Banks stubbed out his cigarette in his wastebin, making sure it was completely dead, and tried to clear the air as best he could by opening the window and waving a file folder about.

When someone knocked at the door and walked in, he felt guilty, like the time his mother noticed ash from his cigarette on the outside window ledge of his room and stopped his pocket money. But it was only Annie Cabbot. He had asked her to drop by his office as soon as she had finished handing out actions to the newly drafted DCs that Red Ron McLaughlin had promised.

She looked particularly good this morning, Banks thought, her shiny chestnut hair falling in waves over her shoulders, her almond eyes serious and alert, though showing just a hint of wariness. She was wearing a loose white shirt and black denim jeans, which tapered to an end just above her ankles, around one of which she wore a thin gold chain.

“Annie. Sit down.”

Annie sat and crossed her legs. She twitched her nose. “You’ve been smoking in here again.”

“Mea culpa.”

She smiled. “What did you want to see me about?”

“In the first place, I’d like you to go over to the transportation office at the bus station, see if you can find out who was driving the quarter-to-three bus to York, the one that stops at the roundabout.”

Annie made a note.

“Have a chat with him. See if he remembers Emily being on the bus and getting into a light-colored car near the Red Lion. You might also see if he can give you any leads as to his other passengers. Someone might have noticed something.”

“Okay.”

“And have a chat with that bartender at the Jolly Roger, see if she can come up with anyone who might know where this couple lives, who they are. It’s probably a dead end, but we have to check it out.”

Annie made a note. “Okay. Anything else?”

Banks paused. “This is a bit awkward, Annie. I don’t want you to get the impression that this is in any way personal, but it’s just that since we started this investigation, I don’t feel I’ve had your full cooperation.”

Annie’s smile froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it feels like there’s a part of you not here – you’ve been distracted – and I’d like to know why.”

Annie shifted in her chair. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

“Look, what is this? Am I on the carpet, or something? Are you going to give me a bollocking?”

“I just want to know what’s going on, if there’s something I can help with.”

“Nothing’s going on. At least not with me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Try.”

“All right.” Annie leaned forward. “You said this wasn’t personal, but I think it is. I think you’re behaving this way because of what happened with us, because I broke off our relationship. You can’t handle working with me.”

Banks sighed. “Annie, this is a murder case. A sixteen-year-old girl, who also happens to be our chief constable’s daughter, was poisoned in a nightclub. I would have hoped I wouldn’t have to remind you of that. Until we find out who did it, this is a twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week job for us, and if you’re not up to it for one reason or another, I want to know now. Are you in or out?”

“You’re blowing this out of all proportion. I’m on the job. I might not be obsessed with the case, but I’m on the job.”

“Are you implying I am obsessed?”

“I’m not implying anything, but if the cap fits… What I will say is that it’s a damn sight more personal for you than it is for me. I didn’t go to London to track her down, or have lunch with her on the day she died. You did.”

“That’s neither here nor there. We’re talking about your commitment to the case. What about Sunday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sunday morning, when I called in for an update. You were out of contact all morning, and DC Jackman sounded decidedly cagey.”

“I’m hardly responsible for DC Jackman’s telephone manner.” Annie stood up, flushed, put her palms on his desk and leaned forward, jutting her chin out. “Look, I took some personal time. All right? Are you going to put me on report? Because if you are, just do it and cut the fucking lecture, will you. I’ve had enough of this.”

With anyone else, Banks would have hit the roof, but he was used to Annie’s insubordinate manner. It was one of the things that had intrigued him about her in the first place, though he still couldn’t be sure whether he liked it or not. At the moment, he didn’t. “The last thing I want to do is put you on report,” he said. “Not with your inspector’s boards coming up. I would hope you’d know that. That’s why I’m talking to you one on one. I don’t want this to go any further. I’ll tell you something, though: If you keep on behaving like this whenever anyone questions your actions, you’ll never make inspector.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Don’t be absurd. Look, Annie, sit down. Please.”

Annie held out for a while, glaring, then she sat.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to help you out here?” said Banks. “If there’s a problem, something personal, something to do with your family, I don’t know, then maybe we can work it out. I’m not here to supervise you twenty-four hours a day.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“But I need to be able to trust you, to leave you alone to get on with the job.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t think that’s what you’ve been doing.”

“I trusted you, and look what I found out.”

Banks sighed. “I’ve explained that.”

“And I’ve explained what I was doing.”

“Not to my satisfaction, you haven’t, and I don’t have to remind you that I’m SIO on this one. It’s my head on the block. So if there’s a problem, if it’s something I can help you with, then spit it out, tell me what it is, and I will. No matter what you believe, I’m not after doing you any harm because of what did or didn’t happen between us. Not everything is as personal as you think it is. Credit me with a bit more professionalism than that.”

“Professionalism? Is that what this is all about?”

“Annie, there’s something wrong. Let me help you.”

She gave a sharp jerk of her head and got to her feet again. “No.”

At that moment, DI Dalton popped his head around the door.

“What is it?” Banks asked, annoyed at the interruption. Dalton looked at Banks, then at Annie, and an expression of panic crossed his features.

“What is it, DI Dalton?”

Dalton looked at them both again and seemed to compose himself. “I thought you might like to know that the van driver died early this morning. Jonathan Fearn. Never regained consciousness.”

“Shit,” said Banks, tapping his pen on the desk. “Okay, Wayne, thanks for letting me know.”

Dalton glanced at his watch. “I’ll be off back to Newcastle now.”

“Keep in touch.”

“Will do.”

Dalton and Annie looked at one another for a split second before he left, and Banks saw right away that there was something between them, some spark, some secret. It hit him smack in the middle of the chest like a hammer blow. Dalton? So that was what she had been up to. It fit; her odd behavior coincided exactly with his arrival in Eastvale. Annie and Dalton had something going. Banks felt icy worms wriggle their way up inside his spine.

Annie stood for a few seconds, her eyes bright, glaring at Banks defiantly, then, with an expression of disgust, she turned on her heels, strode out of his office and slammed the door so hard that his filing cabinet rattled.

Sometimes trying to get a lead was like drawing teeth, Annie reflected. The bus driver had been easy enough to find – in fact, he had been eating a late breakfast in the station café before his first scheduled trip of the day – but he had been no help at all. All he’d been able to tell her was that he remembered Emily getting off at the roundabout, but there had been far too much traffic to deal with for him to notice anything more. The bus had been mostly empty, and he didn’t know who any of the other passengers were. He could, however, state with some certainty that Emily was the only person to get off at that stop.