Though she believed Liz’s story, Annie found it hard to dredge up any sympathy. Legally, however, any charges that could be brought against them were minor. If reckless negligence could be proved, then they could, at a stretch, be convicted of manslaughter, but even though they had given Luke drugs, Annie reminded herself, she still didn’t know how he had died, or why.

“Do you know where he went after he left your flat?” Annie asked.

“No,” said Liz between sobs. “We never saw him again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Did you or Ryan give Luke any Valium, to calm him down, perhaps?”

Liz frowned and looked at Annie through her tears. “No. We didn’t do stuff like that.”

“So you never had any Valium in the house?”

“No.”

“And there’s nothing more you can tell me?”

“I’ve told you everything.” She looked up at Annie with red eyes. “Can I go home now? I’m tired.”

Annie stood up and called for a uniformed officer. “Yes,” she said. “But don’t wander too far. We’ll be wanting to talk to you again.”

When Liz had been escorted away, Annie closed the interview room door behind her and sat down again and held her throbbing head in her hands.

“Another drink, Alan?”

Banks’s beer glass was half-full, and he had just arranged to go out drinking that evening with Dave Grenfell and Paul Major, so he declined Mrs. Marshall’s offer and ate another potted-meat sandwich instead. Besides, the beer was a neighbor’s home brew, and it tasted like it.

“You know, I’m glad we did this,” Mrs. Marshall went on. “The service. I know it probably seems silly to some people, after all this time, but it means a lot to me.”

“It doesn’t seem silly,” said Banks, looking around the room. Most of the guests were family and neighbors, some of whom Banks recognized. Dave’s and Paul’s parents were there, along with Banks’s own. Pachelbel’s “Canon” played in the background. Graham would have hated it, Banks thought. Or probably not. If he’d lived, his tastes would no doubt have changed, as Banks’s had. Even so, what he really wanted to listen to was “Ticket to Ride” or “Summer Nights” or “Mr. Tambourine Man.”

“I think it meant a lot to all of us,” he said.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Marshall said tearfully. “Are you sure you won’t have some more?”

“No, thank you.”

Mrs. Marshall wandered off. Banks noticed Bill Marshall in his armchair by the fireplace, a blanket over his knees despite the muggy day. The windows were all open, but it was still too stuffy in the house. Banks saw Paul talking to a couple he didn’t recognize, probably old neighbors, and Dave was chatting with Graham’s sister Joan. His own parents were talking to Mrs. and Mrs. Grenfell. Feeling the call of nature, Banks set his glass down on the sideboard and went upstairs.

When he had finished in the toilet, he noticed that the door to Graham’s old room was open, and he was surprised to see that the space-rocket wallpaper he remembered from years back was still on the walls. Drawn by the odd sight, he wandered into the small bedroom. Of course, everything else had changed. The bed was gone, along with the small glass-fronted bookcase Banks remembered, mostly full of science fiction. The only familiar object stood in a case leaning against the wall. Graham’s guitar. So they had kept it all these years.