Careless Love

by Robinson, Peter

  ‘No, that’s OK,’ said Annie. ‘Best leave it for the post-mortem.’ She paused and pushed some strands of hair behind her ears. The wind soon whipped them out again. ‘But it doesn’t make much sense, does it?’ she asked. ‘Where did he wander from? Why? Was he drunk? How did he get here? Where’s his car? He surely can’t have walked here, can he?’

  Banks lived in Gratly, and he had a fine view of Tetchley Fell from the back of his cottage. Though Annie knew that he liked walking and thought himself reasonably fit for someone who wasn’t an exercise fanatic, she also knew that he had never so much as thought of attempting the two-mile walk up to the moors. Like most people, including the walking club, if he fancied a ramble on the moors he would have driven and used the car park.

  ‘That I can’t tell you,’ said Dr Burns. ‘But I will agree that he’s not in the sort of shape to be doing much climbing and walking.’

  Annie put on the latex gloves she had carried from the car and knelt by the body. ‘Let’s at least see if we can find out who he was without disturbing things too much.’

  Deftly, Annie searched through the dead man’s pockets. All she found was a fob of keys in his side jacket pocket, which she held up for Gerry to see. Then she turned to the men from the coroner’s van who were standing by with a gurney. ‘All right, lads,’ she said. ‘He’s all yours now.’

  Stockton-on-Tees was only about an hour’s drive from Eastvale, though the traffic around the Scotch Corner roadworks on the A1 added at least another ten minutes on that particular afternoon. The problem was, as Banks understood it, that the workers kept digging up more Roman ruins as they widened the road, and therefore had to bring in more teams of archaeologists, thus slowing progress. Whatever the reason, the 50 MPH zone seemed to go on for ever. Banks took the Darlington exit, then carried on along the A66 heading east.

  Much of the manufacturing Stockton had been known for was in decline these days, and as a result, there were some tremendously depressed and depressing areas, which often rubbed shoulders with more affluent neighbourhoods. Banks wouldn’t have called the terraced street where Adrienne’s parents lived either affluent or depressed. It was part of a slightly shopworn early sixties council estate. Each house had a small unfenced garden, but there were no garages or driveways. The road was filled with parked cars, and none of them were Beemers or Mercs.

  Mrs Munro, wearing jeans and a navy jumper, recognised Banks and Winsome from the previous evening and invited them in. She was an attractive woman in her early forties, with wavy fair hair, long legs and a waspish waist, but today her eyes were red-rimmed with grief, and there was a pile of used tissues on the low coffee table between the sofa and the electric fire. The wallpaper was a simple striped pattern, the furniture IKEA, from TV stand to small bookcase, which was mostly filled with souvenirs from Greek and Spanish holidays: figures in peasant dress, a bulbous empty wine bottle, a plastic model of the Acropolis.

  ‘Excuse the mess,’ Mrs Munro said, immediately grabbing a handful of tissues and taking them into the kitchen to put in the bin. ‘I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Jim’s just having a lie down upstairs. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, poor lamb. I’ll get him if you want.’

  ‘No need yet, Mrs Munro,’ said Banks. ‘Let him sleep. We can talk to him some other time if we need to.’

  ‘Brenda, please.’

  Banks and Winsome sat on the sofa. ‘Brenda, then,’ said Banks.

  ‘Can I get you both a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Banks.

  But Brenda Munro was already on her feet. ‘It’s no trouble,’ she said and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  ‘She seems jumpy,’ Winsome mouthed, when Brenda had left the room.

  Banks nodded. ‘Still in shock, probably.’ As far back as he could remember, people seemed nervous when the police came to call, and Brenda Munro had just lost her daughter. Banks felt more than a little guilty for intruding on her grief so soon, especially with so little evidence other than a vague sense of something being out of kilter.

  When Brenda came back with the tea and cups on a tray, Banks said, ‘We’re really sorry to be bothering you at a time like this, but there are one or two questions you might be able to answer for us. As yet, we know very little about Adrienne or her life.’

