Текст книги " In the Dark Places (Abbatoir Blues) "

Автор книги: Peter Robinson

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Annie could guess.

Alex fetched them each a glass of water and sat down in the armchair, leaning forward, clasping her hands in her lap. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, showing to advantage her shapely figure. Fluffy blue slippers with pink pompoms added a homely touch. Her blond hair, which looked natural to Annie’s trained eye, was tied back in a ponytail. Young and fresh-faced, she wore hardly any makeup and needed none. Her complexion was pale and flawless, she had a slightly upturned nose, a wide mouth and big eyes, a dark, beguiling shade of blue. Young Doug Wilson seemed smitten, at any rate. Annie gestured for him to stop gawping and get out his notebook. He fumbled with his ballpoint pen.

“What is it you want?” Alex asked, sitting forward in her chair, the small frown of concern still wrinkling her smooth forehead. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong? It’s not Ian, is it? Has something happened to Ian?”

“Ian? That’s your son, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He’s eight. He’s supposed to be at school.”

“Then I’m sure that’s where he is. This isn’t about Ian, Ms. Preston.”

Alex Preston seemed to relax again. “Well, that’s good to know,” she said. “And call me Alex, please. Kids. You never stop worrying. The older kids mostly leave him alone, but now and then they tease him a bit. They’re not so bad, really.” Then the frown reappeared. “What is it then? It’s not Ian, and you said nothing’s happened to Michael.”

Michael, Annie noticed. Not Mick, as his father had called him. “Not as far as we know,” she said. “But we would like to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”

“That’s just it. That’s why I was worried when you knocked at the door. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. I’m starting to get worried.”

“He does live here, though, doesn’t he?”

Alex smiled. It was a radiant smile, Annie thought. “Yes. I know you all probably think I’m a cradle snatcher, got myself a toy boy. Don’t think I haven’t heard it all. But . . . it’s hard to explain . . . we’re . . . well, you know, it’s the real thing.” She blushed a light pink and made a self-mocking expression. “True love.”

“None of my business,” said Annie.

“I just wanted you to know. That’s all. And he’s really great with Ian. The two of them just get along so well.”

“Where do you think Michael might be?”

“Well, he said he was going to meet someone about a job, and after that he might go and drop in on his dad later. They aren’t on the best of terms, and it worried Michael. He knew he’d upset his father and let him down, especially after his mum left. He acted up, stole a car and all. I’m sure you know all about that, being police. They had a serious falling-out. They got over it to some extent, but things are still . . . well, difficult. I think it’s partly my fault, you know, being older, having a child. His father doesn’t approve.”

“Did he say where he was going on this job?”

“No.”

“Was that unusual?”

“No, not really. He doesn’t always give a full account of his comings and goings. I don’t expect him to. I find that sort of thing can stifle a relationship, don’t you?”

Chance would be a fine thing, thought Annie. “And he said after that he might drop in on his father, even though they were on bad terms?”

“Yes.”

“Has he done this before? Stopped out all night?”

“No. Not like this. I mean, once or twice he’s stopped over at his father’s, if they’ve had a few drinks, like, and got to talking, or if it’s really late. But he always phones or texts.”

“Not this time?”

“No, nothing. I’ve tried ringing him, and texting, but I got no response.”

“No need to worry,” Annie said. “His mobile’s probably run out of power.”

“It’s always doing that. Like his camera. He’s not very good with keeping his stuff charged.”

“Which mobile provider does he use?”

“Virgin pay-as-you-go.”

“Did you phone the farm? I noticed Mr. Lane has a landline when we were there earlier.”

Alex glanced away. “Yes. His father just grunted, like, said he hadn’t seen him. Then he hung up.”

“You said that Mick Lane and his father still have a problematic relationship.”

“Michael. Yes.” Alex paused. “I can see you’re both a bit confused. I think I know what you’re thinking. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re police, and you have a very narrow way of seeing things. You saw that Michael was on probation, that he did community service for the stolen car, and then you found out he was living with me, an older woman in a council flat, with an illegitimate child and a conviction for shoplifting. Well, you put two and two together and make . . . I don’t know what. Bonnie and Clyde, maybe? It’s only natural. I don’t blame you. Michael’s dad’s the same. But it’s not like that at all. I don’t deny I’ve done some bad things, and I got caught. I don’t know how I sank so low, but I did. I’ve had to face up to that. But people can change.”

“What happened?”

