Michelle was five minutes late, and Banks had already settled at a small corner table with a pint of bitter. The lounge was small and smoky, but most of the people stood at the bar, and the video machines were mercifully silent. Piped music played softly, some sort of modern pop stuff Banks didn’t recognize. Michelle was wearing tight black trousers and a green blouse tucked in at the waist. She carried a tan suede jacket slung over her shoulder. Banks had never seen her dressed so casually before. Hadn’t seen her looking as good, either. She’d had her hair done, he noticed; nothing drastic, just tidied up a bit, the fringe trimmed, highlights renewed. And she wore a little makeup, just enough to accentuate her green eyes and high cheekbones.

She seemed self-conscious about her appearance because she wouldn’t meet his eyes at first. Only when he had offered a drink and she asked for a dry white wine did she favor him with a look and a shy smile.

“Thanks for coming,” Michelle said, when Banks placed the drink in front of her and sat down.

“My pleasure,” said Banks. “I’d have come tomorrow for the service, anyway, so another evening doesn’t make much difference.”

“I know you’re busy.”

“I’m covered. Besides, we had a lucky break just before I set off.” Banks told her about finding Luke Armitage’s bag at Liz Palmer’s flat.

“Poor kid,” said Michelle. “He wasn’t much older than Graham Marshall, was he?”

“A year or so.”

“Why would anyone want to kill a boy that age? What could he possibly have done?”

“I don’t know. I suppose that’s why we assume it’s a pedophile when the victim’s so young. We can easily imagine older people being killed for other motives, for greed or to cover up something, but it’s hard with kids. Anyway, it looked like a kidnapping, but I have my doubts. What about you? Any more news?”

Michelle gave him the gist of her conversation with retired DI Robert Lancaster in London, especially his remarks about Graham seeming streetwise beyond his years.

“So your ex-copper thought Graham had a future in crime, did he?” Banks said. “Interesting, that.”

“Why? Have you remembered something?”

“Nothing, really. Just that Graham never seemed short of money, and I’d no idea where he got it from.”

“There’s something else,” Michelle said. She seemed hesitant, Banks thought, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Someone was in my flat on Saturday, while I was down in London.”

“Anything taken?”

“Not as far as I can tell, just a few things out of place. But whoever it was had also been having a good look at my computer files.”

Banks got the impression that she wasn’t telling him everything, but he didn’t pursue it. If there was something she was omitting, it was probably for a good reason, such as personal embarrassment. She’d hardly want to tell him if someone had been going through her undies, would she? “Anything there?”