracles from medical science.

“Can you remember anything else about the caller?” Banks asked Martin Armitage.

“I’ve told you everything I know. I can’t remember any more.”

“The voice definitely wasn’t familiar?”

“No one I recognized.”

“And there was only the one call?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us that might be of help?”

Both Martin and Robin Armitage shook their heads. Banks and Annie got up. “We’ll need to have a look at Luke’s room next,” said Banks, “and then we’d like to talk to your housekeeper and her husband.”

“Josie and Calvin?” said Martin. “But why?”

“They might be able to help.”

“I can’t see how.”

“Were they close to Luke?”

“Not especially. If truth be told, I always got the impression that they thought him a bit of a weirdo. They’re wonderful people, salt of the earth, but sort of traditional in their views of people and behavior.”

“And Luke didn’t fit the mold?”

“No. He might as well have come from outer space as far as they’re concerned.”

“Was there any animosity?”

“Of course not. They are our employees, after all. What are you suggesting, that they had something to do with this?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, merely asking. Look, Mr. Armitage, I can understand your feelings, honestly I can, but you must let us do our jobs the way we see fit. It’s not going to help at all if you start challenging every move we make. I promise you we’ll be as discreet as we can with all our inquiries. No matter what you think, we don’t go around bullying people. But we also don’t accept everything at face value. People lie for a variety of reasons, many of them irrelevant to the investigation, but sometimes it’s because they did it, and it’s for us to sort out the lies from the truth. You’ve already lied to us once yourself that we know of, when you rang DI Cabbot and told her you’d heard from Luke.”

“I did that to protect Luke.”

“I understand why you did it, but it was still a lie. Maybe you can see how complicated our job becomes when you take all the lies into account. The lies of the innocent, especially. As I said, we don’t take things, or people, at face value, and like it or not, every murder investigation begins close to home, then moves outward. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll take a look at Luke’s room.”

Michelle had been joking when she told Banks she was getting paranoid, but she was beginning to think that every time she visited the archives, Mrs. Metcalfe rang Detective Superintendent Shaw. Here he was again, preceded by the dark chill of his shadow, on the threshold of the tiny room.

“Any progress?” he asked, leaning against the door.

“I’m not sure,” said Michelle. “I’ve been going over the old crime reports for 1965 looking for some sort of connection with Graham’s disappearance.”

“And have you found any?”

“Not directly, no.”

“I told you you were wasting your time.”

“Maybe not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

Michelle paused. She had to be careful what she said because she didn’t want Shaw to know that Banks had tipped her off to the Kray connection. That would send him into a tantrum she could well do without. “I was reading over the reports and statements on a protection racket investigation in July 1965, and Graham’s dad’s name came up.”