“Ian’s father walked out on me when Ian was little. I was flat broke. Lenny took everything, even emptied Ian’s piggy bank, the miserable bastard. We were hungry. They were taking ages to process my benefits. So I went to the Asda in the shopping center and started filling up my pockets. It was either that or sell my body, and I hadn’t sunk that low, though don’t think I hadn’t received a few offers from people who should have known better. You soon find out who your friends are when you reach rock bottom. I thought I was being careful, you know, but they had CCTV, store detectives, the lot. Took me in a room in the back and scared the wits out of me, pushed me about a bit, threatened me but stopped short of hitting me, then they called the police. Wanted to make an example of me.” She gave a harsh laugh. “A couple of hundred years ago they’d have sent me to Australia, and there’s some countries in the world today where they’d chop my hand off, but all I got was probation. I was lucky, I suppose. Child Care were round like a shot, of course, but I managed to hang on to Ian, if only because his dad had no interest in taking custody of him. God knows what I’d have done if I’d lost Ian. It was a bad time in my life. A very bad time. But it’s over now. I only needed the one lesson.”

Pity that doesn’t work for everyone, Annie thought, feeling some of her skepticism slough away. “And now?” she asked.

“I’m doing a part-time course. Travel and tourism. Eastvale College. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve dreamed of seeing the world. I’ve got a part-time job at GoThereNow—you know, the new travel agency in the Swainsdale Centre—just taking bookings for stag weekends in Prague or Tallinn and stuff. There’s not much money in it right now, but when I’ve finished the course, if I do well, I’m hoping to start leading some tour groups of my own. Today’s my day off.” She picked up a thick book about the history of Rome from the low coffee table. “Just doing a bit of homework. The history of the Coliseum.”

“Won’t you be away a lot?” Annie said. “If you’re leading tours. What’ll happen to Ian?”

“I’ll take care of Ian, don’t you worry about that. Michael and I will. We’ll work it out. Maybe they can come with me? Michael can take photographs for travel magazines.”

“Sounds ideal.”

Alex shrugged. “Besides, there’s school, and the neighbors are great. Well, most of them. Michael helps a lot, too, of course.”

“How did you meet Michael?”

“It was a year ago. He was up at the college seeing if he could get into a photography course through the back door. He likes taking pictures. Drawing, too. He’s very good at both, got a real eye. He did those.” She gestured to the photographs and drawings on the wall that Annie had thought were bought prints. The castle ruins at night. Someone, Mick’s father perhaps, shearing a sheep. The river falls in full spate. A charcoal head-and-shoulders sketch of Alex. Annie had an eye for good art and photography herself, and these were very good indeed. She told Alex so.

“Thank you, but to be honest, he might have the talent, but he doesn’t have the qualifications, not even A levels, so they turned him down. He spent too much time off school helping out around the farm when he was a young lad. He doesn’t have the right equipment, either. All Michael has is an old Cyber-shot. About six pixels. They’re up to sixteen or more these days. He needs a better camera, a DSLR, with all the lenses.”

“You understand about that sort of stuff?”

Alex cocked her head and gave Annie an appraising glance. “Of course. I’m not stupid. Look, we’re poor but we’re not destitute, you know. We both work, when we can. We’re careful with what we have—have to be—but he’ll get a new and better camera soon, especially if he gets into college and I make some progress in my job.”

“So you met at the college?”

“Student pub. He was a bit depressed when he came in, and I was serving behind the bar—my previous part-time job. The place was nearly empty. I was revising for my exams. We got talking over a couple of drinks. He told me about his mum leaving and how miserable he was up at the farm with his dad, how he’d gone off the rails a bit, stolen a car, he didn’t know why. Didn’t know why he was telling me, either. Neither of us really came on to the other. . . . It just . . . you know . . . happened. It felt totally natural. I was lonely, too. I’ve been here with Ian now for about six years. We got the place when I was still with Lenny and Ian was two, but these past four years we’ve been on our own. One thing led to another. Funny, but we never thought about the age thing. People say I look younger than I am, and Michael looks older than he is, more mature.”

Annie glanced at the photos on the mantelpiece again. Alex was right. They made a handsome couple, seemed natural together, and no casual viewer would notice an age difference. “Where’s Lenny now?” she asked.

“God knows. Or cares. Last I heard of him he was working on the ferries from Immingham to Rotterdam. Up to something, no doubt, some scam or other. Lenny was a loser, but it took me a long time to realize it.”

“I presume that if Michael does a lot of digital photography, he’s got a computer, right?”

