He found Starbucks on the corner by the cathedral entrance and sipped a grande latte while he flipped through the book.

Michelle arrived five minutes late, cool and collected, wearing black slacks and a slate-gray jacket over a cream blouse. She went to the counter for a cappuccino, then sat down opposite Banks.

“Bit of a shock for you, wasn’t it, this morning?” she said.

“I suppose so,” Banks said. “After all these years…I don’t know, I suppose I’d allowed myself to believe there had to be a connection. Conned myself.”

“We all do, one way or another.”

“You’re too young to be so cynical.”

“And you should be old and wise enough to realize that flattery will get you nowhere. You’ve got a bit of froth on your lip.”

Before Banks could wipe it away, Michelle reached out her finger and did it for him, her fingertip brushing his lip.

“Thanks,” he said.

Michelle blushed, turned her head away and let out a little giggle. “I don’t know why I did that,” she said. “My mother used to do it when I drank milk shakes.”

“Haven’t had a milk shake in years,” said Banks.

“Me, neither. What next?”

“Home. And you?”

“Dunno. The leads are hardly jumping out at me left, right and center.”

Banks thought for a moment. He hadn’t told Shaw about the possible Kray connection because Shaw had behaved like a bastard. Besides, it wasn’t his case. There was no reason to keep it from Michelle, though. It probably meant nothing, but at least it would give her something to do, the illusion of progress.

“I’ve heard rumors that Graham Marshall’s dad was connected with the Krays in London just before the family moved up here.”

“Connected? In what way?”

“Strong-arm man. Enforcer. I don’t know how true it is—you know how these things can be exaggerated—but it might be worth a bit of delving into.”

“How do you know this?”

Banks touched the side of his nose. “I’ve got my sources.”

“And how long have you known?”

“Just found out before I came here.”

“Yeah, and the Pope’s Jewish.”

“The point is, what are you going to do about it?”

Michelle moved the froth in her cup around with a spoon. “I don’t suppose it’d do any harm to set a few inquiries in motion. Might even get a trip to London out of it. You sure I won’t come out looking like a complete moron?”

“I can’t guarantee that. It’s always a risk. Better than being the moron who missed the vital clue, though.”

“Thanks. That’s really encouraging. I don’t know very much about the Krays—before my time. I haven’t even seen the film. I do remember the big funeral they gave one of them in the East End not so long ago, though.”

“That’d be Reggie. Couple of years ago. The whole East End came out for him. It was the same when Ronnie died in 1995. Very popular among East Enders, the Krays were. Loved their mother. There were three of them, an older brother called Charlie, but Ronnie and Reggie, the Twins, are the ones people focus on. They pretty much ran the East End during the fifties and sixties, and a fair bit of the West End, too, till they got put away. Ronnie was the crazy one. Paranoid schizophrenic. He ended up in Broadmoor. Reggie was Category ‘A’ in Parkhurst. I suppose you could say that he was led astray by his more dominant twin brother, if you wanted to be charitable.”