Shaw looked at Banks again. “I wish you’d never come back down here, Banks,” he said. “Why couldn’t you stay up in Yorkshire and shag a few sheep?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? Don’t you be too sure I’m as corrupt as you think I am. Now if you’re not going to charge me or beat me up, why don’t the two of you just bugger off and leave me alone?”

Banks and Michelle looked at each other. There was nothing else to say to Shaw, so they left. Back in the car, Banks turned to Michelle and said, “Do you believe him?”

“About not being responsible for the burglary and the van?”

“Yes.”

“I think so. He seemed genuinely horrified by the idea. What reason has he to lie about it now?”

“It’s a serious crime. That’s reason enough. But I think you’re right. I don’t think he was behind it. He was just doing his best to protect Harris’s reputation.”

“Then are you thinking who I’m thinking?”

Banks nodded. “Rupert Mandeville.”

“Shall we pay him a visit?”

“You want me along?”

Michelle looked at Banks and said, “Yes. I feel we’re getting near the end. Graham Marshall was your friend. You deserve to be there. I’d just like to stop off at the station and check a few things out first.”

“He won’t tell us anything, you know.”

Michelle smiled. “We’ll see about that. It certainly won’t do any harm to yank his chain a bit.”

Chapter 19

It didn’t take Annie long to drive to Harrogate and find the small terraced house off the Leeds Road. Vernon Anderson answered the door and, looking puzzled, invited her into his Spartan living room. She admired the framed Vermeer print over the fireplace and settled down in one of the two armchairs.

“I see you have an eye for a good painting,” Annie said.

“Art appreciation must run in the family,” said Vernon. “Though I confess I’m not as much of a reader as our Lauren is. I’d rather see a good film any day.”

On the low table under the window a couple of lottery tickets rested on a newspaper open at the racing page, some of the horses with red rings around their names.

“Any luck today?” Annie asked.

“You know what it’s like,” Vernon said with an impish grin. “You win a little, then you lose a little.” He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs.

Vernon Anderson didn’t look much like his sister, Annie noted. He had dark hair, short tight curls receding a little at the temples, and he was thickset, with a muscular upper body and rather short legs. With his long lashes, dimples and easy charm, though, she imagined he would be quite successful with the opposite sex. Not that any of those things did much for her. If there was any resemblance, it was in the eyes; Vernon’s were the same pale blue as Lauren’s. He wore jeans and a T-shirt advertising Guinness. And sandals over white socks.