There was one TV van in the car park, Banks noticed, and a few media types sniffing about, but not very many. Gavin Miller’s death wasn’t especially sensational, and the only reason it had drawn any interest at all was that it had happened in such an out-of-the-way spot. A press conference back in Eastvale later in the day should satisfy all their needs, at least for a while.
Before he had left Eastvale, Banks had given the list of Miller’s mobile calls to Gerry Masterson and asked her to match names and addresses to the numbers. He had brought Winsome along with him to Coverton and dropped her off down the road to talk to Mrs Stanshall, the woman who had said she had seen someone get into a car at 10.30 p.m. Sunday evening. They would meet up later in the mobile unit, parked in the car park over the road.
A smattering of lunchtime drinkers clustered around the bar, and one or two of the tables were taken by out-of-season tourists, but other than that, the Star & Garter was a quiet enough place. Banks ordered bangers and mash and an orange juice and asked the landlord if he would come over and join him when he had a free moment.
‘I suppose it’s about Gavin, isn’t it?’ said the balding, broad-shouldered man who joined him a few minutes later, bringing Banks’s lunch with him. ‘Mind if I talk to you while you eat?’
The use of the victim’s first name didn’t pass Banks by. ‘Not at all. Friend of yours, was he, Gavin Miller?’
The landlord, Bob Farrell, pulled out a chair, sat down and pushed forward until his belly touched the edge of the table. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call him a “friend”,’ he said. ‘But I knew him. It’s terrible, what happened. Someone said they thought he might have been murdered. Is that true, or did he jump?’
‘We don’t know for certain, yet, Mr Farrell. Did he ever give you any reason to think he might harm himself?’
‘No. I’m just saying, like. Who knows what goes on in his fellow man’s mind, when you get right down to it?’
‘Who, indeed. Was he a regular here?’
‘When he could afford to be. He was usually a bit strapped for cash.’
‘Did he ever pester anyone for a loan, for a drink?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. He always paid his way.’
‘Gambling?’
‘I don’t hold by it. You might have noticed, we don’t even have any one-armed bandits in here, no matter how much the brewery puts the pressure on. A man has to stand by his principles.’
‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘I was just wondering if Gavin Miller ever mentioned a flutter on the ponies, fiver on a cup match, that sort of thing.
‘I never heard him. I don’t think Gavin was a gambler. If he ever had any money, he spent it on his record and DVD collection. The rest went on booze and fags.’
‘Did he drink a lot?’
Farrell considered the question for a moment, then said, ‘He wasn’t what I’d call a real serious boozer. And I’ve seen a few of those in my time. Never caused any trouble, if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, he could put it away when he wanted to. And I think he drank a fair bit at home, too. A lot do, these days, you know. It’s cheaper. Killing the local pub trade.’
Banks was aware how many of the Dales pubs had closed down over the past few years, victims of recession, cheap canned lager and drink-driving laws. ‘How much would he drink on an evening here? On average?’
‘Five pints was his limit. I’ve rarely seen him have more than that. But he wasn’t in here more than once every two weeks or so. And he’d always walk out as straight as he walked in.’
‘Did he usually drink alone?’
‘Mostly. He did come with another bloke from time to time. Not very often, though. About the same age. Dressed a bit too young for his age, if you know what I mean. Earring. Hair over the collar. Probably thought he looked trendy.’
‘Did you catch his name?’
‘Jim, I think.’
Annie had told Banks that Trevor Lomax had mentioned someone called Jim Cooper, a friend of Miller’s from Eastvale College. Perhaps it was him? It would be easy enough to find out. ‘What about your regulars? Did he mix with them?’
‘Some of the other locals would join him every now and then. He wasn’t exactly unsociable, you understand, but he didn’t seek out company. You’d have to approach him, then he’d be happy enough to have a chat for a while. He wasn’t stand-offish, really, but he wasn’t very good at small talk, at blethering, you know what I mean? People didn’t usually like to spend very long talking to him. He wasn’t interested in football or rugby, and he didn’t seem to watch telly much, either, which I must say form the main topics of conversation in here of an evening. He was a bit of an egghead. He was more interested in those foreign films of his.’
‘So that’s what he talked about?’
‘Nobody here’s interested in that stuff. People like things you can watch without having to read the bottom of the screen.’
‘But people tolerated him?’
‘Oh, aye. He were harmless enough, were Gavin. I mean, they might have had a bit of a laugh at him, but he’d no side, Gavin hadn’t, and he took it all in good humour. And he knew his stuff. Arts, really. Films, music, books, that sort of thing. If ever there was a trivia question needed answering, Gavin was your man. He could be funny, too, sometimes. He did a passable imitation of that old Monty Python philosophers song. Mind you, he’d have to be well in his cups before that. And then there were times he’d tell stories about travelling around in the States, too, hitchhiking and going to Grateful Dead concerts, and they were quite interesting, I must admit.’
This must have happened during the ‘lost years’ Gerry Masterson had referred to. It would be worth passing it on to her. ‘Did he ever mention drugs?’
Farrell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you thinking that’s what got him killed?’
‘I’m not thinking anything yet, Mr Farrell,’ said Banks. ‘As I told you, we don’t know what happened. I’m just trying to keep an open mind and find out as much as I can.’
‘Aye, well there’s no drugs in here, I can tell you that. I wouldn’t have it. I’m not saying there aren’t some in town might indulge, you’d get that anywhere, wouldn’t you, but I’ll have none of it in here.’
‘So Gavin Miller never mentioned drugs?’
‘Not in front of me.’
Banks moved on. ‘Do you know of anyone who wished him any harm?’
‘Not here, in the village, certainly.’
‘What about women? Did he ever come here with a girlfriend, try to chat up any of the regulars, tourists, whatever?’
‘I never saw him try. Not that we get many in here worth picking up. He was quite pally with Josie, the barmaid over there.’
Banks followed his glance towards the bar and saw a woman with bottle-blonde hair, probably in her mid-forties, pulling a pint. ‘I understand that he was in here on Friday night. Did you see him then?’
‘No. I wasn’t working — had a Licensed Victuallers do — but Josie was on. She might remember something.’