Maybe it was hindsight, but things seemed to be taking a turn for the worse back then, falling apart, or perhaps that had been happening for a while, and he had only just noticed because he was there, in the thick of it. He probably wouldn’t have noticed the change in political climate if he’d stayed in Peterborough. Perhaps the business career would have worked out if he hadn’t got caught up in the tail end of the sixties in Notting Hill. As it was, by the end of his first year, he had lost all interest in cost accounting, industrial psychology and mercantile law.
But he had no memory of hearing about the murder of a girl at a festival in Yorkshire. Back then, the provinces, especially in the north, were of little interest to those at the center of things, and local police forces worked far more independently of one another than they did today. He wondered if Enderby was right about Linda Lofthouse’s murder being the one Nick Barber had referred to. He had been so certain it was Robin Merchant, and he still wasn’t ruling that possibility out. But the news about Linda Lofthouse brought a whole new complexion to things, even if her murder had been solved. Was the killer still in jail? If not, could he somehow be involved in Nick Barber’s death? The more Banks thought about it, no matter what Catherine Gervaise said, the more he thought he was right, and that Barber had died for digging up the past, which that someone wanted to remain buried.
Banks noticed a few clouds drift in from the east as he ate his haddock and chips, and by the time he had finished it was starting to drizzle. He paid, left a small tip and headed for his car. Before he set off, he phoned Ken Blackstone in Leeds and asked him to find out what he could about Stanley Chadwick and the Linda Lofthouse investigation.
Sunday, 21st September, 1969
Steve answered the door late that Sunday afternoon, and when he saw Yvonne standing there, he turned away and walked down the hall. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he said. “You’ve got a bloody nerve showing up here.”
Yvonne followed him into the living room. “But, Steve, it wasn’t my fault. It was McGarrity. He tried to force himself on me. He’s dangerous. You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know what to do.”
Steve turned to face her. “So you went straight to Daddy.”
“I was upset. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“You never told me your father was a pig.”
“You never asked. Besides, what does it matter?”
“What does it matter? He violated our space. Him and the others. We got busted. That’s what matters. Now we’re going to have to go to court tomorrow morning. I’ll get a fine at least. And if my parents find out, I’m fucked. They’ll stop my allowance. That’s all down to you.”
“But it wasn’t my fault, Steve. I’m sorry, really I am. I didn’t know they were going to bust you.” Yvonne moved toward him and reached out to touch him.
He jerked away and sat down in the armchair. “Oh, come off it. You must have known damn well we’d be sitting around here smoking a few joints and listening to music. It’s not as if you haven’t done it with us often enough.”
Yvonne knelt at his feet. “But I never sent them here. Honestly. I thought they would just arrest McGarrity, that’s all. You know I’d never do anything to get you in trouble.”
“Then you’re more stupid than I thought you were. Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t want you coming around here anymore. Whether you wanted to or not, you’ve brought nothing but trouble. Who knows who might follow you?”
Yvonne’s heart pounded in her chest. She still had one card to play. “McGarrity told me you’ve been seeing someone else.”
Steve laughed. “If only you could hear yourself.”
“Is it true?”
“What if I have?”
“I thought we… I mean… I didn’t…”
“Oh, Yvonne, for God’s sake, grow up. You sound like such a child sometimes. We can both see whoever we want. I thought that was clear from the start.”
“But I don’t want to see anyone else. I want to see you.”
“What you’re really saying is that you don’t want me to see anyone else. You can’t own someone, Yvonne. You can’t control their affections.”
“But it’s true.”
Steve turned away his face. “Well, I don’t want to see you. That’s just not on anymore.”
“But-”
“I mean it. And you won’t be welcome at Bayswater Terrace or Carberry Place, either. They got raided as well, in case you didn’t know. People got busted, and they’re not happy with you. Word gets around, you know. It’s still a small scene.”
“So what should I have done? Tell me what I should have done.”
“You shouldn’t have done anything. You should have kept your stupid mouth shut. You should have known bringing the pigs in would only mean trouble for us.”
“But he’s my father. I had to tell someone. I was so upset, Steve, I was shaking like a leaf. McGarrity…”
“I’ve told you before he’s harmless.”
“That’s not the way he seemed to me.”
“You were stoned, the way I hear it. Maybe your imagination was running away with you. Maybe you even wanted him to touch you. Maybe you should run away with your imagination instead.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Steve sighed. “I can’t trust you anymore, Yvonne. We can’t trust you anymore.”
“But I love you, Steve.”
“No you don’t. Don’t be stupid. That’s not real love you’re talking about, that’s just romantic schoolgirl crap. It’s possessive love, all jealousy and control, all the negative emotions. You’re not mature enough to know what real love is.”
Yvonne flinched at his words. She felt herself turn cold all over, as if she had been hit by a bucket of water. “And you are?”
He stood up. “This is a fucking waste of time. Look, I’m not arguing with you anymore. Why don’t you just go? And don’t come back.”
“But, Steve-”
Steve pointed to the door and raised his voice. “Just go. And don’t send your father and his piggy friends around here again or you might find yourself in serious trouble.”
Yvonne got slowly to her feet. She had never known Steve to look or sound so cruel. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Never mind. Just fuck off.”
Yvonne looked at him. He was bristling with anger. There was clearly going to be no more talking to him. Not this afternoon, maybe not ever. Feeling the tears start to burn down her cheeks, she turned away from him abruptly and left.
“It’s not so much what he said or did, Guv,” said Winsome, “it was the pleasure he took in doing it.”
Annie nodded. She was treating Winsome to an after-work drink in the Black Lion, off an alley behind the market square, away from the prying eyes and ears of Western Area Headquarters. Winsome was visibly upset, and Annie wanted to get to the bottom of it. “Kev can be insensitive at times,” she said.
“Insensitive?” Winsome took a gulp of her vodka and tonic. “Insensitive? It was more like bloody sadistic. I’m sorry, Guv, but I’m still shaking. See?”
She stuck her hand out. Annie could see it was trembling slightly. “Calm down,” she said. “Another drink? You’re not driving, are you?”
“No. I can walk home from here. I’ll have the same again, thanks.”
Annie went to the bar and got the drinks. There was nobody else in the place except the barmaid and a couple of her friends at the far end. One of them was playing the machines, and the other was sitting down watching over two toddlers, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. Every time one of the little boys started to cry or make any sort of noise, she told him to shut up. Time after time. Cry. Shut up. Cry. Shut up. There was a tape of old music playing loudly – “House of the Rising Sun,” “The Young Ones,” “Say a Little Prayer for Me,” “I Remember You” – the sort of stuff Banks would remember, competing with the TV blaring out Murder She Wrote on one of the Sky channels. But the noise certainly drowned out anything Annie and Winsome were talking about.