“I don’t blame you,” said Banks. “Look, the reason we’re here is that we heard you used to give Luke Armitage extra tutoring in English, and we wondered if you could tell us anything about him.”

“I’m not sure I can tell you anything about him, but, yes, I used to tutor Luke.” Lauren sat on the small sofa with her legs tucked under her, cup held in both hands. She blew on the tea. “He was so far ahead of the rest of his class, he must have been bored silly at school. He was far ahead of me most of the time.” She raised her hand and flicked some troublesome locks of hair out of her face.

“That good?”

“Well, his enthusiasm made up for what he lacked in formal training.”

“I gather he was a talented writer, too.”

“Very. Again, he needed discipline, but he was young, raw. He’d have gone far if…if…” She held her cup in one hand and rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t get over it. Luke. Dead. Such a waste.”

Annie passed her a tissue from the box on one of the bookshelves. “Thank you,” she said, then blew her nose. She shifted on the sofa and Banks noticed her feet were bare and her toenails painted red.

“I know it’s hard to accept,” said Banks, “but I’m sure you can understand why we need to know as much about him as possible.”

“Yes, of course. Though, as I said, I don’t see how I can tell you much.”

“Alastair Ford said you’re the kind who listens to people’s problems.”

She snorted. “Alastair! He was probably trying to say I’m a prying bitch. Alastair runs a mile if anyone comes within vague hailing distance of whatever warped emotions he might possess.”

Banks had got the same impression himself, though he wouldn’t have put it in quite those words. On early impressions, Lauren Anderson was turning out to be perhaps the most normal friend Luke had had. But the competition—Ford and Wells—wasn’t very stiff.

“Did Luke ever talk about himself?”

“Not much,” said Lauren. “He could be very closed, could Luke.”

“Sometimes?”

“Sometimes he might let his guard drop a little, yes.”

“And what did he talk about then?”

“Oh, the usual. School. His parents.”

“What did he say about them?”

“He hated school. Not only were most things boring for him, but he didn’t like the discipline, the formality.”

Banks thought of the boys who had tormented Luke in the market square. “What about bullying?”

“Yes, that too. But it wasn’t serious. I mean, Luke was never beaten up or anything.”

“What was it, then?”

“Mostly teasing. Name-calling. A bit of jostling. Oh, I’m not saying he wasn’t hurt by it. He was very sensitive. But he could handle it, in a way.”

“What do you mean?”

“It didn’t really bother him. I mean, he knew the boys who were doing it were morons, that they couldn’t help themselves. And he knew they were doing it because he was different.”