‘Hardly necessary, I’d have thought,’ muttered Banks. The presence of the solicitor and the doctor raised his hackles; it would change the whole tenor of the interview. So this was what it was going to be like from now on, he thought. War. Whether she knew it or not, Lady Chalmers had raised the stakes.
‘I’m simply here as an observer, Mr Banks,’ said Nathan, with a smarmy grin. ‘Please don’t pay me the slightest bit of attention.’ Anthony Litton just cast his cold eye over them all from his spot by the hearth.
‘Easily enough done,’ said Banks. When they were all seated, and Annie had her notebook out, he glanced through the rain-streaked windows at the town below, noting the shafts of sunlight on the river and the castle keep, the faint beginnings of a rainbow over the hill. ‘Lady Chalmers,’ he began, ‘is it true that you attended the University of Essex between the years 1971 and 1974?’
‘Why, yes,’ said Lady Chalmers, apparently surprised by the question. ‘Didn’t I tell you before that was where I went? I studied History and Politics. Why?’
‘Just out of interest, why did you choose Essex?’
‘Why does one choose any one thing over another? It was a new university. Progressive. I was young. Progressive. I really didn’t want to go to one of those old fuddy-duddy establishments where people like me were expected to go.’
‘Like Oxford or Cambridge?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Though you went to Cambridge later to do postgraduate work.’
‘Maybe I’d grown up a bit by then. I was a rebellious young woman, Mr Banks, as many people were at that time. Though why it should be of any interest to you is beyond me.’ She cocked her head. ‘Tell me, weren’t you also just the teeniest bit rebellious when you were young?’
‘I still am. Did you know Gavin Miller?’
Her expression hardened, and the air around her seemed to chill. Banks noticed she was twisting her hands on her lap. ‘I told you yesterday. No.’
‘But he was also at the University of Essex between the years 1971 and 1974, studying English literature.’
‘Then there’s no reason we would have met. It’s a big university.’
‘Not that big. Not then. Around two thousand students, I believe. And both departments were on the Wivenhoe Park campus, just outside Colchester. You were both students. You’d have shared certain facilities, the student pub, residences, the refectory, perhaps gone to the same concerts? Lou Reed? Slade? King Crimson?’
‘You’ve got me there,’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘And you’ve done your homework. I went to two of those. I can’t say I was ever a Slade fan.’
‘And yet you maintain that you never met this man?’ Banks showed her the photo again.
‘She’s already answered that,’ said Anthony Litton. It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice had an impatient edge. He sounded like a man who was used to being listened to. Obeyed, even, without having to explain himself.
Lady Chalmers glanced at her brother-in-law, then turned back to Banks and went on. ‘No. At least, I certainly don’t recognise him from that photograph. I suppose he must have looked much younger back then.’
Banks made a mental note to try to get Liam to put a rush on copies of the older photos of Miller they had got from the search of his house. The only photo they had at the moment, from the camera in his computer, made him appear more like a tramp than anything else. ‘But he hadn’t changed his name,’ he said.
‘Then, no. I don’t remember him. But I’m not very good with names.’
That sounded a bit disingenuous to Banks. Someone in her position, with a heavy social calendar, had to be good with names. He looked out of the window again. Two magpies landed high in a tree below the garden, frightening away a flock of sparrows. Mr Nathan was starting to fidget, straightening the creases in his trousers and brushing imaginary hairs from his lapels, as if he were eager for an opportunity to break into the conversation. Banks turned back to Lady Chalmers. ‘Yesterday you told me you received a telephone call from Gavin Miller at two p.m. a week ago last Monday.’
‘That’s right. Around that time. And I think that’s what he said his name was.’
‘It was him. The call that lasted for almost seven minutes, as I told you yesterday. You said it was something to do with alumni donations, but that hardly takes seven minutes, especially if you weren’t interested. Can you tell me what else the two of you talked about during that time?’
‘My client doesn’t have to tell you anything,’ interjected Nathan. ‘Her word should be enough.’
Anthony Litton beamed down on the lawyer.
‘Of course,’ said Banks. ‘But I’m sure you understand, Mr Nathan, that we need all the information we can get on Gavin Miller and his state of mind in the period leading up to his death. If Lady Chalmers could help us in any way—’
‘But I can’t,’ protested Lady Chalmers. ‘It was exactly as I told you. Some chat about how the university was doing in tough economic times and so on. New building projects, residences. I wasn’t really paying attention.’
‘You’ve heard what Lady Chalmers has to say,’ said Litton. ‘Is there really any point in continuing with this?’
Banks ignored Litton and kept his eyes on Lady Chalmers. ‘As far as we can ascertain,’ he said, ‘Gavin Miller had no connection whatsoever with the Alumni and Development Team at the University of Essex. He had nothing to do with the place since he graduated in 1974.’
‘Then he was lying,’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘But that’s what he told me. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say.’
‘The man was clearly trying to con my sister-in-law out of some money,’ said Litton. ‘He was nothing but a common criminal. These things happen all the time, in case you didn’t know. Telephone fraud. Perhaps if you devoted a bit more of your time to protecting honest, law-abiding citizens instead of interrogating them...?’
‘How long have you lived in Eastvale?’ Banks asked Lady Chalmers. He could see Litton in his peripheral vision, clearly irritated by the lack of response to his sarcasm.
‘Since Angelina was born, in 1988.’
‘Did you know that Gavin Miller worked as a lecturer at Eastvale College from 2006 until he was dismissed four years ago?’
‘How would I know that?’
‘He was dismissed for sexual misconduct. You might remember the case? It was pretty well hushed up, though you can’t keep a scandal like that completely under wraps.’
‘I don’t remember it. But then I usually don’t pay much attention to such scandals.’
‘Do you know Kayleigh Vernon or Beth Gallagher?’
‘No. Who are they?’
A sudden idea came to Banks. Winsome had mentioned that Lisa Gray was working on a dark fantasy script. Lady Chalmers wrote historical fiction under a pseudonym, but everyone knew it was her, and Sir Jeremy was in theatre production. Perhaps Lisa had approached them, asked for their advice on how to get published or produced. ‘What about Lisa Gray?’
Lady Chalmers didn’t waver. ‘No.’
‘Mr Banks. Please stop badgering my client.’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I was badgering her. Pardon me if it seemed that way, Lady Chalmers. I’m just confused, that’s all.’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Lady Chalmers, smiling, clearly emboldened by Nathan’s interruption. ‘I’m confused as to why you’re here questioning me for the second day in a row when I’ve already told you everything I know.’
‘You haven’t told me anything. Consider it from my perspective. You were at the same university as the victim during exactly the same time period, yet you say you never met him. You lived in the same town as him for three years, yet you say you never met him. You were both in North America between 1979 and 1983. He made a seven-minute telephone call to your number a week before he was murdered, which you admit you took, yet you say you never knew him. Don’t you know how suspicious that all seems?’