Banks looked at his cigarette smoldering in the ashtray and thought of Steve. Lung cancer. Shit. He reached forward and stubbed it out even though it was only half smoked. Maybe it would be his last. That thought made him feel a bit better, yet even that feeling was fast followed by a wave of sheer panic at how unbearable his life would be without cigarettes. The coffee in the morning, a pint of beer in the Queen’s Arms, that late evening Laphroaig out by the beck. Impossible. Well, he told himself, let’s just take it a day at a time.
Banks’s mobile rang, startling him out of his gloomy reverie. “Sorry,” he said. “I’d better take it. Might be important.”
He walked out into the street and sheltered from the rain under a shop awning. It was getting dark and there wasn’t much traffic about. The road surface glistened in the lights of the occasional car, and puddles reflected the blue neon sign of a video rental shop across the street. “Alan, it’s Annie,” said the voice at the other end.
“Annie? What’s happening?”
Annie told Banks about the Liz Palmer interview, and he could sense anger and sadness in her account.
“You think she’s telling the truth?”
“Pretty certain,” said Annie. “The Big Man interviewed Ryan Milne at the same time and the details check out. They haven’t been allowed to get together and concoct a story since they’ve been in custody.”
“Okay,” said Banks. “So where does that leave us?”
“With a distraught and disoriented Luke Armitage wandering off into the night alone,” Annie said. “The thoughtless bastards.”
“So where did he go?”
“We don’t know. It’s back to the drawing board. There’s just one thing…”
“Yes.”
“The undigested diazepam that Dr. Glendenning found in Luke’s system.”
“What about it?”
“Well, he didn’t get it at Liz and Ryan’s flat. Neither of them has a prescription and we didn’t find any in our search.”
“They could have got it illegally, along with the cannabis and LSD, then got rid of it.”
“They could have,” said Annie. “But why lie about it?”
“That I can’t answer. What’s your theory?”
“Well, if Luke was freaking out the way it seems he was, then someone might have thought it was a good idea to give him some Valium to calm him down.”
“Or to keep him quiet.”
“Possibly.”
“What next?”
“We need to find out where he went. I’m going to talk to Luke’s parents again tomorrow. They might be able to help now that we know a bit more about his movements. I’ll be talking to Lauren Anderson, too, and perhaps Gavin Barlow.”
“Why?”
“Maybe there was still something going on between Luke and Rose, and maybe her father didn’t approve.”
“Enough to kill him?”
“Enough to make it physical. We still can’t say for certain that anyone murdered Luke. Anyway, I’d like to know where they both were the night Luke disappeared. Maybe it was Rose he went to see.”
“Fair enough,” said Banks. “And don’t forget that Martin Armitage was out and about that night, too.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
“What’s happened with him, by the way?”
“He appeared before the magistrates this afternoon. He’s out on bail till the preliminary hearing.”
“What about Norman Wells?”
“He’ll mend. When will you be back?”
“Tomorrow or the day after.”
“Getting anywhere?”
“I think so.”
“And what are you up to tonight?”
“School reunion,” said Banks, walking back into the pub. An approaching car seemed to be going way too fast, and Banks felt a momentary rush of panic. He ducked into a shop doorway. The car sped by him, too close to the curb, and splashed water from the gutter over his trouser bottoms. He cursed.
“What is it?” Annie asked.
Banks told her, and she laughed. “Have a good time at your school reunion,” she said.
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.” He ended the call and returned to his seat. Dave and Paul had been making uneasy small talk in his absence, and Dave seemed glad to see him come back.
“So you’re a copper,” said Paul, shaking his head when Banks sat down again. “I still can’t get over it. If I’d had to guess, I’d have said you’d end up a teacher or a newspaper reporter or something like that. But a copper…”
Banks smiled. “Funny how things turn out.”
“Very queer, indeed,” muttered Dave. His voice sounded as if the beer was having an early effect.
Paul gave him a sharp glance, then tapped Banks’s arm. “Hey,” he said, “you’d have had to arrest me back then, wouldn’t you? For being queer.”
Banks sensed the tension escalating and moved on to the subject he’d been wanting to talk about from the start: Graham. “Do either of you remember anything odd happening around the time Graham disappeared?” he asked.
“You’re not working on the case, are you?” asked Dave, eager to be given a change of subject.
“No,” said Banks. “But I’m interested in what happened. I mean, I am a copper, and Graham was a mate. Naturally, I’m curious.”
“Did you ever tell them about that bloke by the river?” Paul asked.
“It didn’t lead anywhere,” Banks said, explaining. “Besides, I think it’s a lot closer to home.”
“What do you mean?” Paul asked.
Banks didn’t want to tell them about the photograph. Apart from Michelle, he didn’t want anyone to know about that if he could help it. Maybe he was protecting Graham’s memory, but the idea of people seeing him like that was abhorrent to Banks. He also didn’t want to tell them about Jet Harris, Shaw and the missing notebooks. “Do you remember Donald Bradford?” he asked. “The bloke who ran the newsagent’s.”
“Dirty Don?” said Paul. “Sure. I remember him.”
“Why did you call him Dirty Don?”
“I don’t know.” Paul shrugged. “Maybe he sold dirty magazines. It’s just something my dad called him. Don’t you remember?”
Banks didn’t. But he found it interesting that Paul’s dad had known about Bradford’s interest in porn. Had his own father known? Had anyone told Proctor and Shaw all those years ago when they came to conduct the interviews? Was that why the notebooks and action allocations had to disappear, so that suspicion wouldn’t point toward Bradford? Next to the family, Donald Bradford should have come under the most scrutiny, but he had been virtually ignored. “Did Graham ever tell you where he got those magazines he used to show us inside the tree?”
“What magazines?” Dave asked.
“Don’t you remember?” Paul said. “I do. Women with bloody great bazookas.” He shuddered. “Gave me the willies even then.”
“I seem to remember you enjoyed them as much as the rest of us,” said Banks. “Do you really not remember, Dave?”
“Maybe I’m blanking it out for some reason, but I don’t.”
Banks turned to Paul. “Did he ever tell you where he got them?”
“Not that I remember. Why? Do you think it was Bradford?”
“It’s a possibility. A newsagent’s shop would be a pretty good outlet for things like that. And Graham always seemed to have money to spare.”
“He once told me he stole it from his mother’s purse,” said Dave. “I remember that.”