“We share mine. I’ve had it for ages, since before we met. He’s just about computer illiterate. I pretty much had to teach him everything he knows. He hadn’t used a computer before we got together.”

“Not even at school?”

Alex shrugged. “Maybe. He never spoke much about school. He certainly didn’t know his way around a computer, anyway.”

“We might need to examine it later.” It was a delicate situation. Annie knew the rules on computers. No one but a qualified techie was supposed to touch one, and only then after it had been photographed from every angle, including what was showing on the screen and where the various devices were plugged in at the back, front or sides. Although this wasn’t a crime scene, if any information gleaned from Michael Lane’s computer indicated that a crime, or crimes, had been committed, then its value in court would be greatly diminished if Annie and Doug Wilson had been interfering with it first. On the other hand, she wasn’t at a point in her investigation where she had any reason to bring in the CSIs and have it removed. If there was incriminating information on it, there was nothing to stop Alex from erasing everything after Annie left. She decided to have a quick look before then, with Doug Wilson and Alex Preston present as witnesses. She asked Alex if that was all right.

“It’s fine with me,” said Alex. “Now?”

“Later will do. We have a few more questions first. Does Michael have a steady job at the moment, or has he managed to get into a photography course?”

“He’s doing his A levels at night school, so he has a better chance of getting in college next year, if he does well, but he’s still unemployed. And it gets him down sometimes. He does odd jobs to help make ends meet.”

“What sort of odd jobs?”

“Farming stuff, mostly. That’s all he knows, apart from drawing and photography. But there’s plenty of it about, depending on the time of year. A lot of it’s unskilled, of course. Casual manual labor. Harvesting and such like. But he’s got a real knack for sheep shearing, and that makes good money sometimes. But it’s all so seasonal. Why are you asking me all these questions? Has something happened to him? Has he had an accident? Or done something stupid?”

“Why would you think that?”

Alex studied the backs of her hands. Annie noticed how long and tapered her fingers were, how nicely manicured and clean the nails. “He can be a bit hotheaded sometimes, that’s all. When he gets frustrated. I don’t mean with me or Ian. He’d never lay a finger on us, and I’d never stand for it. Not after Lenny. So what is this all about?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, really,” said Annie. “His father’s neighbor’s farm was broken into on Saturday night. A valuable tractor was stolen.”

“Beddoes?”

“That’s right. Do you know him?”

“I’ve never met him, but Michael mentioned him sometimes.”

“In what way?”

“He said Mr. Beddoes never liked him. Used to chase him off his land. Called him a layabout and a retard. Michael said Beddoes seems all right on the surface, but he can be a nasty piece of work when he’s got a mind to be.”

“Like?”

“He told me Beddoes hit him once.”

“John Beddoes hit Michael?”

“That’s right. Clipped him around the ear, was how Michael described it. Said it didn’t hurt. He didn’t even bother telling his dad. And once Beddoes thought Michael had been upsetting his precious pigs, chucking stones at them or something. Beddoes threatened to drop him in the sty and said they’d eat him. Michael was just thirteen or fourteen. He was terrified.”

“I see,” said Annie. “But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

“Not to them, I don’t think. Long memories. They bear grudges.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe he’s done something to Michael? Beddoes. Maybe he blamed him for stealing his tractor?”

“It’s unlikely,” Annie said. “Mr. and Mrs. Beddoes didn’t get back from holiday until late last night. The first thing they did when they noticed the tractor missing was call the police.”

“Well, maybe you should talk to them again? Search the premises, or whatever you do.”

“Don’t worry,” said Annie, “we’ll be thorough. Has Michael ever threatened Beddoes? You said John Beddoes terrified him when he was younger. Do you think he might have wanted revenge?”

“You think—”

Annie held her hand up. “I don’t think anything yet, Alex. I’m only asking. Michael’s father was tending to the farm while the owners were away. I talked to John Beddoes, and he mentioned a ‘tearaway’ son. His words, not mine. Frank Lane didn’t speak so highly of his own son, either. Or of you. He said he’d never met you, that Michael had never brought you home for tea to meet him.”

“Ha!” said Alex. “As if we were ever invited. He knows nothing about me. To him I’m just the scarlet woman. A tart.”

Annie let a few seconds go by. “I just want to talk to Michael,” she said. “That’s all.”

Alex gave Annie a disappointed glance, and for some reason, it hurt. “You’re all the same, you lot. Just because someone’s made a mistake once, you think they can never put things right, don’t you? Well, me and Michael are doing just fine. OK? And he was here with me on Saturday night, all evening and all night, but I don’t suppose you believe that, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” said Annie. “You say you last saw him on Sunday morning?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you think he might have another girlfriend, and that’s where he is?”

