“Honestly,” the woman said, helping Michelle to the other side. “Some drivers. I don’t know what the place is coming to, I really don’t. Are you all right, love?”

“Yes,” said Michelle, dusting herself off. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks very much. Just a bit shaken up.” And she was still trembling when she got in her own car. She gripped the steering wheel tightly to steady herself, took several deep breaths and waited until her heart rate slowed to normal before she set off back to the station.

“Can you manage by yourself for a day or so?” Banks asked Annie over a lunchtime pint in the Queen’s Arms. Like most of the pubs in the area since the outbreak of foot-and-mouth, it was half-empty, and even the jukebox and video machines were mercifully silent. One of the local farmers, who had already had too much to drink, stood at the bar fulminating against the government’s mishandling of the outbreak to the bar owner, Cyril, who gave a polite grunt of agreement every now and then. Everybody was suffering, not only the farmers, but the pub owners, bed and breakfast owners, local tradesmen, the butcher, baker and candlestick maker, Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all. And, unlike the farmers, they didn’t get any compensation from the government. Only a week or so ago, the owner of a walking-gear shop in Helmthorpe had committed suicide because his business had gone down the tubes.

Annie put her glass down. “Course I can,” she said. “What’s up?”

“It’s Graham Marshall’s funeral tomorrow. There’ll likely be some old friends around. I’d like to go down this evening.”

“No problem. Have you asked the boss?”

“Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe has given me permission to be absent from school for two days. I just wanted to clear it with you before taking off.”

“I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied. Talking about school, you told me you weren’t satisfied with your Alastair Ford interview yesterday?”

Banks lit a cigarette. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not. Not at all.”

“So is he a suspect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe his coming hot on the heels of Norman Wells was just a bit too much for me. His house is very isolated, which makes it a good place to keep someone prisoner, or kill someone and dump the body in the middle of the night without any neighbors noticing. But then you could probably get away with murder in the town center, too, given most people’s powers of observation and unwillingness to get involved.”

“Except for the CCTV.”

“And a damn lot of good that’s done us. Anyway, Ford is a solitary. He jealously protects his privacy, probably feels superior to people who are content to make small talk and share their opinions. He may be homosexual—there was something distinctly odd about the way he responded to my question about boyfriends—but even that doesn’t make him a suspect. We don’t know the motive for Luke’s murder, and according to Dr. Glendenning there was no evidence of sexual assault, although a few days in the water might have taken care of any traces of that. You know, Annie, the more I think about it, the more the kidnapping seems as if it was just a smoke screen, but oddly enough, it might turn out to be the most important thing.”