  Brenda clasped her hands on her lap and wrung them together, an unused tissue tearing between them. ‘What can I tell you? She was just a normal girl. Maybe a bit shy and quiet. I’m her mother. I loved her very much. We both did.’

  ‘Did you get along well?’

  ‘As well as any mother gets along with her teenage daughter.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I like to think we were close.’ Her eyes filled up and she reached for a tissue. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Banks, leaving a brief pause for Brenda Munro to compose herself. ‘We all have secrets. She was nineteen, is that right?’

  Brenda sniffled. ‘Yes, just starting her second year at Eastvale College.’

  ‘Any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Mari. She’s married. They live in Berwick. She’s on her way down right now. She’ll be devastated.’

  ‘Close, were they?’

  ‘Like twins, though Mari’s three years older than Adrienne.’

  Banks remembered the chatty emails to and from Mari on Adrienne’s mobile. ‘Did Adrienne confide in her big sister?’

  ‘She did when she was younger, but they don’t see one another quite so often, not now Mari has baby Nadine and Adrienne has her studies. Had.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I can’t believe I’ll have to get used to saying that.’

  Banks saw Winsome make a note and guessed she was jotting a reminder to have a chat with Mari. ‘Did Adrienne always want to study agriculture?’

  ‘Yes. She was crazy about animals and the countryside, and she was one of those keen environmentalists. Vegetarian and everything. We can’t have any pets because Jim’s allergic to just about everything that moves, except people, but she had a part-time job at an animal shelter in Darlington, for the RSPCA, like, taking care of mistreated pets and so on, and she’d watch just about any documentary on animals and environmental issues that came on. David Attenborough, all that sort of thing.’

  ‘Is that why she chose Eastvale College, the agricultural connection?’

  ‘Yes. Partly. It has an excellent reputation. And Adrienne loved the Dales. I think it was reading all those James Herriot books when she was a little girl. They inspired her. And she was very bright. She got good A level results. She had her heart set on Eastvale, and she wouldn’t hear of going anywhere else.’

  ‘What about the music? We noticed a violin and some music in her bedsit.’

  ‘She started learning at school. She was very talented musically. Everyone said so. We were able to afford violin lessons for her for a while. We even harboured dreams of her going to a music academy or somewhere a few years ago. But it’s not a career, is it, music? More of a hobby, really. She just loved that classical stuff. We couldn’t afford to keep up the lessons, but she played in a youth orchestra. At least she did until she started university. She had a good singing voice, too. She used to sing in a choir.’

  ‘Why did she give it up?’

  ‘Too busy, she said. Too big a course load. But she told us she still practised the violin when she had a few spare moments. Kept her hand in, like.’

  ‘Was she a party girl? Nights on the town, that sort of thing?’

  Brenda managed a weak smile. ‘Like I said, Adrienne was a normal teenager. A bit shy, but she liked being with her mates. I’m sure they all liked to get dressed up and go out for drinks and dances. I know they went to Leeds clubbing from time to time. But she wasn’t a binge drinker or anything, and I have a really hard time believing she took drugs. She was a hard worker, and she loved her studies.’ Brenda Munro paused. ‘What happened to her?’ she asked. ‘Nobody ever did tell us what happened. Why she die
d. The newspaper said that it was an overdose of drugs. I just can’t believe it.’

  Under his breath, Banks cursed the local newspaper for running the story half-cocked, and Adrian Moss, the police media liaison officer, for letting them get away with it. The papers were already headlining the story, ‘The Girl in the Car’.

  ‘I’m afraid it looks very much as if she died of an overdose of sleeping tablets,’ Banks said, sparing her the gruesome details of the asphyxiation. ‘I’m sorry if anyone gave you the impression it was a drug-related death. I mean, I know that sleeping tablets are drugs, but Adrienne wasn’t involved in any illicit drug activity as far as we know.’