Alex reddened, and her lower lip trembled. “No,” she said, squeezing her fists together and putting them to her temples. “What are you saying? Why are you saying horrible things like that? What are you trying to do to me? I’m already going out of my mind with worry. Stop this.”

“I’m sorry,” said Annie, “but we have to know what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you just do your job and go out and find Michael? He might be lying hurt somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Just somewhere.”

“OK, I’m sorry. Calm down, Alex. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“You’re more interested in a missing tractor than in what’s happened to my Michael. Admit it.”

“That’s not true.”

Alex leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Then help me,” she said. “Please help me find Michael.”

THE FRONT gates stood wide open and a young uniformed constable waved down Banks and Gerry Masterson as they approached the airfield. Gerry came to a halt, and the officer asked for their identification. Banks didn’t blame him. The young PC wasn’t from Eastvale HQ, and there was no reason he should know who they were. The officer noted their names down carefully on his clipboard and waved them through. Three patrol cars and Winsome’s Polo were parked willy-nilly on the cracked concrete outside the hangar, five officers leaning against them chatting, two of the men smoking. When Banks and Gerry flashed their warrant cards, the officers all straightened up, and the smokers trod out their cigarettes. Banks glanced down at the smudges on the wet concrete, then back at the culprits, who looked at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, sir,” one of them mumbled.

“That’s all right, son,” said Banks. “You can explain the contamination of the scene to the CSIs when they get here.”

The officer turned beet red.

“In the meantime,” Banks went on, “don’t you think you could be doing something useful, like organizing a house-to-house of the immediate area?”

“What for, sir?” asked one of the female officers.

“What for? To find out if anybody heard or saw anything. What do you think?”

“But we don’t know what happened yet,” said one of the others.

“That’s right, sir,” the woman said. “It’s probably just a dead dog or a badger or something.”

Banks sighed. “Well, how do you think you’ll find out? Standing around the car smoking, contaminating the scene?”

“Besides,” added the female officer, clearly a bit miffed at being bossed about, “I can’t see any houses around here. How are we supposed to organize a house-to—”

“Just bloody get cracking and find some,” snapped Banks, then he and Gerry turned away toward the hangar. Banks shook his head slowly. “Where do they get them from these days, Gerry?”

Gerry smiled. “Don’t forget, sir, you were young once.”

Banks flashed her a surprised glance, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his raincoat. She was coming along nicely, he thought; she wouldn’t have dared talk to him like that six months ago.

They found Winsome inside the hangar, to their right, taking photos with her mobile. The crime scene photographer, if one were to be required, would cover every inch of the place soon, but many detectives liked to take their own set of pictures before the experts arrived, to capture the scene as freshly as they could. The photos sometimes came in useful. Banks took in the vast hangar, sniffing the air. Nothing specific registered with him. The wind sounded like a bassoon.

Winsome turned at their arrival, and her eyes widened when she saw Banks. “Sir?”

“I know, I know, I’m supposed to be on holiday. I just couldn’t resist the lure of a bloody crime scene. Tell me all about it.”

Banks listened closely as Winsome told him the story of her morning. “Where’s this Gilchrist now?” he asked, when she had finished.

“I drove him home, sir.”

“You didn’t—”

“As if I would. I left two patrol officers guarding the scene. Gilchrist’s ex-army. Seems to know what he’s about, has his head screwed on right.”

“Not an alarmist, then?”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

Banks looked at the stains on the ground. “Soldiers make good killers,” he said. “It’s what they’re trained to do.”

“He was wounded,” Winsome said. “In Afghanistan. Walks with a stick.”

“Did he have anything interesting to tell us?”

“Not really, sir. Just that he grew up around here and the airfield’s always been like this as far as he remembers. Kids play there. He’s also noticed a few lorries coming or going over the past year or so.”

Banks knelt by the stains on the ground, hearing his knees crack as he did so. “It certainly looks like blood and brains to me. Let’s say it is human. What happened? Someone shoots him, and he falls and bleeds out on the ground?”

“Possibly,” said Winsome. “Or stabs him. Then leaves the mess but takes the body away. If it were just an animal, I couldn’t really see anyone having a reason to do that.”

Banks glanced at the stain. “There’s not really all that much blood, is there? Have you—”

“I thought I’d better leave it to the CSIs.”

