"It's Ms. Wycombe," she told him, "and I expect you to treat this matter seriously."

"It's a serious charge," Banks agreed, "as I said earlier. That's why I want it fully documented. What exactly did Carol Ellis say?"

"She said that Sergeant Hatchley seemed to treat the whole Peeping Tom business as a bit of a lark, that he seemed either bored or amused whilst interviewing her, and that he made certain suggestions about her body."

"Bored or amused, Ms. Wycombe? Which? They're very different, you know."

"Both, at'different times."

"Certain suggestions about her body? What kind of suggestions? Lewd, offensive?"

"What other kind are there, Inspector? He hinted that the Peeping Tom must have had quite a treat."

"Is that all?"

"Isn't it enough? What kind of-"

"I mean are there any other allegations?"

"No. That's all I wanted to say. I hope I can trust you, Inspector, to see that something is done about this."

"Don't worry, Ms. Wycombe, I'll get to the bottom of it. If there's any truth in the charges, Sergeant Hatchley will be disciplined, you can be sure of that."

Dorothy Wycombe smiled grimly and suspiciously, then swished out of the office.

Gristhorpe took a deep breath. "Alan," he said, "when I made that joke about throwing your sergeant to the wolves the other day, I didn't mean it bloody literally. Whatever we might think about Ms. Wycombe and her manner, we've got to concede that she's got a point. Don't you agree?"

"If what she says is true, yes."

"You think it might not be?"

"We both know how the truth gets twisted in emotional situations, sir. Let me get Hatchley's version before we go any further."

"Very well. But let me know, Alan. Are you getting any further?"

"No, but I'm seeing Jenny Fuller again today. Perhaps she'll have a bit more light to shed on things. If we can narrow the field down a bit, we might at least be able to start checking around."

"What about Alice Matlock?"

"Nothing yet."

"Get a move on, Alan. Too many things are piling up for my liking."

Back in his office, Banks found a note from Inspector Barnshaw accompanying a police artist's drawing of the man that the Leeds junk dealer, Crutchley, had described. He had recognized none of the file photographs, but the sketch was a good realization of the description Banks had taken.

He lit a cigarette, tidied the files on his desk, and sent for Sergeant Hatchley, who arrived about five minutes later.

"Sit down," Banks said, his abrupt tone foreshadowing the chewing out the sergeant was in for.

Banks decided not to beat about the bush. Instead, he told Hatchley exactly what Dorothy Wycombe had said and asked him for his version of what had happened during the Carol Ellis interview.

Hatchley blushed and scratched his chin, avoiding Banks's glance.

"Is it true?" Banks pressed. "That's all I want to know."

"Well, yes and no," Hatchley admitted.

"Meaning?"

"Look, sir, I know Carol Ellis. I'm a bachelor and she's not married either, and I'm not denying I've had my eye on her for some time-long before this business ever started."

"Go on."

"When I talked to her yesterday, she'd got over what happened. After all, it was just a bit of a shock. Nobody got hurt. And she was even joking about it a bit, wishing she'd worn her best underwear, given a better show, that kind of thing. 'Appen she was saying it to cover up her nerves, or maybe she was embarrassed. I don't know. But, like I told you, I know her and I quite fancy her myself, so I might have joked along, you know, made things a bit more personal."

" 'Might have'?"

"All right, I did."

"Were you bored?"

"With Carol Ellis around? You must be joking, sir. A bit casual, maybe. It's not like interrogating someone you don't know, or a villain."

"Did you suggest that the peeper must have had quite a treat?"

"I don't rightly recollect. I might have joked along with her, like. When she said about wearing her best undies, I probably said she'd look fine to me in any underwear. You know, just like a compliment. A bit cheeky, but…"

Banks sighed. It was clear to him what had happened, but it was equally clear that it shouldn't have. The worst he could accuse Hatchley of was tactlessness and allowing personal affairs to come before police work. Whatever Carol Ellis had said to Dorothy Wycombe had probably been said in a spirit of fun, and was no doubt grossly distorted.

"I don't need to tell you that it was a bloody stupid thing to do, do I?" he said to Hatchley, who didn't reply. "Because of your actions, we're in for a lot more bad publicity, and we've got to spend time placating Dorothy bloody Wycombe. I do wish you'd learn to keep your urges to yourself. It's one thing to chat the woman up in a pub, but quite another to do it while you're interviewing her about a crime. Am I making myself clear?"

Hatchley pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Are you sure that Carol Ellis took your remarks in the spirit they were intended?"

Here, Hatchley beamed. "She's going out with me on Saturday night, sir, if that's of any account."

Banks couldn't help but smile. "Something must have got twisted in the communication network, then," he muttered. "I'll talk to her myself and straighten it out.

But be bloody careful in future. I don't need the aggro, and the superintendent certainly doesn't. You'd better stay out of the peeper case in future. And you'd better stay out of the old man's way for a day or two, as well."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Concentrate on the break-ins and the Alice Matlock killing." He passed Hatchley the drawing. "Get copies done of this and spread them around. Help Richmond find out if Alice Matlock had any younger friends, any lame ducks, lonely hearts, that kind of thing. Did you see Wooller, bytheway?"

"Yes, last night."

"Anything?"

Hatchley shook his head. "Nah. He's an odd one all right, but I'm pretty damn sure he didn't see or hear anything."

"Did you get the impression he was holding something back?"

"Lots of things. He's a dark horse, sure enough. But nothing about the Matlock case, no. I still reckon he's worth keeping an eye on for the other business, though. You definitely get a kind of dirty feeling, talking to him."

"Okay," Banks said. "But you're off that. And if the press get hold of Dorothy Wycombe's story, which I'm sure they will, I want no comments from you. None at all. That understood?"

"Yes, sir. Bit of an Amazon, eh, that Dorothy Wycombe?"

"Off you go, Sergeant."

Hatchley left and Banks relaxed, glad it was over. He didn't mind yelling at the sergeant in the course of duty, but he hated the formality of the official reprimand. It was easy to see why Gristhorpe had passed the buck to him in the first place; the superintendent was diplomatic enough, all right, but he was also too soft-hearted when it came to his men. He looked at his watch. It was just after eleven. He decided to take his coffee and toasted teacake alone this morning, and leave Hatchley to lick his wounded pride for a while.