Chapter 2
The boardroom, with its polished oval table, whiteboards and fancy new glass board already christened Red Ron’s Folly, was ready for the morning meeting at nine o’clock, and the whole team was present, including Area Commander Catherine Gervaise, Annie Cabbot, PC Kirwan and Stefan Nowak. Black coffee in one hand and black marker in the other, Banks took to the front of the room and tried to bring some order out of fragments of information the team had dug up so far, starting with Gerry Masterson’s exploration of Miller’s life. The problem still remained that they couldn’t be certain Miller’s death wasn’t due to suicide. Dr Glendenning was set to perform the post-mortem later that afternoon, and Banks was hoping he would unearth something that might help them decide one way or the other. Even so, the death seemed suspicious enough that he believed it was vital to get at least the beginnings of an investigation going as quickly as possible.
Gerry Masterson looked very businesslike this morning, Banks thought, with her red wavy Pre-Raphaelite hair tied back, a crisp white blouse, and oval black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She shifted her papers in front of her and cleared her throat. ‘Well, sir,’ she began, then gave a shy glance towards Gervaise, ‘and... er... ma’am.’
‘Skip the formalities, Gerry,’ said Gervaise, ‘or else we’ll be here all day.’
Gerry’s pale skin blushed a pinkish-red. ‘Yes, ma’am... I’m sorry. I mean, right.’ She studied her notes, seemed undecided whether she needed them or not, then pushed them aside a couple of inches and rested her hands on the table, looking over her audience. ‘I assume you’ve read my notes on Gavin Miller?’
They all nodded.
‘Well, it’s slow going,’ she said, ‘and I apologise for not having very much to give you, as Mr Miller doesn’t seem to have had much in the way of social intercourse over the past while, or any sort of family life. Anyway, I’ve narrowed what I do know down to three areas that might benefit from fruitful enquiry.’
Banks raised his marker, ready to take down what she said.
‘First of all, and probably hardest of all to investigate, is the period he was overseas after finishing his degree at the University of Essex. We know that he spent the years from 1977 to 1979 at Simon Fraser University, near Vancouver, pursuing a graduate diploma in Film Studies and Literature, then... well, we don’t really know where he was or what he was doing for the following four years. I call them the “lost years”. We’re pretty sure he wasn’t back in the UK until late 1983, but other than that... I still have a number of inquiries outstanding on this, a few calls I’m waiting for, and I’ll follow up on them later today, when the time difference isn’t quite so awkward, but it doesn’t look too hopeful. It was a long time ago.’
‘You’re thinking something might have happened during that “lost” period that led to Miller’s death thirty years later?’
‘I’m just saying it’s possible, sir. It’s unknown territory. He could have made dodgy contacts that came back to haunt him.’
‘I think,’ said Gervaise, ‘that before we commit to putting any resources into investigating that period thoroughly, we should hear what else you have to say, or the next thing we know we’ll be sending a team out there. And you know what havoc that would play with the budget.’
‘Of course,’ Gerry went on, a little chastened. ‘Next is a little closer to the present. It’s his three years at Eastvale College from 2006 to 2009.’ She leafed through her notes. ‘I believe I made a note of how his department head Trevor Lomax seemed reluctant to talk about him.’
‘Any idea why?’ Banks asked.
‘No, sir.’
Banks looked at Annie. ‘Can you pay Mr Lomax a visit at the college?’
‘Be my pleasure. You never know, I might learn something.’
Everyone groaned.
Banks turned back to Gerry. ‘And the third area? You said there were three.’
‘Yes, sir. We need to know what Miller has been doing recently, since he’s been living at the signalman’s cottage outside Coverton. Someone must know something, but all I’ve managed to gather so far is that he was a loner with no friends in the village, and had few or no visitors, as far as anyone can tell. Not that they would have known, anyway, as his cottage was so isolated. I mean, I suppose he could have been having wild parties there every night, and nobody would have been any the wiser.’
‘Possibly not,’ said Banks. ‘Though the villagers might have noticed an unusual number of cars or motorcycles on their streets, or in their car park late at night.’
‘If they parked in the village,’ said Gerry. ‘All I’m getting at is that everyone’s pretty sure he lived a quiet life out there, but he could have had regular visitors — a girlfriend, say. Probably no one would have thought anything of just one car parked in the village occasionally, or perhaps his visitor knew the tracks and lanes to take to get to the cottage and drove straight there.’
‘True,’ Banks agreed. ‘But did he have a girlfriend? We’re calling him a loner, saying he didn’t mix. Would a girlfriend put up with the kind of life Miller led out there? Might she not want to go out occasionally? A club? The cinema? For a meal or a drink?’
‘Unless she was like him, sir.’
‘An odd couple, indeed. OK, I take your point. We’ll bear it in mind. Cherchez la femme.’
Gerry didn’t seem quite sure whether to smile or not. In the end, she didn’t. ‘Thank you, sir. We also know that that Miller was short of money. Maybe he got mixed up with some sort of fraud or a loan shark? They can be pretty nasty when it comes to getting their money back.’
‘They usually stop short of murder, though,’ said Banks. ‘After all, they do want their money back.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t meant to die? It could have got out of hand. Miller fought back and ended up going over the bridge. Or he was used as an example.’
‘Possible,’ Banks agreed. ‘We’ll look into it. About the five thousand pounds in his pocket. Do you think perhaps he might have resorted to blackmail?’
‘He could have done,’ said Gerry, ‘though I haven’t found any evidence of it so far. I’m also checking into the drugs connection, possible involvement in rural crime rings, something of that sort. Poverty can push people into crime, sir, and that’s a dangerous and unpredictable world.’
Banks made more jottings on the board. ‘We’ll be making a thorough examination of all Gavin Miller’s recent comings and goings,’ he said. ‘We should also make inquiries at all the farms within, say, a five-mile radius. Can you arrange that, PC Kirwan?’
‘I’ll organise some of the local beat bobbies to get on it right away, sir.’
‘There has to be someone who knew him, or who saw something,’ Banks said. ‘Liam’s working on Miller’s phone and computers right now, and he should have something for us later today. Thanks, Gerry, you did a fine job. Stefan, anything on forensics yet?’
‘It pains me to say it,’ Nowak said, ‘but the rain washed everything away, if anything was there in the first place. We have no prints, either foot, finger or tire. It doesn’t look as if the road that runs from the cottage out into the moors has been used recently. It would at least appear churned up in places, even if we couldn’t get any clear tire tracks, but the surface seems smooth enough, even in patches where it’s muddy from the recent flooding.’
‘Someone must have used it,’ Banks said. ‘How did Miller get his post?’
‘He had a box at the post office in the village, sir,’ answered Gerry.