Banks frowned at her. “Winsome, you’re developing an annoying habit of answering my questions before I’ve asked them.”

“Yes, sir. You were going to ask if I’d searched for a bullet or shell casing. I must be getting to know the way your mind works.”

Banks stood up. “Do you know how frightening that thought is?”

“My dad always said I was a bit of a mind reader. Could have had a career on the stage.”

Banks smiled. They heard another car pull up in the yard, and moments after the door slammed, Jasminder Singh hurried in with her bag of tricks. “All right, where is it?” she asked.

“Nice to see you again, too, Jazz,” said Banks.

Jazz made a face. “DCI Banks. What a pleasure! And DS Jackman, how are you? Well, I hope? Will that do? Now can you show me where it is? No, don’t bother, I can see it for myself.”

The new forensics bloodstain analyst and DNA technician was a petite attractive brunette in her early thirties. She didn’t usually attend crime scenes with the CSIs unless her specific services were required, and the squad always had a hard time finding protective clothing that fit her. She looked lost inside the baggy overalls as she squatted by the stain on the concrete. She quickly mixed a small sample of the congealed blood with a delivery agent and added it drop by drop to the collection tube. She looked up at Banks as he watched her work. “You’ve seen this trick before?”

“Uh-huh. It’s still voodoo to me, but I understand it works.”

Jazz showed her white teeth in a broad grin. “Pretty much,” she said, getting to her feet. “We just wait for two or three minutes and—Jap’s your uncle—we get an answer.”

“Jap?”

“I didn’t have an Uncle Bob, but I did have an Uncle Japjot.”

Banks just stared at her.

“It was a family joke,” Jazz muttered. “You had to be there.”

They both turned to the tube, and a minute or so later two pinkish-red lines appeared.

“Human blood,” said Banks.

“Don’t jump to conclusions. It might be from a gorilla, or maybe a weasel or a badger. Nothing’s perfect, is it? But I’d say there’s a very good chance it’s human, yes.”

“Any chance of a quick result on the DNA?”

Jazz gave him a look. “Always in a hurry.”

“Pretty please?”

“You want to jump the queue, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes. I mean, what’s the point of having a forensics lab attached to the police station if we can’t get a rush job on something? Besides, we need to know if this is something we need to call the team in for.”

“Well, at least you admit it. I’ll see what I can do. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“You’re a treasure.”

“Do you think we should call in the rest of the team, guv?” said Winsome.

Banks looked at her, at the blood on the ground, then back at Jazz.

“It’s your decision,” Jazz said. “But you know as well as I do that a positive in this test usually means human blood.”

“Yes,” Banks said, after a brief pause. “Yes, I really think we should.” He felt the tremor of excitement start to dislodge the lazy, relaxed feeling he had been enjoying over the past few days. He wasn’t sure that he didn’t like this frisson more.

“WE’LL DO our best to help you,” Annie said, “but you have to remember that Michael isn’t officially listed as a missing person yet, so we can hardly pull out all the stops. He’s nineteen, and he’s only been away from home for one night.”

“You’d pull out all the stops if it was Ian.”

Both Annie and Doug Wilson gave her puzzled looks. “Well, yes, of course we would,” Annie said.

Alex paused, seeming to understand the implications of what Annie had said, and of her own faux pas. “Of course you would. A child. Forgive me. It’s just me opening my mouth before my brain’s engaged. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m beside myself with worry.”

“That’s all right,” said Annie. “I can understand your distress, especially if you say he hasn’t done anything like this before. I’m not saying we won’t look for him. We will. After all, we’d like to talk to him ourselves, so that’s a bit of extra motivation, if you like. A touch of self-interest never goes amiss.”

Alex nodded. “All right.”

“Let’s get back to Sunday morning,” said Annie. “What time did Michael leave the flat?”

“He went out at about half past nine. Ian and I were just getting ready for church—well, Ian’s in Sunday school.”

“Michael doesn’t usually go with you?”

“Michael’s not religious. I can’t really say I am myself, but I do find a bit of comfort in it sometimes. And it’s tradition, a habit, isn’t it? I mean, my mum and dad used to take me to Sunday school when I was little. Those are good memories. I loved the Bible stories and illustrations. Ian seems to like them, too.”

“Did Michael receive or make any texts or phone calls that Sunday morning?”

“He got a text just before he went out. I was getting Ian ready, but I heard it, you know, that tinkling sound the phone makes when a text comes in.”

“Did he tell you who it was from?”

“No. He just said that there might be a job on.”

