“Anything at all,” Annie went on. “Did he mention if any threats had been made against him, for example, or if he thought someone was following him? Anything unusual, out of the ordinary?”
“No, nothing like that. Like I said, he didn’t like school and couldn’t wait to leave home. I’d say that’s pretty normal, wouldn’t you?”
Banks smiled. He’d been the same at that age. Later, too. And he had also left home at the first opportunity.
“When did you last see Luke?” Annie asked.
“About a week before he disappeared. Band practice.”
Annie looked around the small room and struggled to her feet. “Where do you practice?”
“Church basement, down the street. The vicar’s pretty broad-minded, a young bloke, and he lets us use their space if we don’t make too much noise.”
“And you haven’t seen Luke since?”
“No.”
“Has he ever been here?” Banks asked. “In this flat?”
“Sure. Plenty of times.” Liz stood up, as if she sensed they were leaving.
“Did he ever leave anything here?”
“Like what?”
“Any of his stuff. You know – notebooks, poems, stories, clothes, that sort of thing. We’re looking for anything that might help us understand what happened to him.”
“He never left any clothes here,” Liz said coldly, “but he sometimes left tapes of songs for us, if that’s what you mean. And some lyrics, maybe. But…”
“Could you collect them all together for us?”
“I suppose so. I mean, I don’t know what’s here or where everything is. Do you mean right now? Can’t you come back later?”
“Now would be best,” said Banks. “We’ll help you look, if you like.”
“No! I mean, no. It’s all right. I’ll find them.”
“Is there something here you don’t want us to see, Liz?”
“No, nothing. There’s only a few tapes and some poems, notes for songs. I don’t see how they can help you. Look… will I get these tapes and things back?”
“Why would you get them back?” Annie asked. “They were Luke’s property, weren’t they?”
“Technically, I suppose. But he brought them for us. The band. To share.”
“They’ll still most likely go to the family,” Banks told her.
“Luke’s family! But they don’t care. They can’t…”
“Can’t what, Liz?”
“I was going to say they can’t appreciate his talent. They’ll just throw them away. How could you let something like that happen?”
“Can’t be helped. It’s the law.”
Liz shifted from foot to foot, arms folded, as if she needed to go to the toilet. “Look, couldn’t you go away and come back, just for a while, give me just a bit of time to get everything together?”
“We can’t do that, Liz. I’m sorry.”
“So you’ll just take everything and give it to Luke’s parents, just like that? You won’t even give me time to make copies.”
“This is a murder investigation,” Annie reminded her.
“But still…” Liz sat down, close to tears again. “It doesn’t seem fair. It seems such a waste… I don’t know. His parents don’t care. We were so close.”
“So close to what?”
“To making something of ourselves.”
Banks felt sorry for her. He suspected that she wanted to hang on to Luke’s tapes and writings for selfish reasons, so that the band could one day ride on Luke’s and his father’s coattails to success. If they couldn’t do it with Luke’s voice and talent, at least they could try to do it with some of his material. That Luke had been murdered would also, no doubt, help boost the public interest. Banks didn’t think particularly ill of Liz for this. He’d probably have wanted the same if he were in her situation and felt passionate about a career in music. He didn’t think it lessened her genuine feelings for Luke. But there was something else that bothered him – the way she had reacted when he had offered to help look around. He glanced at Annie. It was one of those rare moments when each knew what the other was thinking.
“Mind if we have a little look around?” Annie asked.
“What? Why? I’ve told you. I’ll give you everything you want.” She got up and went over to the tapes, picking out three. “These for a start. The writings are in-”
“Why are you so jumpy, Liz?”
“I’m not jumpy.”
“Yes, you are. I think we should have a look around the place.”
“You can’t do that. You need a search warrant.”
Banks sighed. Again. “Are you certain you want that?” he asked. “Because we can get one.”
“Go do it then. Get one.”
Banks looked at Annie. “DI Cabbot, will you please go-”
Liz looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Not just her. Both of you go.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” said Banks. “One of us has to stay here to make sure you don’t interfere with anything. We’d hardly be doing our jobs if we disappeared and let drug dealers flush their stuff down the toilet, would we?”
“I’m not a drug dealer.”
“I’m sure you’re not. But there’s something you don’t want us to find. I’ll stay here while DI Cabbot gets the warrant, then she’ll come back with four or five constables and we’ll tear the place apart.”
Liz turned so pale Banks worried she might faint. He could tell she was sensitive, and he didn’t like bullying her, but he didn’t like what had happened to Luke, either. “What’s it to be, Liz? Will you give us consent to look around now, or do we do it the hard way?”
Liz looked up at him, big eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“You’d find it anyway. I told Ryan he was stupid to keep it.”
“Find what, Liz?”
“It’s in the cupboard by the door, under the sleeping bag.”
Banks and Annie opened the cupboard by the door and moved aside the sleeping bag. Underneath it was a battered leather shoulder bag, exactly the kind that Luke Armitage had been carrying when the bullies taunted him in the market square.
“I think you and Ryan have got quite a bit of explaining to do, don’t you?” said Banks.
Chapter 15
The Bridge Fair came every March. As a young boy, Banks would go with his parents. He remembered sitting on his father’s knee in the Dodgem car, clinging on for dear life, remembered the feel of the rough nap and the raw-wool smell of his dad’s jacket, the sparks flashing off the high poles. He remembered strolling around holding his mother’s hand, eating candy floss or toffee apples while she nibbled at brandy snap and his father ate a hot dog smothered in fried onions. He would hear his father curse as he tried to throw biased darts at playing cards and his mother laugh as she tried to toss Ping-Pong balls into goldfish bowls.
But when Banks was fourteen, he wouldn’t be seen dead at the fair with his parents; he went with his mates, and Saturday night was the big night.
Why was it, he thought, as he drove past the small roadside fair that had sparked his memory, that they always seemed to be playing old rock and roll music at fairgrounds, even in the sixties? Whenever he thought of nights at the fair with Paul, Graham, Steve and Dave, it was always Freddy Cannon’s “Palisades Park” that played in his mind, or Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues” as the Waltzers spun and the bright lights blazed in the dark, not The Beatles or The Rolling Stones.
His favorite ride was the Caterpillar, but you had to go on that one with a girl. As the train went faster and faster in undulating circles, the canvas cover, like a shop’s awning, would slowly unfurl until it covered up the whole ride – hence the name Caterpillar – and you were in the dark, riding fast with your girl. On his own, he liked the Waltzers and the Speedway best, but all rides were better shared with girls when you were fourteen.
For Banks and his friends, the fair began before it opened. He remembered passing the stretch of common ground with Graham one wet afternoon – it must have been 1965, because that was the only year Graham was around for the spring fair – and watching the brightly colored lorries roll in, watching the suspicious and unsmiling fair-workers unload sections of track and cars and begin the magical process of fitting the whole thing together. For the next two days, Banks would come back to check the progress, watch the men put the last section of the carousel into place, set up the booths, the stalls and the shies, and sure enough, everything was ready on opening night.