  Brenda put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sleeping tablets! But where would she get something like that? Why on earth would she want them? What happened?’

  ‘That’s something we were wondering, too. Do you know if she ever had a prescription for anything like that, had any problems sleeping?’

  ‘Never. Not that I knew of. Even though she’d moved away, she was still on Dr Farrow’s list. He’s our local GP. You can ask him, if you like, but I’m sure she wasn’t taking anything like that. Where could she have got them from?’

  ‘That’s something we’d very much like to know, Mrs Munro,’ said Winsome.

  ‘Sleeping tablets,’ Brenda Munro repeated quietly, as if to herself. ‘That means she took them herself, doesn’t it? That she committed suicide?’

  ‘We don’t know what happened,’ said Banks. ‘Just that the doctor found that she had taken enough to be unable to wake up.’

  ‘Suicide. Our Adrienne. No.’

  ‘Had Adrienne been depressed or anything lately?’ Banks pressed on. ‘Any weight loss, eating problems, anything like that?’

  ‘No,’ said Brenda. ‘She wasn’t anorexic or bulimic, if that’s what you mean. She never had any eating problems in her life. And she wasn’t depressed. That’s why what you’re suggesting is such a shock.’

  ‘Were there any traumatic events in her life that might have weighed on her mind?’

  ‘None that I can think of,’ said Mrs Munro. ‘Not as far as we know.’

  ‘Would you have known?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Brenda.

  ‘Sometimes people can hide these things very well.’

  ‘Oh, I know that. But no. Our Adrienne was never the life and soul of the party. If people talked to her she’d chat back happy as anything, but she wasn’t good at making approaches. She could be withdrawn occasionally, too. And she did get stressed out sometimes. But I think I’d have known if something was really bothering her, yes. I like to think she would have told me.’

  ‘Did she ever talk to you about any problems she might have had?’

  ‘No. I mean, nothing serious. She was a bit strapped for cash in her first year, and we tried to help her as best we could, but it’s hard. And uni’s so expensive these days. You know what young girls are like, with their clothes, make-up, music and what have you.’

  Banks smiled. He remembered Tracy when she was that age. Clothes mad, he used to call her. But university life was a lot less expensive then. He also remembered Adrienne’s wardrobe, the mix of casual student wear, and the more formal, expensive outfits. ‘Did Adrienne take out student loans?’

  ‘Yes. They all have to, don’t they? It seems a terrible thing to me, starting out your working life so deep in debt, but I suppose most people do, one way or another, with mortgages, hire purchase and the like. And all these money marts you see on the high streets these days. Jim and I have never been able to afford to buy our own home. The first year was very difficult for us all, but Adrienne did really well, and she got a scholarship this year. It didn’t cover everything, of course, but it’s made her life a lot easier. And not only hers, but ours, too. Not that we minded helping her, you understand, but you can only stretch what you have so far.’

  ‘Which scholarship was this?’

  ‘I don’t know what it was called. Just something you get if you do well.’

  ‘She won it, like a prize?’

  Brenda frowned. ‘I think so. You’d have to ask the people at the university. We don’t know the details. All we know is that it was a godsend.’

  ‘How much was it?’

  ‘I don’t know that, either.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Adrienne?’

  ‘When she went back to Eastvale to start the second year. She’d got a bedsit and was very excited for us to see it, so Jim drove us all down and we made a day of it. We went to see the castle, had a nice pub lunch in the market square.’

  ‘And how was she? Was there anything on her mind at the start of this academic year? Are you sure you didn’t notice any subtle changes in her behaviour or mood?’

  ‘No, nothing. She was fine. Same as she’d been over the summer holidays. Like I say, she was excited about her bedsit. She’d been in halls her first year and didn’t really like it. She was supposed to be coming home for Christmas.’ Brenda reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Did you talk to her recently?’

  ‘Only on the phone.’

  ‘Did she phone this week?’

  ‘Not since the weekend. Saturday morning was the last time we heard from her.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Not much. You know. The sort of things you do talk about. College, Mari and baby Nadine, her work, that sort of thing.’