“On a Sunday morning? Doing what?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did he say who with?”

“No.”

“But he said he might drop in on his father later?”

“Yes. His dad’s been unwell lately. And Michael’s a good son, despite their differences. There was a cancer scare, but it turned out to be his gallbladder. He still had to have an operation. His health’s been a bit fragile lately, and he’s been a bit depressed. And he frets so about the farm. I mean, they have their problems, right, but they get on OK most of the time, as long as they avoid certain subjects—like me, and what Michael thinks he’s doing with his life.”

“Sounds like most of us,” said Annie. “Then what?”

“He kissed me and Ian, like he usually does, then he left.”

“Did he have any money with him?”

“He usually carries a bit of cash, but he’s very careful with the credit and debit cards. We both hate the idea of being in debt and paying interest.”

It didn’t matter how careful he was, Annie thought. If he used them, they’d be able to find out where, should it come to that. “Does he have a passport?”

Alex walked over to the sideboard drawer and rummaged through it for a few moments, then returned bearing a passport. Annie opened it and saw the photo. It was the same person as in the picture on the mantelpiece. There were no stamps in the passport, which was only two years old. That meant he hadn’t been outside the EU.

“Has anything out of the ordinary happened in your lives recently?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Did you have an argument or anything like that?”

“No.”

“Did he seem worried, frightened, nervous, anxious? Different in any way?”

“No, he was the same as normal. But you’re frightening me, asking all these questions.”

“Sorry, it’s just routine,” said Annie. “We have to ask if we’re to try and find him. Did he take the car?”

“Yes, of course. We can walk to church, but you need the car to drive up into the dale. Maybe that’s it! I wouldn’t be surprised if that old banger broke down somewhere. Maybe that’s where he is? Up on the moors in the middle of nowhere with a dead mobile and a clapped-out car, hoping the AA might just happen to pass by.”

“Can you tell me the number plate?”

Alex told her and Doug Wilson noted it down. “It’s an old Peugeot. Dirty gray.”

Alex was clutching at straws, Annie thought. Even if Michael Lane had been at home on Saturday night, there was still a better chance that he was now in a lorry helping ship a stolen tractor over to Albania than stranded on the moors in a clapped-out Peugeot hoping for the AA to turn up. But Alex didn’t need to be told that. To Annie, Michael Lane was still a prime suspect, but to Alex he was a missing loved one. Somehow or other, Annie would have to sort all that out as gently as she could, or she risked losing any valuable cooperation she might need from Alex. It was a tricky balancing act.

“Could Michael be with a friend?” Annie asked. “And I don’t mean a girlfriend. Do you know any of his mates?”

“He doesn’t really have very many. His life was pretty isolated when he lived up at the farm, you see, and since then, well, most of the friends he did have have moved away, and we’ve sort of spent most of our time together. We don’t socialize a lot. Going out can be expensive.”

“You never go out for a drink or anything? Or to a party?”

“Sometimes we go to the local for an evening out, if we can afford a sitter for Ian, but not very often. Neither of us is a big drinker, and we just enjoy our own company. It’s cheaper to get a few cans or a bottle of wine in and watch telly than it is to go out for the night. It sounds boring, I suppose, but we’re happy.”

“Can you think of anyone else at all Michael might have communicated with?”

“There’s Keith, I suppose. He’s still here. They went to school together, and they meet up for a game of darts once in a while. But Keith hasn’t seen him. I phoned. Graham, too. He’s married to Angie, who’s my best friend, really. But Graham’s a photography nut, and he and Michael get along well. They go off taking photos at various scenic spots around the Dales every now and then. Graham’s been teaching Michael his way around a camera. As I said, Michael’s a natural in some ways, but he doesn’t know much about theory and techniques, or the history. I can’t say I do, either, but Graham does. There’s Morgan, too, I suppose. Michael works with him up on the farms sometimes. But I don’t like him. He’s too flash and full of himself. Wears a gold chain and has a spider tattoo on the side of his neck. Head shaved like one of those BNP types, though he isn’t. He’s half black. His dad’s from Barbados. And he’s always flirting with me.”

“Does Michael like him?”

“They work together, and they go for a pint together, too, sometimes, after a day’s work. They get along all right. Talk about any work that might be coming up. Morgan’s managed to get Michael in on a couple of decent-paying jobs, and vice versa, so I don’t suppose I should be so down on him.” She gave a little shudder and pulled a face. “You know, it’s just like, if you’re a woman, he makes you feel like a piece of meat.”