Michelle staggered back against the wall, half the dress clutched to her chest, hardly able to believe what was happening. As she did so, her eye caught the writing on the dressing-table mirror: FORGET GRAHAM MARSHALL, BITCH. REMEMBER MELISSA. YOU COULD JOIN HER.

Michelle cried out, covered her face with the dress and slid down the wall to the floor.

Chapter 12

Norman Wells sat in the interview room with his folded arms resting on the top of his paunch and his lips pressed tight together. If he was scared, he wasn’t showing it. But then, he didn’t know how much the police already knew about him.

Banks and Annie sat opposite him, files spread out in front of them. Banks felt well-rested after a day off. He had stayed up late Saturday night eating Chinese food and talking with Brian, but on Sunday, after Brian left, he had done nothing but read the papers, go for a walk from Helmthorpe to Rawley Force and back by himself, stopping for a pub lunch and fiddling with the Sunday Times crossword. In the evening, he had thought of ringing Michelle Hart in Peterborough but decided against it. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, so let her contact him first, if she wanted to. After a small Laphroaig and a cigarette outside, enjoying the mild evening air around sunset, he had listened to Ian Bostridge’s English Song Book CD, gone to bed before half past ten, and slept as soundly as he could remember in a long time.

“Norman,” said Banks. “You don’t mind if I call you Norman, do you?”

“It’s my name.”

“Detective Inspector Cabbot here has been doing a bit of digging around in your background, and it turns out you’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?”

Wells said nothing. Annie pushed a file toward Banks, and he opened it. “You used to be a schoolteacher, am I right?”

“You know I did, or you wouldn’t have dragged me in here away from my business.”

Banks raised his eyebrows. “It’s my understanding that you came here of your own free will when asked to help us with our inquiries. Am I wrong?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“I don’t follow.”

“And there’s no need to play the thickie with me. You know what I mean. If I hadn’t come willingly, you’d have found some way to bring me here, whether I wanted to come or not. So just get on with it. It might not seem much to you, but I have a business to run, customers who rely on me.”

“We’ll try to see that you get back to your shop as soon as possible, Norman, but first I’d like you to answer a few questions for me. You taught at a private school in Cheltenham, right?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“I left seven years ago.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I grew tired of teaching.”

Banks glanced at Annie, who frowned, leaned over and pointed at some lines on the typed sheet of paper in front of Banks. “Norman,” Banks went on, “I think I ought to inform you that Detective Inspector Cabbot spoke to your old headmaster, Mr. Fulwell, earlier this morning. He was reticent to discuss school business at first, but when she informed him that we were conducting a possible murder investigation, he was a little more forthcoming. We know all about you, Norman.”