Peter Robinson: Children of the Revolution

‘You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

‘Easy for you to say, with a son in a successful rock band.’

Banks couldn’t mask his surprise. How...?’

‘I read the papers, Mr Banks, and I watch telly. I might be old and dying, but I’m not square. There aren’t that many coppers with sons in the charts. Now, I’m more of a Shostakovich man myself.’ Jarvis reached for another cigarette.

‘About Shostakovich,’ said Banks. ‘I’m very fond of him, myself. I think the whole question of where he stood in relation to Stalin is fascinating. Any insights into that?’

The red sports car was parked in its usual place on the gravel drive outside Brierley House. Clearly, Lady Chalmers’ local garage hadn’t got around to taking it in for repairs yet. When Banks got out of the Porsche, he walked over to the MG to check out the damage. It wasn’t too bad, he thought. The front headlamp was smashed, the tyre ripped, the fender and passenger door gouged and dented by the crash through the fence. But all that could be easily fixed. What interested Banks were the scratches and dents on the driver’s side. They could hardly have been caused by the fence.

Neither Oriana nor Lady Chalmers was in immediate evidence, and it was a dishevelled Sir Jeremy who opened the door. Wearing a baggy grey sweater and faded jeans, he was unshaven and looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. The telltale tufts of hair sculpted into whorls and flattened areas by a pillow showed that he had at least tried to catch a nap.

‘Banks, it’s you,’ he said, clearly distraught. ‘Have you seen it? We were expecting it back yesterday, but it didn’t get here until this morning, just before you arrived. Come in. I want to talk to you.’

He led Banks into a study, or office, that was clearly his, with theatrical posters on the walls, the iconic Les Mis and Cats , along with some for his own productions: The Power and the Glory, Carmilla and On the Beach . There were a number of trophies and awards of various shapes, sizes and materials on the bookcases, slotted between rows of theatre books and bound scripts. The wainscoting was dark and the wallpaper above it not much lighter. This room didn’t have the panoramic view of the town, but of the house next door across the separating lawn. Banks guessed that Sir Jeremy probably didn’t spend a lot of time here, as he had offices in London and spent a great deal of time travelling.

‘Sit down. Sit down.’ It sounded more like a command than a request. Banks sat. Sir Jeremy flopped into his leather swivel chair. ‘You saw it?’

‘I take it you mean the damage to Lady Chalmers’ car?’ he said.

‘Well, of course. What do you think? What do you make of it?’

‘She was lucky it was a barbed-wire fence she drove through,’ said Banks. ‘A drystone wall would have been a lot more serious, even if she hadn’t gone into the river.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Sir Jeremy, ‘but I mean the other side. The driver’s side.’

‘What did Lady Chalmers say?’

‘She was still very groggy from the sedative when I spoke to her, but she said she doesn’t know how it happened. Perhaps someone ran into the car while it was parked somewhere.’

‘Have you seen the marks before?’

‘No, but I’ve been away, and I must admit I’ve been so busy it’s been a long time since I actually paid any attention to Ronnie’s car.’

‘Wouldn’t she have had the damage fixed rather than leave it for so long?’

‘Hmm,’ said Sir Jeremy. ‘I’m not so sure. Ronnie can be remarkably blasé about material things. She’s been known to procrastinate. If it were left to Ronnie, it would probably sit in the drive for a week or two first. Usually I organise things like that, or Oriana might if I’m away.’

‘The damage seems fresh to me.’

‘Me, too. That’s just it. Now she’s drawn in on herself. Put the shutters up. She says she just wants to be left alone for a while, that she’s fine and needs a bit of peace and a little space to regroup. Fair enough. But I’m worried, Banks.’

‘What do you think happened?’

‘I think it’s more than likely that someone deliberately ran her into that fence, no doubt with the thought that she would land in the river and drown.’

‘You think it was attempted murder?’

‘Well, what does it look like to you, man?’

‘Who could have done that?’

‘No idea. Someone must have followed her, seized the opportunity.’

‘Why?’

‘How should I know? That’s your job. But if you ask me, it was probably something to do with whoever killed this Gavin Miller.’

‘What did the Derbyshire police say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Have they started an investigation?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. According to Oriana, the officers who brought Ronnie home just wanted to make sure she was all right. They were very polite. They didn’t ask any questions. I think she had already told them what happened.’

‘And she hadn’t mentioned any other car being involved?’

‘Apparently not. Is that what it is, though? What I thought when I saw the damage? What I just told you?’

‘There could be other explanations,’ said Banks. ‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’

‘What other explanation?’

‘You said yourself that it might be older damage she hadn’t got around to getting repaired.’ But even as he spoke, Banks doubted this explanation. He had visited Brierley House a few times, and had on at least one occasion admired the old red MG parked there. He didn’t remember seeing any damage at all; the car had always seemed superbly well cared for, in the way you often find with antique motors. ‘Or it could have been an accident,’ he went on.

‘But Ronnie didn’t mention another car. That’s just it. She said she went off the road, and the damage on the driver’s side is old. Is she lying to me?’

Banks wasn’t going to tell him that he suspected Lady Chalmers had been doing a lot of lying lately. ‘The weather conditions were dreadful,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Lady Chalmers didn’t even notice that another car glanced into her side?’

‘Oh, come on. You’re grasping at straws.’

‘So you’re convinced that someone gave her a nudge towards that river?’

‘What else could it be? The scratches, the way she seemed so frightened, so shocked.’

‘That could all have been due to the accident,’ Banks said. ‘But I take your point seriously. Any idea who might have done such a thing?’

‘None at all.’

‘Do you mind if we take the car in for a forensic examination? That should tell us a great deal about how the damage occurred, and it might even give us a way of identifying the other car involved if there was one.’

‘Be my guest.’

‘And there’s one more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Do I have your permission to talk to Lady Chalmers again? Alone.’

It was a fine late afternoon, the rain staying at bay for the second day in a row, with even a little weak sunshine breaking through the cloud cover, and temperatures in the mid-teens. Warm enough, at any rate, to go without an overcoat. It had taken Gerry a good part of the day to fill in the gaps Banks needed filling in before paying his next visit to Lady Chalmers, but thanks to her determination and resourcefulness, he thought he had what he needed now.

Lady Chalmers was sitting in the garden, a dark blue knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her flaxen hair resting on it straight and damp, as if fresh from the shower. From that angle, Banks could even see a little grey in it. When he came up beside her to take the other wicker chair, she turned and looked up at him. He saw some of the beauty that Joe Jarvis must have seen in her forty years ago: the eyes, the porcelain complexion. Then she smiled sadly at him, and he saw the beauty of that, too. He also saw the bruise on her left temple and the cut and swollen lower lip, but those were the only visible results of her accident.