  ‘How did she sound?’

  ‘Fine. Maybe a bit distracted.’

  ‘Distracted?’

  ‘Yes. You know, as if she had something on her mind.’

  ‘Did she give you any idea what it might be?’

  ‘I just thought it might be her studies.’

  ‘How was she doing at college?’ Winsome asked.

  ‘Oh, Adrienne always played herself down rather than up,’ Brenda answered. ‘She was never one to blow her own trumpet. She’d tell us she thought she was doing all right, and then when she came out with a star or distinction or whatever, she’d be surprised. Obviously, there must have been something bothering her, but whatever it was, she didn’t tell us.’

  ‘Children don’t always confide in their parents,’ said Banks. ‘I know I didn’t always, and I doubt you did, either.’

  ‘No,’ said Brenda, clutching her tissue ‘Her friends from college might know more. She spent more time with them than she did with us.’

  ‘What about boyfriends?’

  ‘No,’ said Brenda. ‘She had someone in her first year. Nice lad. She brought him up for tea once or twice.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t think anything much happened. They saw each over the summer a few times then they just sort of drifted apart, like you do. Adrienne told me she wanted to concentrate on her studies this year. She didn’t have time for boyfriends.’

  ‘What was his name? Do you remember?’

  ‘Colin. Colin Fairfax.’

  ‘Was he in the same department as Adrienne?’

  ‘I don’t really know . . . I don’t think so. I think he was studying languages. French, German and so on.’

  ‘Did Adrienne still keep her job at the animal shelter after she was awarded the scholarship?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But that was never really for the money – they hardly paid more than a pittance – it was just to help the poor animals, and to be with them. She’d have done it for nothing. And it was only on weekends.’

  ‘Would you happen to have a recent photograph of her we could borrow? It may help us when we’re talking to people.’

  Brenda Munro walked over to the rows of framed photographs on a table beside the TV set and picked one out. ‘This was taken just last year,’ she said, as she took the photograph from its frame. It showed Adrienne leaning against a farm gate with Crow Scar in the background. She was wearing jeans and trainers, and her blond hair didn’t hang quite as far over her shoulders as it had when she died. But she was clearly an attractive young woman w
ith a shy smile. Banks thanked Mrs Munro and slipped it in his briefcase.

  ‘We’ll take good care of it,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry too much’, said Brenda. ‘Jim can always print another copy. I’m sorry he’s not up yet.’

  ‘Never mind. We’ll leave you be for now,’ Banks said. ‘Thanks for your time. And let me say again how sorry I am about Adrienne.’

  ‘You’ll find out who did it, won’t you?’ Brenda said, grasping his arm.

  Banks extricated himself gently. ‘We don’t know that anyone has done anything to anyone yet,’ he said, ‘but you can take my word for it, we’ll do our best to find out what happened.’

  Brenda nodded.

  Banks gave Winsome a quick glance and she put away her notebook. They said their goodbyes, offered more condolences, then left.

  ‘Anything in it, guv, the father not appearing?’ Winsome asked as they drove along the A66.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Banks. ‘Bloody exhausted, I should imagine. We’ll talk to him later.’

  Wherever they went next, he thought, it would have to be tomorrow. When he looked at his watch, he realised he’d just about have time to get home, phone Tracy, then shower and change before Annie stopped by to pick him up and drive him over to Ray and Zelda’s for dinner.

  3

  As Banks’s Porsche needed a little work and wouldn’t be ready until the following afternoon, Annie picked him up at Newhope Cottage at seven o’clock, as arranged, and they drove down the hill though Helmthorpe, across the bridge over the River Swain and about halfway up the opposite dale side to the village of Beckerby. Ray and Zelda’s cottage stood on the northernmost edge of the village, separated from the far end of the High Street by a field of grazing sheep on one side and wooded area on the other. Banks could actually see the place from Gratly Beck, just outside his front door.