Banks didn’t know what to say. Michelle said, “I’m sorry.”
Shaw looked at her and scowled. “You’ve no reason to be. It won’t make a scrap of difference to you whether I live or die. Come to think of it, your life will be a lot easier without me.”
“Even so…”
Shaw looked at Banks again. “I wish you’d never come back down here, Banks,” he said. “Why couldn’t you stay up in Yorkshire and shag a few sheep?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I? Don’t you be too sure I’m as corrupt as you think I am. Now if you’re not going to charge me or beat me up, why don’t the two of you just bugger off and leave me alone?”
Banks and Michelle looked at each other. There was nothing else to say to Shaw, so they left. Back in the car, Banks turned to Michelle and said, “Do you believe him?”
“About not being responsible for the burglary and the van?”
“Yes.”
“I think so. He seemed genuinely horrified by the idea. What reason has he to lie about it now?”
“It’s a serious crime. That’s reason enough. But I think you’re right. I don’t think he was behind it. He was just doing his best to protect Harris’s reputation.”
“Then are you thinking who I’m thinking?”
Banks nodded. “Rupert Mandeville.”
“Shall we pay him a visit?”
“You want me along?”
Michelle looked at Banks and said, “Yes. I feel we’re getting near the end. Graham Marshall was your friend. You deserve to be there. I’d just like to stop off at the station and check a few things out first.”
“He won’t tell us anything, you know.”
Michelle smiled. “We’ll see about that. It certainly won’t do any harm to yank his chain a bit.”
Chapter 19
It didn’t take Annie long to drive to Harrogate and find the small terraced house off the Leeds Road. Vernon Anderson answered the door and, looking puzzled, invited her into his Spartan living room. She admired the framed Vermeer print over the fireplace and settled down in one of the two armchairs.
“I see you have an eye for a good painting,” Annie said.
“Art appreciation must run in the family,” said Vernon. “Though I confess I’m not as much of a reader as our Lauren is. I’d rather see a good film any day.”
On the low table under the window a couple of lottery tickets rested on a newspaper open at the racing page, some of the horses with red rings around their names.
“Any luck today?” Annie asked.
“You know what it’s like,” Vernon said with an impish grin. “You win a little, then you lose a little.” He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs.
Vernon Anderson didn’t look much like his sister, Annie noted. He had dark hair, short tight curls receding a little at the temples, and he was thickset, with a muscular upper body and rather short legs. With his long lashes, dimples and easy charm, though, she imagined he would be quite successful with the opposite sex. Not that any of those things did much for her. If there was any resemblance, it was in the eyes; Vernon’s were the same pale blue as Lauren’s. He wore jeans and a T-shirt advertising Guinness. And sandals over white socks.
“What’s all this about?”
“I’m looking into the kidnapping and murder of Luke Armitage,” Annie said. “Your sister was his teacher.”
“Yes, I know. She’s very upset about it.”
“Did you ever meet Luke?”
“Me? No. I’d heard of him, of course, of his father, anyway.”
“Martin Armitage?”
“That’s right. I’ve won a few bob on teams he played for over the years.” Vernon grinned.
“But you never met Luke?”
“No.”
“Did your sister tell you much about him?”
“She talked about school sometimes,” Vernon said. “She might have mentioned him.”
“In what context?”
“As one of her pupils.”
“But not how exceptional he was, and that she gave him private tutoring?”
“No.” Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Where are we going here?”
“Lauren said she was visiting you the day Luke disappeared. That’d be a week ago last Monday. Is that true?”
“Yes. Look, I’ve already been through all this with the other detective, the one who came by a few days ago.”
“I know,” said Annie. “That was one of the locals helping us out. It’s not always possible to get away. I’m sorry to bother you with it, but do you think you could bear to go through it again with me?”
Vernon folded his arms. “I suppose so. If you think it’s necessary.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“It’s just as I told the chap the other day. We had rather too much to drink and Lauren stayed over.” He patted the sofa. “It’s comfortable enough. Safer than trying to drive.”
“Admirable,” said Annie. People always seemed to make nervous comments about drinking and driving when police officers were around, as if that were the only crime they had time to pursue, all they were interested in. “Where were you drinking?”
“Where?”
“Which pub?”
“Oh, I see. We didn’t go to a pub. She came here for dinner and we had wine.”
“What kind?”
“Just an Australian Chardonnay. On sale at Sainsbury’s.”
“Did your sister visit you often?”
“Fairly often. Though I can’t see what that’s got to do with anything. Our father’s ill and Mother’s not coping too well. We had a lot to talk about.”
“Yes. I know about the Alzheimer’s. I’m sorry to hear it.”
Vernon’s jaw dropped. “You know? Lauren told you?”
“It’s surprising the information you pick up sometimes in this job. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure I’d got all the times right, for the record, you know. You’d be amazed if you knew how much of our job is just paperwork.”
Vernon smiled. “Well, as I remember, she arrived at about six o’clock, and that was it. We ate at around half past seven.”
“What did you cook?”
“Venison in white wine. From Nigella Lawson.”
It didn’t sound very appetizing to a vegetarian such as Annie, but to each his own, she thought. “And no doubt there was a fair bit of wine to wash it down with?”
“A couple of bottles. That’s why Lauren ended up staying. That and the Grand Marnier.”
“Liqueurs, too. You were really pushing the boat out.”
“I’m afraid we both got a bit upset. Over Father. Lauren had paid a brief visit home at half-term and he hadn’t recognized her. I know alcohol doesn’t help solve problems, but one does tend to reach for it in times of trouble.”
“Of course,” said Annie. “So you went to bed around what time?”
“Me? I’m not sure. It’s a bit of a blur. Probably around midnight.”
“And your sister?”
“I don’t know how late she stayed up.”
“But she did stay all night?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember going to the toilet once. You have to go through the living room. She was asleep on the sofa then.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look at my watch. Dark, though.”
“But she could have been gone for a few hours and returned, couldn’t she?”
“I’d have heard her.”
“Are you certain? If you’d had that much to drink you probably slept quite heavily.”
“Don’t forget, we both had too much to drink.”
“Did she receive any phone calls during the evening?”
“No.”
“What time did she leave?”
“About eleven o’clock the following morning.”
“It must have been a bit of a rough morning for you at work, after all that drink. Or did you take the day off?”