“Not that I can think of.”

“You were attracted to Lauren, though, weren’t you? What did you call her? A Pre-Raphaelite beauty?”

“Yes. As I said, I’m only human. And she is a very attractive woman. You can’t arrest a man for his thoughts. At least not yet. The damn thing is, I’d done nothing wrong, but because I wanted it, I felt as guilty as if I had, anyway.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Annie. “Very funny.” But her thoughts were elsewhere. Barlow might not have given her the answers she was hoping for, but he had certainly given her plenty to think about.

“Well, if it isn’t our two lovebirds,” said Ben Shaw, opening the door to Banks and Michelle. “What the fuck do you two want?”

“A few words,” said Banks.

“And why should I want a few words with you?”

“Des Wayman,” said Michelle.

Shaw squinted at her, then shut the door, slid off the chain and opened it, walking away from them, leaving Banks to shut the door behind them and follow.

The house was far neater than Banks had expected. He had pegged Shaw as an alcoholic living alone, and that usually meant chaos. At least Shaw probably hired a cleaning lady, and his personal habits seemed tidy enough. The only booze in sight was a half-empty bottle of Bell’s on the living room table, a full glass beside it. Shaw sat down and took a slug without offering his guests anything. Well, Banks thought, why should he?

Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite was playing on the radio, another surprise for Banks. He wouldn’t have guessed Shaw to be a man of classical tastes. Or maybe it didn’t matter what was on as long as there was sound.

“So what porkies has Mr. Wayman been telling today?”

“Stop pissing around,” said Banks. “You told Wayman and a mate to work me over and get me out of the picture. It backfired.”

“If he told you that, he’s lying.”

“He told me, sir,” said Michelle, “and with all due respect, I think he was telling the truth.”

“All due respect? You don’t know the meaning of the term.” Shaw lit a cigarette and Banks felt a wave of pure need surge inside him. He was already feeling light-headed and edgy from not smoking, but this…this was ten times worse than he’d imagined. He took a grip. “Wayman’s nothing but criminal scum,” Shaw went on. “And you’d take his word over mine?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Banks went on. “DI Hart has done a bit of digging into your Regan and Carter days with Jet Harris, and we were just wondering how much the two of you took in from Carlo Fiorino.”

“You bastard!” Shaw lurched forward to grab Banks’s lapel but he was already a bit unsteady with drink, and Banks pushed him back down into his chair. He paled, and a grimace of pain passed over his face.

“What is it?” asked Banks.