“How could you?” his father cut in. “Like I said, you were just a kid. You couldn’t understand things like that.”
The music had changed, Banks noticed. Herb Alpert and his bloody Tijuana Brass, just finishing, thank God. Banks had hated them back then and he hated them now. Next came The Bachelors, “Marie.” Mum and Dad music. “Did you tell the police?” he asked.
The men looked at one another, then Arthur looked back at Banks, his lip curling. “What do you think?”
“But he could-”
“Listen. Bill Marshall might have been a big talker, but he had nothing to do with his son’s disappearance.”
“How can you know that?”
Arthur Banks snorted. “You police. All the bloody same, you are. Just because a man might be a bit dodgy in one area, you’re ready to fit him up with anything.”
“I’ve never fitted anyone up in my life,” said Banks.
“What I’m saying is that Bill Marshall might have been a bit of a wild man, but he didn’t go around killing young lads, especially not his own son.”
“I didn’t say I thought he did it,” Banks said, noticing that the others were watching him and his father now, as if they were the evening’s entertainment.
“Then what did you mean?”
“Look, Dad,” Banks said, reaching for a cigarette. He had been determined not to smoke in front of his father, mostly because of the old man’s health, but not smoking in The Coach and Horses was as pointless as swimming in the no-pissing section of a swimming pool, if such a section were ever to exist. “If there was any truth in what Bill Marshall said about his criminal background in London, then isn’t it possible that something he’d done there came back to haunt him?”
“But nobody hurt Bill.”
“Doesn’t matter, Dad. These people often have more devious ways of getting back at their enemies. Believe me. I’ve come across more than a few of them in my time. Did he ever mention any names?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean in London. The people he worked for. Did he ever mention any names?”
Harry Finnegan gave a nervous laugh. Arthur shot him a glance and he shut up. “As a matter of fact,” said Arthur, pausing dramatically, “he did.”
“Who?”
“The Twins. Reggie and Ronnie Kray.”
“Bloody hell!”
Arthur Banks’s eyes shone with triumph. “Now do you see why we just thought he had a big mouth on him?”
For the second time that day, Annie turned up at Swainsdale Hall, only this time she felt the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. People like Martin Armitage were difficult enough to deal with in the first place, and he wouldn’t like what she had to say. Still, she thought, for all his tough bluster he hadn’t done much but kick a ball around most of his life. Robin was another matter. Annie sensed that she might feel relieved to have someone else to share her fears with, and that underneath her accommodating exterior and her air of vulnerability, there was a strong woman who was capable of standing up to her husband.
Josie answered the door, as usual, holding a barking Miata by the collar. Annie wanted to talk to Josie and her husband, Calvin, but they could wait. For the moment, the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. Robin and Martin were both out in the garden sitting at a wrought-iron table under a striped umbrella. It was a warm evening, and the back garden faced south, so there was plenty of honey-tinted sunlight and dark shadows cast by tree branches. Annie felt like reaching for her sketch pad. Beyond the high drystone wall that marked the property boundary, the daleside stretched up in a patchwork of uneven fields, green until the sere bareness of the higher slopes, where it rose more steeply to merge into the wild stretch of heather moorland that separated the Dales.
Neither Martin nor Robin seemed to be enjoying the beautiful evening or the long cool drinks that sat in front of them. Both seemed pale, tense and preoccupied, and the mobile perched on the table like an unexploded bomb.
“What are you doing here?” Martin Armitage said. “I told you Luke was on his way home and I’d be in touch when he got here.”
“I take it he’s not arrived yet?”
“No.”
“Heard from him again?”
“No.”
Annie sighed and sat down without being invited.
“I didn’t ask you to-”
Annie raised her hand to quiet Martin down. “Look,” she said, “there’s no point pissing about any more. I know what’s going on.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Come off it, Mr. Armitage. I followed you.”
“You did what?”
“I followed you. After I left this morning I waited in a lay-by and followed you to the shepherd’s shelter. What were you doing there?”
“None of your bloody business. Why, what are you going to do? Charge me with disobeying government regulations?”
“Let me tell you what you were doing, Mr. Armitage. You were leaving a briefcase full of money. Old bills. Tens and twenties, for the most part. Around ten thousand pounds, at a guess, maybe fifteen.”
Armitage was red in the face. Still, Annie pressed on. “And now let me tell you what happened. They got in touch with you last night on your mobile, said they’d got Luke and you were to hand over the money. You told them you couldn’t lay your hands on that much cash until the banks were open, so they gave you until this morning to leave it at the prearranged drop.” Which means they know something about the area, Annie realized, or that they’ve been watching, scouting for some time. Maybe someone had noticed them. Strangers usually stood out around these parts, especially as the tourist numbers were down. “How am I doing so far?”
“You’ve got imagination, I’ll certainly give you that.”
“They said no police, which is why my arrival scared the living daylights out of you.”
“I’ve told you-”
“Martin.” Robin Armitage spoke for the first time, and though her voice was soft and kindly, it was authoritative enough to command her husband’s attention. “Can’t you see?” she went on. “She knows. I must admit that I, for one, feel rather relieved.”
“But he said-”
“They don’t know who I am,” said Annie. “And I’m pretty certain they didn’t see me around Mortsett this morning.”
“Pretty certain?”
Annie looked him in the eye. “I’d be a liar if I said I was a hundred percent certain.” Birds in the trees filled in the silence that followed, and a light breeze ruffled Annie’s hair. She held Martin Armitage’s gaze until she saw it waver and finally wane into defeat. His shoulders slumped. Robin leaned over and put her arm around him. “It’s all right, darling,” she said. “The police will know what to do. They’ll be discreet.” Robin looked at Annie as she spoke, as if daring her to disagree. Annie didn’t. Martin ran the backs of his hands across his eyes and nodded.
“I’m sorry about what’s happened,” Annie said, “but Mrs. Armitage is right.”
“Robin. Please. As we’re involved in such an intimate matter, at least you can call me by my first name. My husband, too.”
“Okay. Robin. Look, I have to tell you that I’m not a negotiator. This isn’t my area of expertise. We have people specially trained to deal with kidnappers and their demands.”
“But he said no police,” Martin repeated. “He said if we brought in the police he’d kill Luke.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I’d already reported Luke missing.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He was quiet for a moment, as if he was thinking, like.”
“Or consulting with someone else?”
“He could have been, but I didn’t hear anyone. Anyway, when he came back on he said that was fine, but to make sure I told you Luke had rung and said that he was coming home. Which I did.”
“It was a man who made the call, then?”
“Yes.”