‘Surely there must be some money left?’ Banks said.

‘Oh, yes. It’ll see him to his grave.’

‘And you?’

He looked surprised. ‘Me?’

‘Yes. When he’s gone. Will you have some money left to help you leave here, find a place of your own?’

Gary dropped his cigarette in a lager can. It sizzled. ‘Never thought about it,’ he said.

‘Is there a will?’

‘Not that he’s shown me.’

‘What’ll happen to the house?’

‘It was for Caroline.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Dad was going to leave it for Caroline.’

Banks leaned forward. ‘But she deserted him, she left you all. You’ve been taking care of him by yourself for all these years.’ At least that was what Susan Gay had told him.

‘So what?’ Gary got up with curiously jerky movements and took a fresh pack of cigarettes from the mantelpiece. ‘She was always his favourite, no matter what.’

‘What now?’

‘With her gone, I suppose I’ll get it.’ He looked around the cavernous room, as though the thought horrified him more than anything else, and flopped back down on the sofa.

‘Where were you on the evening of December twenty-second?’ Richmond asked. He had recovered enough to find himself a chair and take out his notebook.

Gary glanced over at him, a look of scorn on his face. ‘Just like telly, eh? The old alibi.’

‘Well?’

‘I was here. I’m always here. Or almost always. Sometimes I used to go to school so they didn’t get too ratty with me, but it was a waste of time. Since I left, I’ve got a better education reading those old books. I go to the shops sometimes, just for food and clothes. Then there’s haircuts and the bank. That’s about it. You’d be surprised how little you have to go out if you don’t want to. I can do the whole lot in one morning a week if I’m organized right Booze is the most important. Get that right and the rest just seems to fall into place.’

‘What about your friends?’ Banks asked. ‘Don’t you ever go out with them?’

‘Friends? Those wallies from school? They used to come over sometimes.’ He pointed to the wainscotting. ‘As you can see. But they thought I was mad. They just wanted to drink and do damage and when they got bored they didn’t come back. Nothing changes much here.’

‘December twenty-second?’ Richmond repeated.

‘I told you,’ Gary said, ‘I was here.’

‘Can you prove that?’

‘How? You mean witnesses?’

‘That would help.’

‘I probably emptied out the old man’s potty. Maybe even changed his sheets if he messed the bed. But he won’t remember. He doesn’t know one day from the next I might even have dropped in at the off-licence for a few cans of lager and some fags, but I can’t prove that either.

Every time Gary talked about his father his tone hardened to hatred. Banks could understand that. The kid must be torn in half by his conflicts between duty and desire, responsibility and the need for freedom. He had given in and accepted the yoke, and he must both hate himself for his weakness and his father for making such a demand in the first place. And Caroline, of course. How he must have hated Caroline, though he didn’t sound bitter when he spoke of her. Perhaps his hatred had been assuaged by her death and he had allowed himself to feel some simple pity.

‘Did you go to Eastvale that evening?’ Richmond went on. ‘Did you call on your sister and lose your temper with her?’

Gary coughed. ‘You really think I killed her, don’t you? That’s a laugh. If I was going to I’d have done it a few years ago, when I really found out what she’d lumbered me with, not now.’

Five or six years ago, Banks calculated, Gary would have been only twelve or thirteen, perhaps too young for a relatively normal child to commit sororicide – and surely he must have been living a more normal life back then. Also, as Banks had learned over the years, bitterness and resentment could take a long time to reach breaking point. People nursed grudges and deep-seated animosities for years sometimes before exploding into action. All they needed was the right trigger.

‘Did you ever visit Caroline in Eastvale?’ Banks asked.

‘No. I told you, I hardly go out. Certainly not that far.’

‘Have you ever met Veronica Shildon?’

‘That the lezzie she was shacking up with?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘But Caroline visited you here?’

He paused. ‘Sometimes. When she’d come back from London.’

‘You told the detective constable who visited you a few days ago that you knew nothing of Caroline’s life in London. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

‘So for over five years, when she was between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, you had no contact.’

‘Right. Six years, really.’

‘Did you know she had a baby?’

Gary sniffed. ‘I knew she was a slut, but I didn’t know she had a kid, no.’

‘She did. Do you know what happened to it? Who the father was?’

‘I told you, I didn’t even know she’d had one.’

He seemed confused by the issue. Banks decided to take his word for the moment.

‘Did she ever mention a woman called Ruth to you?’

Gary thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, some woman who wrote poetry she knew in London.’

‘Can you remember what she said about her?’

‘No. Just that they were friends like, and this Ruth woman had helped her.’

‘Is that all? Helped her with what?’

‘I don’t know. Just that she’d helped her.’

‘What did you think she meant?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe took her in off the street or something, helped her with the baby. How should I know?’

‘What was her last name?’

‘She never mentioned it. Just Ruth.’

‘Whereabouts in London did she live?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You’re sure there’s nothing more you can tell us about her?’

Gary shook his head.

‘Do you know anything about music?’ Banks asked.

‘Can’t stand it.’

‘I mean classical music.’

‘Any music sounds awful to me.’

Another one with a tin ear, Banks thought, just like Superintendent Gristhorpe. But it didn’t mean Gary knew nothing about the subject. He read a lot, and could easily have come across the necessary details concerning the Vivaldi piece, perhaps in a biography.

‘The last time you saw Caroline,’ he asked, ‘did she tell you anything that gave you cause to worry about her, to think she might be in danger, frightened of something?’

Gary appeared to give the question some thought, then he shook his head. ‘No.’

Again, Banks thought he was telling the truth. Just. But there was something on Gary’s mind, below the surface, that made his answer seem evasive.

‘Is there anything else you want to tell us?’

‘Nope.’

‘Right.’ Banks nodded to Richmond and they headed for the door. ‘Don’t bother to see us out,’ Banks said. ‘We know the way.’

Gary didn’t reply.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Richmond when they’d got in the car and turned on the heater. ‘What a bloody nutcase.’ He rubbed his hands together.

‘You wouldn’t think, would you,’ Banks said, looking at the tall, elegant stone houses, ‘that behind such a genteel façade you’d find something so twisted.’

‘Not unless you were a copper,’ Richmond answered.

Banks laughed. ‘Time for a pub lunch on the way back, he said, ‘then you can take a trip to Barnard Castle and I’ll see about having a chat with the therapist.’

‘Rather you than me,’ Richmond said. ‘If she’s anything like she was when I saw her the other day she’ll probably end up convincing you you need therapy yourself – after she’s chewed your balls off.’

‘Who knows, maybe I do need therapy,’ Banks mused, then turned by the Stray, passed the Royal Baths and headed back towards Eastvale.