“But he was only a kid, Annie. Surely he can’t have had that much to say?”

“It’s not what you say, sir, it’s how you say it. Teenage angst, mostly, from what I’ve heard. But it’s the name that’s the point. And, not to be too ghoulish about it, the circumstances. Dead son of famous rock suicide. With a promotion like that, the songs wouldn’t need to be that good. It’d get Liz’s band known, get them a name, and that’s more than half the battle in the music business.”

“But legally all Luke’s stuff belongs to his family now. Wouldn’t they sue if these people got as far as making a record of Luke’s songs?”

“Maybe, but it’d be too late then, wouldn’t it? And you know what they say: no publicity’s bad publicity. A lawsuit would only further Liz’s and Ryan’s career. It’s just a thought, sir.”

Gristhorpe finished his last chip and pushed his plate aside, taking a sip of shandy. “So what you’re saying is that, whether the two of them killed Luke or not, they somehow found themselves with a gold mine of material, and they thought they might as well hang on to it until they could use it?”

“As I said, sir, it’s only an idea. If they’d been a bit more cautious, they’d have got rid of the bag and we’d be none the wiser.”

“But they never thought we’d search their flat.”

“Why would they? They didn’t even know that anyone had seen Luke with Liz.”

“What about the vicar at that church where they practiced?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Winsome talked to him. Said he’s so otherworldly he hadn’t a clue who Luke Armitage was or that he’d disappeared.”

“Would Liz and Ryan have killed Luke for his stuff?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, sir. That’s the problem. Whichever way you look at it, they’d be far better off with Luke alive. He would have been the real draw. Without him, well…they’re simply doing the best they can.”

“So they had nothing to gain by killing him?”

“No. Not unless he was intending to walk out on them, for example, and take all his works with him. One of them could have lost it with him then. Or, as I suggested earlier, unless there was some sort of romantic relationship and Ryan found out.”

“A crime passionnel? I suppose so. Wouldn’t be the first time. We can’t discount anything yet. Let’s just give them a bit of time, hope forensics turn up something, and have at them again in the morning.”

“Good idea, sir.” Annie finished her pint.

“Annie, before you go…?”

“Sir?”

“I don’t mean to pry, but you and Alan…?”

“Just colleagues, sir. And friends.”

Gristhorpe seemed pleased with her answer. “Aye,” he said. “Good. Good. Get some sleep, lass. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

The pub was closer to the riverside than the city center, though even that wasn’t very far. Banks parked by the Rivergate Centre and walked the rest of the way. It was a pleasant evening, not a leaf stirring in the warm air. The sunset painted the sky bright orange and crimson. Banks could see Venus low on the horizon, and the constellations were slowly taking shape overhead. He wished he could recognize them all, but he could only make out Hercules. That made him think of those dreadful historical spectacles he used to love in the early sixties, with cheap special effects, Steve Reeves, and a scantily clad Sylva Koscina.