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

“It’s more a matter of what I can do for you, ” she said, sitting down and giving him what he was sure she thought of as an enigmatic look. It came across as vacant. She must be a handful for her father, he thought. It seemed so often the case that the daughters of authority figures – vicars, head teachers, chief constables – were the first to rebel, and he could only think himself lucky that Tracy, a mere chief inspector’s daughter, seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. She must have got it from her mother, Banks thought, then veered away from thoughts of Sandra, showing now, no doubt, glowing with the joys of coming motherhood. Well, good luck to her and Sean; they’d need it.

“And what can you do for me?” Banks asked, deciding to let her get to her reason for coming before asking questions of his own.

She turned her nose up at the radio. “What’s that?”

“Vaughan Williams.”

“It’s boring.”

“Sorry you don’t like it. What can you do for me?”

“Do you know who killed Luke?”

“I thought you could do something for me?”

“Spoilsport. Why won’t you tell me?”

Banks sighed. “Rose. Miss Barlow. If we’d found Luke’s killer you’d have read about it in the papers by now. Now, tell me what you came to say. I’m busy.”

Rose didn’t like that, and Banks realized that letting his impatience show was a mistake. She probably got that sort of response from her father all the time, the way Tracy and Brian had often heard the same thing from Banks. Rose craved attention because she didn’t feel she got enough. Banks wondered if his children felt the same way. Did Tracy try so hard and do so well academically because she wanted attention? Did Brian stand up on stage in front of an audience night after night and bare his soul because he craved it, too? And had Luke Armitage craved the same thing? Perhaps. In his children’s cases, though, the response to the need was a pretty healthy, creative one. Banks wasn’t sure to what lengths Rose Barlow might go to get the attention she felt she deserved.

“I’m sorry,” he went on, “but I’m sure you understand that we’re in a hurry to find out who killed Luke, and if you know anything that might help us…”

Rose leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Why? Do you think he’s going to kill someone else? Do you think it’s a serial killer?”

“We’ve no reason to think anything of the sort.”

“Then relax, why don’t you?”

Banks felt his back teeth grinding as he tried to smile.

“Anyway,” Rose went on, “I was going to tell you. Have you talked to Miss Anderson yet?”

“Lauren Anderson? Yes.”

A mischievous glint lit Rose’s eyes. “And did she tell you about her and Luke?”

“She told us she gave him extra instruction in English because he was ahead of the rest of the class.”

Rose laughed. “ Extra instruction . That’s a good one. And did she tell you where she gave this instruction?”

“At her house.”

Rose leaned back and folded her arms. “Exactly.”

“So?”

“Oh, come on. Surely you can’t be that naive? Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” said Banks, who was perfectly sure but wanted her to get there by herself.

“They were having it off, weren’t they?”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Stands to reason.”

“Why?”

“She’s nothing but a slut, that Miss Anderson, and a cradle-snatcher.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, she didn’t give anybody else private instruction in her home, did she?”

“I don’t know,” said Banks.

“Well, she didn’t .”

“Tell me, Rose,” Banks said, wishing he could have a cigarette, “what did you think of Luke? You knew him, didn’t you?”

“We were in the same class, yes.”

“Did you like him?”

Rose twirled some strands of hair. “He was all right, I suppose.”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“ Cool! More like sad, if you ask me.”

“Why?”

“He never talked to anybody – except high and mighty Miss Anderson, of course. It’s like he was better than the rest of us.”

“Maybe he was shy.”

“Just because he had a famous father. Well, I think his father’s music sucks, and he can’t have been much of a father if he went and killed himself, could he? He was nothing but a drug addict.”

Nice line in compassion, Rose, Banks thought, but he didn’t bother voicing his opinion. “So you didn’t like Luke?”

“I told you. He was all right. Just a bit weird.”

“But he was pretty good-looking, wasn’t he?”

Rose made a face. “Ugh! I wouldn’t have gone out with him if he was the last boy on earth.”

“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth, Rose, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well what I mean. You and Luke. Earlier this year.”

“Who told you that?”

“Never you mind. How far did it go?”

“Go? That’s a laugh. It didn’t go anywhere.”

“But you wanted it to, didn’t you?”

Rose twisted in her chair. “He thought he was better than the rest of us.”

“So why did you spend time talking to him?”

“I don’t know. Just… I mean, he was different. The other boys, they only want one thing.”

“And Luke didn’t?”

“I never got to find out, did I? We just talked.”

“What about?”

“Music and stuff.”

“You never actually went out together?”

“No. I mean, we went to McDonald’s a couple of times after school, but that’s all.”

“Rose, do you have any evidence at all to support your accusation that Luke and Lauren Anderson were having an affair?”

“If you mean was I watching at her window, then no. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Why else would she spend her spare time with someone like him?”

“But you spent time with him.”

“Yeah. Well… that was different.”

“Didn’t you try to be nice to him, to befriend him, when you talked to him in the hallways and the playground, and when you went to McDonald’s with him?”

Rose looked away and continued twirling her hair around her fingers. “Of course I did.”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing. He just sort of… like he got bored with me or something. Like I didn’t read all those stupid books he was always carrying around, and I didn’t listen to the same lousy music. I wasn’t good enough for him. He was a snob. Above the rest of us.”

“And because of this you assumed he was having sexual relations with a teacher. That’s a bit of a far stretch, isn’t it?”

“ You didn’t see them together.”

“Did you see them kissing, touching, holding hands?”

“Of course not. They were too careful to do anything like that in public, weren’t they?”

“What then?”

“The way they looked at each other. The way she always left him alone in class. The way they talked. The way he made her laugh.”

“You were just jealous, weren’t you, Rose? That’s why you’re saying all this. Because you couldn’t get along with Luke, but Miss Anderson could.”

“I was not jealous! Certainly not of that ugly old bitch.”

For a moment, Banks wondered if there was anything in what Rose Barlow was telling him other than sour grapes. It may have been innocent, a true teacher-pupil relationship, but Banks had enough experience to know that anything involving two people of the opposite sex – or the same sex, for that matter – in close proximity could turn into something sexual, no matter what the difference in their ages. He had also read about such things in the newspapers. He would keep an open mind and have another talk with Lauren Anderson when he got back from Peterborough, push her a little harder and see if any cracks showed.