“I’m not here to force her to do anything she doesn’t want,” said Banks. “She can stay down here if she likes. All her father wants is to know what she’s doing, where she lives, if she’s all right. And if she’ll talk to him, great, if not-”

“Why should I trust you? You’ve already lied to me.”

“Is she in any trouble, Ruth?” Banks asked. “Does she need help?”

“Help? Louisa? You must be joking. She’s the kind who always lands on her feet, no matter what. After she’s landed on her back first, that is.”

“I thought she was a friend of yours?”

“She was. Is.” Ruth made an impatient gesture. “She just annoys me sometimes, that’s all. Most people do. Don’t your friends piss you off from time to time?”

“But is there any real reason for concern?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

Banks sipped some tea; it tasted bitter. “Where did you meet her?”

“Down near King’s Cross. She came up to me in the street and asked me the way to the nearest youth hostel. We got talking. I could tell she’d just arrived and she wasn’t quite sure what to do or where to go.” Ruth shrugged. “I know how lonely and friendless London can be, especially when you’re new to it all.”

“So you took her in?”

“I felt sorry for her.”

“And she lived with you here?”

Ruth’s cheeks reddened. “Look, I’m not a lezzy, if that’s what you’re thinking. I offered her my spare room till she got on her feet. That’s all. Can’t a person do someone a good turn anymore without it being turned into some sort of sex thing?”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” said Banks. “I’m sorry if it upset you.”

“Yeah… well. Just be careful what you go around saying to people, that’s all.”

“You and Louisa are friends, though, you said?”

“Yeah. She stayed here for a while. I helped get her a job, but it didn’t take. Then she met Craig, a bloke I knew from college, and she went off to live with him.”

Ruth spoke in a curiously dispassionate way, but Banks got the impression there was a lot beneath the surface she wasn’t saying. He also got the sense that she was constantly assessing, evaluating, calculating, and that being found out in his little lie had put him somehow in thrall to her. “I’ve talked to Craig Newton,” he said, “and he told me she left him for a new boyfriend. Sounds like a nasty piece of work. Know who he is?”

“Just some bloke she met at a party.”

“Were you there? Did you meet him?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen them since?”

“They came round here once. I think Louisa was showing him off. He certainly didn’t seem impressed by what he saw.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Barry Clough.”

“Do you know the address?”

Ruth fumbled for another cigarette, and when she had lit it and breathed out her first lungful of smoke, she nodded. “Yeah. They live in one of those fancy villa-style places out Little Venice way. Louisa had me over to a dinner party there once – catered, of course. I think she was trying to impress me that time.”

“Did it work?”

“It takes more than a big house and a couple of has-been rock stars. And maybe a back-bencher and a bent copper or two.”

Banks smiled. “What does he do for a living?”

“Some sort of businessman. He’s got connections with the music business. If you ask me, he’s a drug dealer.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Fancy house. Always lots of coke around. Rock stars. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

“Does Louisa take drugs?”

“Is the Pope Polish?”

“How long ago did they meet?”

“Bit over two months.”

“Have you seen much of her since that time?”

“Not much. You’re beginning to sound like a copper, you know.”

Banks didn’t like the way she was looking at him, as if she knew. “I’m just worried, that’s all,” he said.

“Why? She’s not your daughter.”

Banks didn’t want to explain about his own daughter, at this moment no doubt walking around Paris hand in hand with Damon, or perhaps not even bothering with the sights, deciding instead to spend the weekend in bed. “Her father’s a good mate of mine,” he said instead, the words almost sticking in his throat as he uttered them. “I’d hate to see any harm come to her.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it? I mean, it was nearly six months ago when she first came down here. He should have put a bit more effort into finding her back then, if you ask me.” She paused, narrowed her eyes again, then said, “I’m not sure about you. There’s something you’re not telling me. You weren’t screwing her, were you? I wouldn’t put it past her. She was no innocent from the provinces, even when she first came here. She knew what was what.”

“She’s a bit young for me,” Banks said.

Ruth gave a harsh laugh. “At your age I should think it’s often a matter of the younger the better. Why do you think they have prostitutes as young as thirteen, fourteen? ’Cos the girls like it?”

Banks felt the sting of her remark, but he couldn’t think of an appropriate response. “We’re getting off track here.”

“Not if you want me to give you Louisa’s address, we’re not. I’ve got to satisfy myself you’re not a pervert, not some creep, haven’t I? And don’t come the age bit. She could coax a ninety-year-old bishop out of his cassock, could Louisa.”

“All I can do is repeat what I’ve already told you. There was nothing like that. I’ve got a daughter her age, myself.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

Surprised, Banks answered, “Tracy.”

Ruth evaluated him some more. “You don’t look old enough.”

“Want to see my birth certificate?”

“No, that’s not necessary. Besides, I don’t suppose you actually carry it around with you, do you?”

“It was a… never mind,” said Banks, feeling he had had just about as much of Ruth Walker and her sharp edges as he could take. No wonder Emily had run off with Craig Newton at the first opportunity.

Ruth got up and walked to the window. “Would you believe that sad pillock over there?” she said a few moments later, almost muttering to herself. “He works security, on the night shift. Hasn’t a clue the bloke from number fifty-three is shagging the arse off his wife every night. Dirty bastard. Maybe I should tell him?”

Before Banks could make any comment, Ruth turned sharply, arms folded, a smug smile on her face. “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you where they live. But you’re wasting your time. She’s had it with the lot of you. She won’t listen to a word you’ve got to say.”

“It’s worth a try. At least I’ll find out whether she’s all right, what she’s up to.”

Ruth gave him a pitying look. “Maybe you will,” she said. “And maybe you won’t.”

Shortly after six o’clock that evening, Banks got off the tube at Warwick Avenue and walked toward the address Ruth had given him. Had it been a lovely summer evening, he might have walked down the steps to the canal and admired the brightly colored houseboats, but it had turned dark by late afternoon, as usual, and it was a chilly evening, with the smell of rain in the wind.

The address turned out to be a villa-style building, square and detached within a high enclosing wall. In the wall stood an iron gate. A locked gate.

Banks could have kicked himself for not expecting something like this. If Louisa’s boyfriend was the type to go around with minders, he was also the type to live in a bloody fortress. Getting to see Emily Riddle wouldn’t be quite so easy as knocking on the door or ringing the bell.

At the front, two of the downstairs windows and one upstairs were lit behind dark curtains, and a light shone over the front door. Banks tried to think of the best approach. He could simply call through on the intercom and announce himself, see if that gained him admission. Alternatively, he could climb the gate and go knock on the door. Then what? Rescue the damsel in distress? Climb to the upstairs window on her hair? Flee with her over his shoulder? As far as he knew, though, Emily Riddle wasn’t in distress, nor was she held captive in a tower. In fact, she might well be having the time of her life.