‘He was one of the good ones.’
‘You liked him?’
‘As a teacher. Yes.’
‘Did you ever meet with him one-on-one?’
‘Sure. We had to discuss essays and stuff. He liked my work. He said my grammar and spelling weren’t too good, but I thought for myself and didn’t just regurgitate what I’d read in books or what he said in class. We talked about life and stuff sometimes.’
‘In his office?’
‘Mostly. A couple of times we went for a drink or a coffee. That’s all.’
‘Trevor Lomax said Gavin Miller wasn’t a particularly good teacher because he insulted the students.’
‘He could be sarcastic sometimes, but most of them deserved to be insulted. And he loved his subjects, literature and film studies, which were my passion, too, and if he found the slightest grain of interest in anyone, he’d cultivate it. The problem was that he rarely did. Find a grain of interest.’
‘Is that what he did with you? Cultivate your grain of interest?’
Lisa turned away. ‘I suppose so. Tried. I could have been a better student.’
‘Didn’t you find him odd?’
‘A total fucking weirdo, but so what? So was I. We were both outsiders. And he was cool without trying. It was natural. We could talk about anything. He didn’t judge me. He respected my intelligence, for what it was.’
Lisa was the first person who had ever said that about Gavin Miller, at least to Winsome, and most likely to anyone else involved in the investigation of his death, or so she believed. ‘Did you sell him drugs?’ Winsome asked, sensing a mood of candour and pushing the envelope a bit. ‘And you can put all this “hypothetical” business aside. It doesn’t fool anyone, except yourself, maybe. As I said, I’m not interested.’ She held her arms out. ‘No wires.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to look.’ Lisa paused a moment to enjoy some coffee and cookie, then she said, ‘Sell Mr Miller drugs? You must be fucking joking. If you must know, I scored for him. Yes. I know people. He didn’t. Sell? Most of the time I had to pay for them myself.’
‘You bought him drugs?’
‘Just cannabis, right.’ Lisa leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Mr Miller never had much money. I do OK — and not from dealing drugs, if that’s what you were thinking. So what if he enjoyed a little weed now and then? The man was a throwback to the sixties, politically and artistically. Spreading the wealth around.’
‘So you gave him drugs because you shared his Marxist philosophy?’
‘I’m no more a Marxist than I’m a drug dealer. Not in the way you see it. Sure, I put people in touch with one another sometimes or, as in Mr Miller’s case, yes, I got him what he wanted. But I didn’t profit from it. Like I said, it cost me more often than not. Drugs aren’t how I make my living.’
‘How do you do that?’
‘Well, I’m sort of unemployed at the moment, but I’ve published a few short stories and poems, and I’m working on a graphic novel and a movie script at the moment.’
‘What are they about?’
‘They’re dark fantasy. Sort of an alternate-world thing.’
‘Like Harry Potter?’
‘Darker, but just as successful, I hope. I also do a bit of busking. And I make jewellery. Sell it down the market.’
‘Do you have a studio?’
‘Hah! You must be joking. But I have a friend who does.’
‘Well, good luck with all that. Let’s get back to Gavin Miller and the drugs.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t much. Can’t you just leave it alone?’
‘Were you supplying him with drugs when you were his student?’
‘No way! I never even knew he was interested until a few months ago. Besides, I didn’t have access to any of that stuff at college.’
‘When did you last talk to him?’
‘About three weeks ago?’
‘Was there anything different about him?’
‘Different? No.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘We didn’t talk. I was in a hurry so we just... you know... did the deal.’
‘Did he pay that time?’
‘No. He said he’d catch up with me later. I was used to it by then.’
‘Where did you get the drugs you sold, or gave, him?’
‘You don’t think I’m going to tell you that, do you? I know people, that’s all. I grew up on the East Side Estate. You never really leave it.’
‘I take it you didn’t have anything to do with Gavin Miller’s murder?’
‘What do you expect me to say to that? No, I didn’t. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks.’
‘Where were you on Sunday night?’
‘At home in the flat. I had some mates around. We were watching telly.’
‘Downton Abbey?’
‘You must be fucking joking. We had a DVD. This is England ’88.’
‘Would they vouch for you?’
‘Course they would. Would you believe them?’
‘Do you own a car?’
‘What? Yeah. A Peugeot. It’s about ready for the knacker’s yard, but it gets me around.’
‘Have you ever been to Coverton?’
‘Why would I go there?’
‘It’s where he lived.’
‘He never told me where he lived. Why would he? We always met in town.’
‘Was Gavin Miller a dealer? Was he in the business, on the moneymaking side, or trying to get in?’
‘Mr Miller? No way. Mr Miller a dealer? He wouldn’t have had the bottle for it, for a start. And he wouldn’t have had to come to me, would he? Besides, there was no way he could have financed it himself.’
‘No matter how you dress it up,’ Winsome said, ‘what you do is illegal. You know that. And you might think that smoking cannabis is a harmless enough pastime that should be legalised, but LSD is a Class A drug. There’s a reason for that. It can do really bad things to a person’s mind. Gavin Miller had two hits of LSD in his possession at the time of his death. I suppose he got that from you, too? We can check. You can go to jail for that. How long do you think you could survive there?’
‘Well, thanks for your concern and all, but to tell you the truth, I don’t really think about it. I live one day at a time. And Mr Miller only ever wanted a couple of tabs of acid, once. He said he wanted to try it again. Relive the experience. I knew someone who had a source, that’s all. Reliable quality.’
They had found only two tabs of acid among Miller’s stash, it was true, so he clearly hadn’t even got around to taking the LSD before he died. Winsome had promised herself not to shift into reformist gear with Lisa, but it was difficult. Here was another bright, promising young girl perhaps on the verge of throwing her life away, as Winsome saw it. Once again, she admonished herself to focus on the task in hand and not to stray into the muddier avenues of rehabilitation. Maybe selling a bit of cannabis wasn’t such a terrible thing, after all. Plenty of the people had smoked it where Winsome came from, and they hadn’t all been drug-crazed criminals. ‘OK,’ she went on, ‘so you don’t think Gavin Miller was a dealer, and he wasn’t likely to become one?’
‘Right. He just liked to get off his face every now and then. What’s wrong with that?’
Winsome could think of a few things, but she didn’t want to sound even more prudish, so she sipped some coffee then wiped her mouth with her serviette. ‘We’re trying to find out who killed him, Lisa. You say you liked him. He was an oddball, OK, but there’s nothing illegal in that. Everyone says he was harmless, so who would want to harm him? Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lisa. ‘I really don’t. But I’ll bet you it’s got nothing to do with drugs. Maybe he owed someone money or something?’