“Any chance of footprints?”

Stefan shook his head. “If there was any sort of impression in the grass or the dust, you can be sure it’s gone now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Do I ever? Tire tracks?”

“Again, too many, and it’s not a good road surface. But we’re looking. We’ve got a botanist coming up from York, too. There may be some unique plant life by the roadside, especially with it being close to a body of water. You never know. If you find someone with a bit of purple-speckled ragwort sticking to the bottom of his shoe, it just might be your man.”

“Wonderful.” Banks walked back to his car.

“Chief Inspector?” It was one of the reporters, a local man Banks recognized.

“What do you want?” he asked. “We’ve just told you lot all we know at the press conference.”

“Is it true what we’ve been hearing?” the reporter asked.

“What have you been hearing?”

“That it was a botched kidnapping.”

“No comment,” said Banks, muttering, “Shit,” under his breath as he got in his car, turned around in the next lay-by and set off home.

After tracking down a retired detective inspector who had worked out of West End Central and persuading him to talk to her in London the following day, Michelle had left the station and stopped off to rent the video of The Krays on her way home. She hoped the film would at least give her a general picture of their life and times.

She had been living in her riverside flat on Viersen Platz for two months now, but it still felt temporary, just another place she was passing through. Partly it was because she hadn’t unpacked everything—books, dishes, some clothes and other odds and ends—and partly it was the job, of course. Long hours made it difficult to keep house, and most of her meals were eaten on the run.

The flat itself was cozy and pleasant enough. A modern four-story building, part of the Rivergate Centre, it faced south, overlooking the river, got plenty of light for the potted plants she liked to keep on her small balcony, and was so close to the city center as to be practically in the shadow of the cathedral. She didn’t know why she hadn’t settled in more; it was one of the nicest places she had ever lived in, if a bit pricey. But what else did she have to spend her money on? She particularly liked to sit out on the balcony after dark, look at the lights reflected in the slow-moving river and listen to the trains go by. On weekends she could hear blues music from Charters Bar, an old iron barge moored opposite, by Town Bridge, and the customers sometimes made a bit too much noise at closing time, but that was only a minor irritant.

Michelle had no friends to invite for dinner, nor the time or inclination to entertain them, so she hadn’t even bothered to unpack her best chinaware. She had even let such basics as laundry, dusting and ironing slip, and as a consequence her flat had the air of someone who used to maintain a certain level of tidiness and cleanliness but had let things go. Even the bed was unmade since that morning.