“I’m not blinkered,” said Annie. “I fully accept that Michael Lane might have made a mistake, that he was probably involved at some level. I realize that being perpetually short of cash might have pushed him into doing something illegal, no doubt with Morgan Spencer’s encouragement. He may even have seen the tractor as just a one-­off to get him back on his feet, and to thumb his nose at John Beddoes. I’m not dismissing those possibilities. But I’d also like to point out that right now he’s a missing person, possibly in danger, or already come to harm, not a suspect.”

“But he is a suspect as well,” said Banks.

“In what? The bloody tractor theft?”

“In that, yes, and in Morgan Spencer’s murder, until we prove otherwise.”

“Rubbish,” said Annie.

“Maybe so. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.”

Annie returned to her salad for a moment. “It’s open,” she muttered, when she looked him directly in the eye again. “She’s got a broken finger,” she said. “Alex Preston has. All right?”

“You never mentioned this before. What happened?”

“She said she trapped it in the door.”

“You don’t believe her?”

Annie paused before answering. “No,” she said, then washed a mouthful of salad down with her beer. “Something’s going on. I could tell by the way she was behaving. She was lying. You asked me if I thought Alex was being a bit naive. Well, maybe she is. Or was. I think she’s getting a few quick lessons in the harsh realities of life right now. She’s frightened as well as worried.”

Banks sighed. “All right. I want you to keep on top of Alex Preston,” he said. “Short of shadowing her. You think she’s holding something back. It’s no good thinking you’re protecting her by keeping it to yourself.”

“She might have let slip to Michael about Beddoes being on holiday,” Annie said. “She did know he was going. She booked the trip for him. And we know there’s no love lost between Michael Lane and John Beddoes. Also, if Michael found out that Morgan Spencer had made a pass at his mother, that might have given him a motive for Spencer’s murder, too. How’s that for an open mind?”

“But you said that was what, three years ago? Why would he find out just now?”

“I don’t know. I’m not saying he did. I’m keeping an open mind. Maybe it’s so open the dust’s blowing in. I’m just saying it’s another thing to consider when you look at Michael Lane as a suspect. Or his father, for that matter.”

“Frank Lane?”

“Yes. Have we checked his alibis? Do we know for sure he’s telling us the truth about everything? He’s certainly not rolling in money, and he’s no great love for Beddoes. What if the father had something to do with the tractor theft? Have we forgotten about that possibility?”

“Hmm, not entirely,” said Banks. “We’ll keep it on the back burner. What do you think happened to Alex?”

“Dunno. I suppose someone might have been warning her to keep quiet, if she knew anything, or perhaps they think she knows where Lane is and tried to get it out of her. Maybe they saw me and Doug call by her flat the other day.”

“You don’t believe she does know where Lane is, do you?”

“No, Alan, I don’t. The poor woman’s beside herself. That much I accept as true. You can’t fake that, not unless you’re an exceptional actress. Tears, yes, but it’s much more than that.”

“OK.” Banks held his hands up in surrender. “Let’s assume she doesn’t know where he is. Someone thinks she does and comes to ask her? Breaks a finger when she won’t, or can’t, tell?”

“Which raises another important question,” said Annie.

“Oh?”

“How did whoever did it know who she was and where she lived?”

“Through Michael Lane, I’d guess.”

“That’s right. Meaning that Lane probably is involved with whatever’s been going on. Involved enough that the ­people he works for know where he lives and who with.”

“There is another possibility,” said Banks.

“What’s that?”

“That it’s Alex they know, Alex who’s working with them. And she’s spinning you a line.”

“No way,” said Annie, looking down into her dish.

“The question is,” said Banks, “do we put someone on her 24/7?”

Annie looked up again. “Do you think Madame Gervaise would authorize that?”

“Hell, we got to use the new helicopter today, didn’t we? It seems since we got our new home secretary and police commissioner, we only have to ask. Enjoy it while you can. It won’t last. What I’m saying is that if you think Alex Preston is in danger, then we obviously need to keep an eye on her.”

“It was probably just a low-­level thug, not the boss himself.”

“Even so. And there’s something in it for us. He could lead us to the boss.”

“OK,” said Annie. “I’ll see what I can get organized. It’s stretching things a bit thin, I know, but four officers should be able to manage a twenty-­four-­hour watch between them. I mean, we don’t need anything too elaborate here. It’s not exactly Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.”

“OK,” Banks said. “And in the meantime, after the postmortem, why don’t we go pay Alex a visit before we check out Venture in Leeds. Winsome can take Gerry or Doug and have a chat with someone at Vaughn’s about Caleb Ross’s pickup schedule and who might have had access to it. Ross probably drove a circuitous route. How long had he had this particular load in his van? How long did his round take him? Once we have the list, we’ll have to check every farm he called at, and even then there’s no guarantee anyone will know anything. I don’t know, but I imagine it’s easy to sneak another black bin bag or two among the pile if you know where it’s kept. Ross is also bound to have left the van unattended here and there, and it wouldn’t have taken long for someone to add a few bags to his load.”

“Have you ever thought that Ross himself might have done it?”

“What? The killing in the hangar?”

“Yes. Or at least prepared the body for incineration with the animals after the killing. Why not? He had the best access.”

“It’s an interesting possibility. And he certainly might have known what he was carrying in the back of his van. You’re heading in the right direction. He could be more involved than we think. What more perfect cover than his job for tipping off criminals where to find unguarded livestock, or when farmers will be away leaving expensive equipment in their garages and barns? And if that’s the case, he might have been co-­opted to dispose of the body himself.”

“As long as we don’t have to go back to that bloody valley of death and help them look for the head.”

“Not if I can help it,” said Banks. He waved his empty glass. “Another?”

“Why not?” Annie handed him her glass. “And when you get back you can tell me all about your romantic weekend in Cumbria with the lovely Oriana.”

“Umbria. It was Umbria.” Banks felt himself blushing as he walked to the bar. Behind him, he heard Annie’s mobile make a sound like a demented cricket.

WHEN ALEX finally stopped crying, Annie poured her another glass of wine and took a glass for herself. She’d been denied that second pint with Banks, leaving him alone at the table as she hurried out of the Queen’s Arms after receiving Alex’s phone call, so why not? He had wanted to come with her, given the subject matter of their conversation, but she had told him, no, this sounded like something she could do better on her own. Woman’s work. And it was. It was more a matter of do-­gooding, of giving comfort, than real detective work. At least he had seemed relieved to avoid having to tell her about his weekend in Umbria and she left him alone listening to the Springfields’ “Silver Threads and Golden Needles.”

Banks had been right about Annie’s motives. She did want things to go well for Alex and Michael. They weren’t exactly a project, the way Lisa Gray had been for Winsome, but she had pinned some hopes on them already, and she was damned if she was going to let them slip through the cracks. Maybe she was doing it more for herself than for them. Maybe it was even a part of her own rehabilitation, something she could enjoy vicariously, seeing as she seemed unable to find a man of her own. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. The room was warm and cozy, the shaded lamplight soothing. Once in a while she heard a yell or a loud noise from outside. Kids, most likely. Then the muffled male and female voices of a burgeoning domestic sounded from above.