Peter Robinson - Cold Is The Grave

“Yes. We were living together at the time. Three months ago.”

“Here?”

“No. I was still in London then. Had a little flat in Dulwich.”

Emily Riddle was a fast worker, Banks thought. Only away from home three months and she was living with someone. “How did they get onto the GlamourPuss Web site?”

Craig looked away, into the empty fireplace. “I’m not proud of it,” he said. “I used to do some work for them. I went to school with one of the blokes who run the site, and I met him in a pub when I was a bit down on my luck, just after college. I’d studied photography, got my diploma, but it was hard to get started in the business. Anyway, he offered me a bit of paying work every now and then. Models. It didn’t seem that much different from life studies in college.”

It probably didn’t, really, Banks thought. Sandra was a photographer, too, and Banks had seen plenty of life studies she had taken at the camera club, male and female. He pointed to the cropped photo of Louisa. “You got paid for this?”

“No. Good Lord, no. This wasn’t paid work. Like I said, it was a lark. A bit of fun. We were… well, we’d been smoking a bit of weed, if you must know. After I’d taken them, Louisa said I should put them on the Web with some of the other stuff I’d done – the professional stuff. She said it would be really cool. Rick said he liked them, so we put them up in the amateurs gallery. But that’s all. I mean Louisa doesn’t have any connection with the rest of the GlamourPuss business.”

Just what Aitcheson had said at the office. Maybe it was true. “I’m glad to hear that. Are you sure?”

“Certain. She never did. The photos were just a one-off. A joke. I was trying out a new digital camera and… well, one thing led to another.”

“Okay,” said Banks, waving his hand. “Let’s put that behind us. I’d really like to find Louisa, just to talk to her. I’m sure you understand. Can you tell me where she is?”

“I wasn’t lying. I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her in two months.”

“What happened?”

“She met another bloke.”

“And left you?”

“Like a shot.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know his name… I…” Craig turned away again.

“Craig? Is something wrong?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Talk to me, Craig.”

Craig stood up. “How about a drink?”

“If it’ll help loosen your tongue.”

“Lager okay?”

“Lager’s fine.”

Craig brought a couple of cans from the fridge and offered one to Banks. He took it and popped the tab, watching the foam well up and subside. He took a sip and leaned back in the chair. “I’m waiting.”

“You sure you’re not a copper?”

“I told you. I’m Louisa’s father. Why?”

“I don’t know. Just something… Never mind. Besides, you don’t really look old enough to be her father. Not like I imagined, anyway. I would’ve expected some bald wrinkly in a suit, to be honest. With a funny accent, waving his arms around a lot.”

“I’m flattered,” said Banks, “but how old did you think she was?”

“Louisa? Nineteen. When I met her, that is.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three or four months. Why?”

“Because she’d just turned sixteen, that’s why.”

Craig spluttered on his beer. “She never! I mean, for crying out loud. I wouldn’t’ve touched… You’ve seen the photos. You’re her father , for Christ’s sake!”

“Calm down,” said Banks. “Louisa always did look older than her age, even if she didn’t always act it.”

“She had that… I don’t know… she seemed young but mature, worldly and innocent at the same time. That was one of the attractive things about her. To me, anyway. She was a walking mass of contradictions. I swear, if you were me, and she told you she was nineteen, twenty-one, even, you’d believe her.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Look, I’m sorry. I really am. About everything. But she told me she was nineteen and I believed her. What can I say? Yes, I was attracted to her. But I’m no cradle snatcher. That wasn’t it at all. Most of my girlfriends have been older than me, as a matter of fact. She just had this aura, like she knew what it was all about, but when it got right down to it she was vulnerable, too, and you felt like you wanted to protect her. It’s hard to explain.”

Banks felt sad and angry, as if this really were his own daughter he was discussing. Stupid. “What happened? You say you don’t know where she is, that she found another boyfriend. Who?”

“I told you I don’t know his name. I’d tell you if I did. I don’t know who he is. All I know is the last time I saw her she was with him. They were coming out of a pub in Soho, not far from the GlamourPuss offices. I’d been there having a pint with that old schoolfriend, Rick, and trying to shake a bit more business out of him. I’d been taking a few candids out in the street. I was upset about her leaving me without a word, so I went up to her and tried to talk to her.”

“What happened?”

“A couple of goons attacked me.” He pointed to his nose. “That’s how I got this.” Then he pointed to his head. “And I had to have seen stitches where my head hit the pavement.”

“Two goons?”

“That’s what they looked like. Bodyguards. Minders. Nobody said a word. It all happened so quickly.”

“When did this happen?”

“About a month ago.”

“What was Louisa doing at the time?”

“She was hanging on this bloke’s arm, not doing anything really. She looked high. I mean really high, not just like a couple of drinks and a spliff high. I heard her giggling when I went down.”

“And the man she was with? What did he look like?”

“Stone-faced. All sharp angles, like it was carved from granite. Hard eyes, too. Didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Not a word. When I was on the ground, one of the goons kicked me, then they all just disappeared. Someone came out of the pub and helped me up, and that was that. I was lucky they didn’t break my camera. It was a Minolta. An expensive one.”

Banks thought for a moment. He didn’t like what he was hearing at all. “Can you tell me anything more about this man?”

Craig shrugged. “Don’t know, really. I didn’t get a really good look at him. Tall. Maybe about six two or three. Looked older.”

“Than who?”

“More your age than mine.”

Banks felt his stomach rumbling and realized he hadn’t eaten all day, except for a slice of toast with his morning coffee. He hadn’t finished with Newton yet, though; there were still things he needed to know. “Is there anywhere decent to eat around here?” he asked.

“Couple of good Indian places down the High Street, if that’s your sort of thing.”

“Fancy a meal? On me.”

Craig looked surprised. “Sure. Why not? Just let me hang up the negs to dry. Won’t be a minute.” He left the room. Banks stayed where he was, finishing his lager, and thought a bit more about darkrooms, Uncle Ted, and Sandra naked in the infrared light. Dinner. Tomorrow.

They walked down to the narrow High Street. The wind had dropped, but it was a chilly evening and there weren’t many people out. Banks was glad of his warm leather jacket. They passed a sign on the wall of one of the buildings that made some reference to Richard III. Historical too, then, Stony Stratford.

“It’s supposed to be where he picked up the princes in the tower,” said Craig. “Before they were in the tower, like. You know, the ones he killed.”

Craig picked a relatively inexpensive Indian restaurant. It was comfortably warm inside, and the exotic smells made Banks’s mouth water the minute they got in the door. When they had ordered beers and were nibbling on poppadams in anticipation of their main courses, Banks picked up the subject of Louisa again. “Did she ever mention this boyfriend to you before?”