“Oh, shut up, you pompous bastard. It was just a fuck, that’s all. You don’t know a bloody thing, do you?”

“Wait. I’ll drive you,” he called out as she walked through the door.

“Don’t bother,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll catch a bus.” And she slammed the door behind her.

A couple of uniformed policemen kept the press away from Sir Geoffrey’s house. When Banks and Susan got there early in the afternoon, there were only about six reporters hanging around at the end of the driveway. They fired off a few questions, but Banks ignored them. Too early to start giving statements to the press. Unless you were Chief Constable Riddle, of course.

The only new information Banks had was that the swabs taken from Deborah had revealed no traces of semen, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell the media that. He had also discovered that Sir Geoffrey’s reception at the Royal Hotel in York had ended at four o’clock, plenty of time to get back home by six, even in the fog. Lady Harrison had, indeed, been at the health club; but she hadn’t arrived there until almost six-thirty.

Banks hadn’t noticed in the fog last night, but the house had a large lawn and beautiful flower-beds, clearly the work of a gardener. Even keeping the lawn trimmed would have been a full-time job. The house itself was an ostentatious pile of Victorian stone, complete with gables, probably built for one of the get-rich-quick wool merchants in the last century.

Sir Geoffrey himself answered Banks’s ring and beckoned the two of them in. Banks introduced Susan.

“Is there any news?” Sir Geoffrey asked.

Banks shook his head. “Not yet, sir. Sorry.”

Sir Geoffrey looked drawn and stooped, and he had large bags, like bruises, under his eyes. Banks followed him through to the white room with the bookcases, the Chagall and the grand piano. Michael Clayton was sitting in one of the armchairs, also looking as if he had gone without sleep for a week.

“Michael, I believe you met Detective Chief Inspector Banks last night,” Sir Geoffrey said.

“Yes,” said Clayton, “and I know Detective Constable Gay, too. I don’t know if I ever thanked you.”

Susan smiled. “All part of the service, sir.”

Banks gave her a quizzical look.

“Mr. Clayton had his car and a valuable notebook computer stolen in August,” she explained. “We got them back for him. Someone was trying to sell the computer at Eastvale market.”

“I don’t think I explained last night,” Sir Geoffrey went on, “but in addition to being a dear friend, Michael’s the scientific genius behind HarClay Industries. I simply provide the sales and marketing strategies.” He clapped Clayton on the shoulder. “I don’t know what we’d do without him. Please, sit down.”

“Where’s your wife, sir?” Banks asked.

“Sylvie’s resting. She…we didn’t get much sleep last night. She’s exhausted. Me, too. Look, we…er…I’m sorry. Things are a bit of a mess around here. How can I help you?”

“We won’t keep you long. Just a couple of questions.”

Sir Geoffrey nodded wearily. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“Thank you,” said Banks. “We’ve talked to a few people at Deborah’s school, and everyone seems to agree that Deborah was a cheerful and talented girl.”

Sir Geoffrey nodded. “Sylvie and I are very proud of her.”

“But even the best of people make enemies,” Banks went on. “Often inadvertently. Can you think of any enemies Deborah might have made?”

Sir Geoffrey closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. She got along well with her schoolfriends and teachers-I’m sure they’ll all bear that out-and there wasn’t really anyone else in her life aside from family.”

“I heard that she had a tendency to show off at times. Would you say that’s fair?”

Sir Geoffrey smiled. “Yes, Deborah can be a show-off, and a bit of a devil at times. But what child can’t be?”

Banks smiled, thinking of Tracy. “And Deborah was still a child in some ways,” he said. “She might not always have realized the effects of her actions on others. Do you see what I mean?”

Sir Geoffrey nodded. “But I can’t see us getting anywhere with this,” he said. “Unless you’re implying that someone at the school had something to do with her death. Or that bloody minister at St. Mary’s.”

“Daniel Charters?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why do you dislike him so?”

“The man’s a pervert. He abused his power.”

Banks shook his head. “But nothing’s been proved against him. Isn’t he entitled to be presumed innocent until proven guilty?”

“In theory, perhaps. But a man in his position should be above suspicion.”

“The man who accused Father Charters is called Ive Jelačić. Would it surprise you to know that he made lewd gestures towards your daughter, and that she complained to Dr. Green, the head of St. Mary’s?”

“She never told me that. If she had, I’d have broke his bloody neck.”

Banks turned to Clayton. “Did Deborah ever confide in you about anything?”

Clayton raised his eyebrows. “Me? Good heavens, no. I suppose I was just as uncool as her parents as far as she was concerned.”

“Uncool?”

“You know teenagers, Chief Inspector. We’re ancient and decrepit creatures to them.”

“I suppose we are.” Banks took a deep breath and turned back to Sir Geoffrey. “This is a little delicate, I’m afraid, but I have to ask where you went after the Royal Hotel reception ended at four o’clock yesterday.”

“Good God, man! You can’t poss-”

“Geoff, he has to ask. He’s just doing his job,” said Michael Clayton, putting his hand on Sir Geoffrey’s arm. “Offensive though it may be.”

Sir Geoffrey ran his hand over his hair. “I suppose so. I had a private meeting with a client, if you must know. A man from the government called Oliver Jackson. It’s a very confidential matter, and I don’t want anyone else to know about the meeting. Things like this can have an effect on share prices and any number of market factors. Not to mention international affairs. Do you understand?”

Banks nodded. “There is just one more thing…”

Sir Geoffrey sighed. “Go ahead, if you must.”

“I was wondering about any boyfriends Deborah might have had.”

“Boyfriends?”

“Yes. It would be perfectly natural for a girl of sixteen to have an interest in the opposite sex. Perfectly innocent things, like going to the pictures with a boy, maybe. She did have a ticket stub from the Regal in her blazer pocket.”

Sir Geoffrey shook his head. “She used to go to the pictures with her mother a lot. The two of them…Deborah didn’t have any boyfriends, Chief Inspector. You’re barking up quite the wrong tree there. She didn’t have time for boys.”

“Had she never had a boyfriend?”

“Only Pierre, if that counts at all.”

“ Pierre?”

“In Bordeaux, or rather at Montclair. My wife’s family owns a chateau in the country near Bordeaux. We often spend holidays there. Pierre is a neighbour’s son. All quite innocent, of course.”

“Of course,” Banks agreed. “And a long way away.”

“Yes…well. Look, about this Jelačić character. That’s a disturbing piece of news. Are you going to bring him in?”

“We’re pursuing inquiries in a number of directions,” Banks said as he and Susan walked to the door, annoyed at himself for sounding as if he were talking to the press.

Outside, they ducked through the reporters beyond the gate and got back into Banks’s car out of the rain.

“Interesting, don’t you think?” Banks said. “About the boyfriend.”

“Yes, sir. Either he really didn’t know, or he was lying.”

“But why lie?”

“Perhaps Deborah really did keep it a secret from him? If he’s a strict father, I could see her doing that.”

“Possibly. What about his alibi?”

“Very plausible,” said Susan. “I noticed you didn’t ask his wife for hers.”

“One at a time, Susan. One a time. Besides, I hardly think Sylvie Harrison murdered her own daughter. She’s not tall or strong enough, for a start.”