“I have done nothing wrong,” said Wells, crossing his arms again.

The problem was, as Banks and Annie had already discussed, that the closed-circuit television cameras corroborated Wells’s story. Luke Armitage had entered Norman’s Used Books at two minutes to five and left—alone—at five twenty-four.

“What time did you close that day?” Banks asked.

“Half past five, as usual.”

“And what did you do?”

“I went home.”

“Number fifty-seven Arden Terrace?”

“Yes.”

“That’s off Market Street, isn’t it?”

“Close, yes.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Do you own a car?”

“A second-hand Renault.”

“Good enough to get you out to Hallam Tarn and back?”

Wells hung his head in his hands. “I’ve told you. I did nothing. I haven’t been near Hallam Tarn in months. Certainly not since the foot-and-mouth outbreak.”

Banks could smell his sweat even more strongly now, sharp and acrid, like an animal secretion. “What did you do after you went home?”

“Had my tea. Leftover chicken casserole, if you’re interested. Watched television. Read for a while, then went to sleep.”

“What time?”

“I’d say I was in bed by half past ten.”

“Alone?”

Wells just glared at Banks.

“You didn’t go out again that evening?”

“Where would I go?”

“Pub? Pictures?”

“I don’t drink, and I don’t socialize. I prefer my own company. And I happen to believe that there hasn’t been a decent picture made in the last forty years.”

“Did Luke Armitage visit your house at any time that evening?”

“No.”

“Has Luke Armitage ever visited your house?”

“No.”

“He’s never even stepped inside your front door, not just for a moment?”

“I talk to him in the shop sometimes. That’s all. He doesn’t even know where I live.”

“Did you ever give him a lift anywhere?”

“No. How could I do that? I walk to and from the shop every day. It’s not far, and it’s good exercise. Besides, you know what parking’s like around the market square.”

“So Luke has never been in your car?”

“Never.”

“In that case,” said Banks, “I’m sure you won’t mind if our forensic experts have a close look at your house and your car. We’d also like to take a DNA sample, just for comparison.”

Wells stuck his chin out. “What if I do mind?”

“We’ll keep you here until we get a search warrant. Remember, Norman, I wouldn’t like to say judges are swayed by such things, but Luke Armitage came from a wealthy and well-respected family, while you’re a disgraced school-teacher eking out a living in a dingy used-book shop. And that shop was the last place we know Luke visited before he disappeared.”

Wells hung his head. “Fine,” he said. “Go ahead. Do what you will. I don’t care anymore.”

After a sleepless night on Saturday, Michelle had spent Sunday getting over the shock of what had happened in her flat and trying to rein in her emotional response in favor of more analytical thought.

She hadn’t got very far.

That someone had gained entry and arranged things in order to frighten her was obvious enough. Why, was another matter entirely. That the interloper knew about Melissa surprised her, though she supposed people could find out anything about her if they really wanted to. But given that he knew, it would have been evident when he searched her bedside drawers that the little dress was Melissa’s, and that its desecration would cause her a great deal of anguish. In other words, it had been a cold, calculated assault.