‘Out of it?’
‘You know, not really following conversations, not responding to texts or emails, as if her mind was always somewhere else.’
‘Any idea where that might have been?’
Fairfax shook his head. ‘Sorry, no. I still find it really hard to believe it was drugs, but... well... it’s an obvious option, isn’t it? People change.’
Vampire Weekend, or whoever it was, gave way to The Killers.
‘Colin,’ said Winsome, ‘we’ve been investigating Adrienne’s mobile use, and it seems you called her quite often.’
‘Yeah. So what?’
‘Well, you’d split up. Why were you still pestering her?’
‘Who says I was pestering her?’
‘There’s quite a lot of calls. Were you stalking her, Colin?’
‘No way. She liked me to call. If you check it out you’ll see she called me sometimes, too. It wasn’t all one way. She still liked to talk about stuff we had in common, like movies and music and stuff. And environmental issues, anti-fracking demos and so on. We were both interested in politics, Jez and all that. Hope for the future, for the many, that was something we still shared.’
‘Jez?’ said Banks.
‘You know. Jeremy. Jeremy Corbyn.’
‘Oh, Jeremy Corbyn. Yes, I know who you mean. I just don’t understand the link.’
‘You wouldn’t understand. You’re too old. Adrienne and I were both members of the Marxist Society. We talked about politics a lot. How to change the world. Get rid of inequality and starvation and all the other evils.’
Maybe Banks was too old for Jeremy Corbyn. He had believed in all the man’s policies when he was sixteen, but that belief had faded by the time he reached thirty. Though he still considered himself to be part of the liberal left, perhaps he had become more cynical over the years, more conservative, even. As far as Corbyn himself was concerned, Banks detected a whiff of the demagogue, the steely glint of Stalinism in his eye, and he didn’t like that at all. Not that any of the alternatives seemed much more acceptable.
‘And how did this make you feel, this telephone relationship?’ he asked.
‘I enjoyed it. I mean, it wasn’t as good as being with her, but I suppose I felt there was always a chance, like, as long as we were still communicating, still on the same wavelength, that we might get back together as long as we stayed friends and had lots in common. That whatever it was that was bothering her would go away and she’d see the light. But they made me sad, too, the phone calls. Like, I always felt really lonely and a bit down after our conversations.’
‘But you were happy to remain just friends?’ Winsome asked.
‘Yeah. We talked. It’s just that I didn’t see her so often, and I felt like a bit of an afterthought. Why are you asking me all these questions? First the papers implied it was a drug overdose, then they said it was suicide. I have to say, I can’t imagine her doing that. She was such an alive, positive person most of the time. I just can’t see her killing herself. But you know more about the circumstances than I do, and you’ve no reason to lie about it. So why? Tell me. Why did she do it?’
‘We don’t know,’ Winsome said. ‘That’s why we’re talking to her friends, to try and make sense out of all this.’
‘Well, I’m sorry but I can’t help you. I would if I could, honest.’ Fairfax paused again for a moment. ‘Is there a chance that she didn’t take her own life, like it was an accident, or somebody did it to her?’
‘Do you know of anyone who might have done something like that to her?’
‘No. But there could be another explanation, couldn’t there? Other than suicide, I mean.’
‘There could be,’ Banks conceded. ‘When did you last talk to her?’
‘If you have her mobile you’ll know. It was last week. Wednesday or Thursday. She called me.’
‘Did she sound any different from usual?’
‘No.’
‘What did you talk about? It was a short conversation.’
‘We were supposed to go to a demo on the weekend. She rang to tell me she couldn’t make it.’
‘Did she say why?’
‘No.’
‘How did she sound.’
‘Same as usual.’
‘Does POLICE AWARE mean anything to you?’
‘It’s that yellow sign you stick in broken-down cars when you leave them on country roads, isn’t?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then I don’t understand the question. What else should it mean? Why should it mean anything other than what it says?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you. Does it mean anything else? Does it have any special significance for you? Or for Adrienne?’
‘Well, no, I guess. I can’t say as I’ve ever thought about it, and Adrienne certainly never mentioned it. Why?’
‘Have you ever had a prescription for sleeping pills?’
‘You must be joking.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Then, no. I’ve never had any trouble sleeping. And I don’t like taking pills, not even paracetamol. Before you even go there, I don’t do drugs.’
‘Nobody says you do, Colin.’
‘But it always comes up, doesn’t it? Student. Ergo, must be drugs somewhere.’
‘Are there?’
‘No.’
‘What about E?’
‘Never tried it.’
‘Adrienne took it at The Cellar Club with her friends.’
‘Maybe she did. But I wasn’t a part of that crowd. And I don’t like The Cellar Club.’
‘Does it surprise you that Adrienne took drugs?’ Winsome asked.
‘Maybe she did E occasionally with her mates. But she wasn’t a druggie.’
‘Let’s just go back to this Mia for a minute,’ Banks said. ‘Can you tell us what she looked like?’
‘Mia? She was about the same height as Adrienne, around five six, very attractive, with an olive complexion and brown eyes. It was weird, though. I mean, you could tell she had a great figure, but she dressed it down, if you know what I mean. Dressed to cover it up. I never saw her in a skirt or a dress or anything, just jeans and baggy sweatshirts and stuff. And her hair was messy, like she didn’t bother with it much.’
‘Long or short?’
‘Medium really.’ He touched his shoulders. ‘Reddish brown and sort of wavy.’
‘You say she had an olive complexion. Was she Asian, or black?
‘Neither. Not that dark. Just sort of Mediterranean, you know? Or South American. But she wasn’t foreign. I mean, she was English. I think she came from somewhere down south. Winchester, if I remember right. Somewhere with a cathedral, anyway.’
That really helped a lot, Banks thought. ‘How old was she?’
‘About my age, I’d guess. Twenty or so.’
‘So you did talk to her?’
‘Once or twice. She just wasn’t very friendly towards me. Not forthcoming. A bit monosyllabic.’
‘And you’ve no idea what became of her?’
‘None at all. It was like she just disappeared into thin air.’
Winsome put her notebook away and she and Banks stood up.
‘Thanks for your time, Colin,’ said Banks. ‘We’re sorry about Adrienne, but believe me, we’re doing our best to find out what happened to her. Here’s my card. If you think of anything that might be relevant, however minor it may seem, please let us know.’
Colin took the card. ‘Thanks, man,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I will.’
7
The church bells were ringing. Clanging was more like it — real Hunchback of Notre Dame clanging — as if they were just across the street. Which they were. Annie remembered that she was staying at Carrie and Don’s house in the close and it was Saturday morning. Must be a wedding. She opened one gummy eye and saw that she was in a child’s room — Tabitha’s, obviously — with Disney princesses and fairy-tale castles dotted all over the pink wallpaper. Under the window sat piles of stuffed animals and a glass-fronted bookcase ran the gamut from Beatrix to Harry Potter. When Annie grasped the duvet to pull it over her head, she saw that it was covered with appliqué robins and wrens. A stuffed owl stared at her from pride of place on the dresser.