Banks turned up his collar as he walked back to the Cortina. He needed cigarettes, and fortunately there was an off-license next door to the pub. As he picked up his change, he paused for a moment before pocketing it. Hatchley might have questioned the barmaids at The Oak, but he hadn't said anything about talking to the local shopkeepers.

Banks identified himself and asked the owner's name.

"Patel," the man answered cautiously.

"What time do you close?"

"Ten o'clock. It's not against the law, is it?" Mr. Patel answered in a broad Yorkshire accent.

"No, not at all. It's nothing to do with that," Banks assured him. "Think back to last Monday night. Did you notice anybody hanging around outside here during the evening?"

Mr. Patel shook his head.

It had probably been too early in the evening for the peeper and too long ago for the shopkeeper to remember, as Banks had feared.

"A bit later, though," Mr. Patel went on, "I noticed a* bloke waiting at the bus stop for a bloody long time. There must have been two or three buses went by and 'ee were still there. I think that were Monday last."

"What time was this?"

"After I'd closed up. 'Ee just sat there in that bus shelter over t'street."

Banks looked out of the window and saw the shelter, a dark rectangle set back from the road.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"Home," Mr. Patel said, turning up his eyes. "The flat's above t'shop. Very convenient."

"Yes, yes indeed," Banks said, getting more interested. "Tell me more."

"I remember because I was just closing t'curtains when a bus went by, and I noticed that bloke was still in t'shelter. It seemed a bit odd to me. I mean, why would a chap sit in a bus shelter if 'ee weren't waiting on a bus?"

"Why, indeed?" Banks said. "Go on."

"Nothing more to tell. A bit later I looked again, and 'ee were still there."

"What time did he leave?"

"I didn't actually see him leave, but 'ee'd gone by eleven o'clock. That were t'last time I looked out."

"And the time before that?"

"Excuse me?"

"When was the last time you looked out and saw him?"

"About 'alf past ten."

"Can you describe the man?"

Mr. Patel shook his head sadly. "Sorry, it were too dark. I think 'ee were wearing a dark overcoat or a raincoat, though. Slim, a bit taller than you. I got the impression 'ee were youngish, some'ow. It was 'ard to pick him out from the shadows."

"Don't worry about it," Banks said. At least the color of the coat matched the description that Sandra and the other victims had given. It had to be the man. They could talk to other people in the street: shopkeepers, locals, even the bus drivers. Maybe somebody else would have noticed a man waiting for a bus he never caught on Monday night.

"Look," Banks said, "this is very important. You've been a great help." Mr. Patel shrugged and shook his head shyly. "Have you ever seen the man before?"

"I don't think so, but how would I know? I couldn't recognize him from Adam, could I?"

"If you see him again, or anyone you think looks like him, anyone hanging about the bus stop without catching a bus, or acting oddly in any way, let me know, will you?" Banks wrote his number on a card and passed it to Mr. Patel, who nodded and promised to keep his eyes skinned.

For the first time in days, Banks felt quite cheerful as he drove home to the delightful melodies of The Magic Flute.

On Sunday morning, Banks paid his visit to Robin Allott, who lived in his parents' modest semi about ten minutes walk away.

A tiny, bird-like woman answered his knock and fluttered around him all the way into the living room.

"Do sit down, Inspector," she said, pulling out a chair. "I'll call Robin. He's in his room reading the Sunday papers."

Banks looked quickly around the room. The furniture was a little threadbare and there was no VCR or music center, only an ancient-looking television. Quite a contrast from the Ottershaws' opulence, he thought.

"He's coming down," Mrs. Allott said. "Can I make you a cup of tea?"

"Yes, please," Banks said, partly to get her out of the way for a while. She made him nervous with her constant hovering. "I hope I'm not disturbing you and Mr. Allott," he said.

"Oh no, not at all." She lowered her voice. "My husband's an invalid, Inspector. He had a serious stroke about two years ago and he can't get around much. He stays in bed most of the time and I look after him as best I can."

That explained the badly worn furnishings, Banks thought. Whatever help the social services gave, the loss of the breadwinner was a serious financial setback for most families.

"It's been a great help having Robin home since his divorce," she added, then shrugged. "But he can't stay forever, can he?"

Banks heard footsteps on the stairs, and as Robin entered the room, Mrs. Allott went to make the tea.

"Hello," Robin said, shaking Banks's hand. He looked an almost unnaturally healthy and handsome young man, despite the unmistakable signs of his chestnut-brown hair receding at the temples. "Sandra said you might call."

"It's about Alice Matlock," Banks said. "I'd just like to find out as much as I can about her."

"I don't really see how I can help you, Inspector," Robin said. "I told Sandra the same, but she seemed quite insistent. Surely you'll have found out all you want to know from her close friends?"

"She only had one, it seems: a lady called Ethel Carstairs. And even they haven't been friends for long. Most of Alice 's contemporaries appear to have died."

"I suppose that's what happens when you reach her age. Anyway, as I said, I don't know how I can help, but fire away."

"Had you seen her recently?"

"Not for a while, no. If I remember correctly, the last time was about three years ago. I was interested in portrait photography and I thought she'd make a splendid subject. I have the picture somewhere-I'll dig it out for you later."

"And before that?"

"I hadn't seen her since my gran died."

"She and your grandmother were close friends?"

"Yes. My father's mother. They grew up together and both worked most of their lives in the hospital. Eastvale's not such a big place, or it wasn't then, so it was quite natural they'd be close. They went through the wars together, too. That creates quite a bond between people. When I was a child, my gran would often take me over to Alice 's."

Mrs. Allott appeared with the tea and perched at the opposite end of the table.

"Can you tell me anything about her past?" Banks asked Robin.

"Nothing you couldn't find out from anyone else, I don't think. I did realize later, though, when I was old enough to understand, what a fascinating life she'd led, all the changes she'd witnessed. Can you imagine it? When she was a girl cars were few and far between and people didn't move around much. And it wasn't only technology. Look at how our attitudes have changed, how the whole structure of society is different."

"How did Alice relate to all this?"

"Believe it or not, Inspector, she was quite a radical. She was an early struggler for women's rights, and she even went so far as to serve with the International Brigade as a nurse in the Spanish Civil War."

"Was she a communist?"

"Not in the strict sense, as far as I know. A lot of people who fought against Franco weren't."

"What were your impressions of her?"

"Impressions? I suppose, when I was a child, I was just fascinated with the cottage she lived in. It was so full of odds and ends. All those alcoves just overflowing with knick-knacks she'd collected over the years: tarnished cigarette lighters, Victorian pennies and those old silver three-penny bits-all kinds of wonderful junk. I don't imagine I paid much attention to Alice herself. I remember I was always fascinated by that ship in the bottle, the Miranda. I stared at it for hours on end. It was alive for me, a real ship. I even imagined the crew manning the sails, doing battle with pirates."