“Church basement, down the street. The vicar’s pretty broad-minded, a young bloke, and he lets us use their space if we don’t make too much noise.”

“And you haven’t seen Luke since?”

“No.”

“Has he ever been here?” Banks asked. “In this flat?”

“Sure. Plenty of times.” Liz stood up, as if she sensed they were leaving.

“Did he ever leave anything here?”

“Like what?”

“Any of his stuff. You know—notebooks, poems, stories, clothes, that sort of thing. We’re looking for anything that might help us understand what happened to him.”

“He never left any clothes here,” Liz said coldly, “but he sometimes left tapes of songs for us, if that’s what you mean. And some lyrics, maybe. But…”

“Could you collect them all together for us?”

“I suppose so. I mean, I don’t know what’s here or where everything is. Do you mean right now? Can’t you come back later?”

“Now would be best,” said Banks. “We’ll help you look, if you like.”

“No! I mean, no. It’s all right. I’ll find them.”

“Is there something here you don’t want us to see, Liz?”

“No, nothing. There’s only a few tapes and some poems, notes for songs. I don’t see how they can help you. Look…will I get these tapes and things back?”

“Why would you get them back?” Annie asked. “They were Luke’s property, weren’t they?”

“Technically, I suppose. But he brought them for us. The band. To share.”

“They’ll still most likely go to the family,” Banks told her.

“Luke’s family! But they don’t care. They can’t…”

“Can’t what, Liz?”

“I was going to say they can’t appreciate his talent. They’ll just throw them away. How could you let something like that happen?”

“Can’t be helped. It’s the law.”

Liz shifted from foot to foot, arms folded, as if she needed to go to the toilet. “Look, couldn’t you go away and come back, just for a while, give me just a bit of time to get everything together?”

“We can’t do that, Liz. I’m sorry.”

“So you’ll just take everything and give it to Luke’s parents, just like that? You won’t even give me time to make copies.”

“This is a murder investigation,” Annie reminded her.

“But still…” Liz sat down, close to tears again. “It doesn’t seem fair. It seems such a waste…I don’t know. His parents don’t care. We were so close.”

“So close to what?”

“To making something of ourselves.”

Banks felt sorry for her. He suspected that she wanted to hang on to Luke’s tapes and writings for selfish reasons, so that the band could one day ride on Luke’s and his father’s coattails to success. If they couldn’t do it with Luke’s voice and talent, at least they could try to do it with some of his material. That Luke had been murdered would also, no doubt, help boost the public interest. Banks didn’t think particularly ill of Liz for this. He’d probably have wanted the same if he were in her situation and felt passionate about a career in music. He didn’t think it lessened her genuine feelings for Luke. But there was something else that bothered him—the way she had reacted when he had offered to help look around. He glanced at Annie. It was one of those rare moments when each knew what the other was thinking.