Banks went into the kitchen and got a tin out of the fridge and a glass from the cupboard above. He also picked up the bottle of Negroamaro he had just opened. He would probably need another glass of that, maybe two. One often did with Burgess.

“To what do I owe this pleasure,” he said after handing Burgess the tin and glass and refilling his own. He noticed that Burgess had taken his favorite chair, the one with the best view, so he took the one at a right angle to it.

“I suppose you know I’ve been working quite closely with the NCA lately?” Burgess said.

“I’d heard,” said Banks. “How’s that going?” Burgess seemed healthy, he thought. He’d lost a bit of weight around the middle, and the bags under his cynical gray eyes had grown smaller. He still had that seen-it-all, world-weary look, which had perhaps escalated to a seen-even-more and still-world-weary look. Banks had been feeling more world-weary himself for the past couple of years. It was getting to be that kind of world. Wearying. He didn’t know whether it showed in his eyes, or in the bags underneath them. No one had told him that it did.

“Well . . .” Burgess went on. “It means a lot of drug cases, a lot of gang stuff, organized crime. That world’s changing fast; the new boss isn’t the same as the old boss. He’s just as likely to slip a knife between your ribs as he is to give you a Christmas bonus. Anyway, that’s not what I’ve come to see you about.”

“What is it, then?”

“Do you know a woman called Nelia Melnic?”

“Can’t say as I do.”

“She’s some sort of local artist. Goes under the name of Zelda.”

Banks paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. “Zelda? Yes. Of course. That’s Ray’s partner.”

Burgess nodded. “Only her name came up, and when I found she was living in North Yorkshire with an artist called Raymond Cabbot, my antenna immediately started twitching. Isn’t your DI called Annie Cabbot? Your old squeeze.”

“That’s right.”

“So who’s Ray, then? Her brother?”

“It’s her father,” said Banks. “He moved up here from Cornwall last year.”

“Her father! Bloody hell. Have you seen her? Nelia? He must—”

“Be old enough to be her father, yes. Grandfather, maybe. I know.”

Burgess shook his head slowly. “What a bloody waste.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Banks paused to drink some wine. “Think about it. You’re easily old enough to be her father, too, when it comes right down to it. Anyway, what does the NCA want with Zelda? As far as I know she works for them as a consultant.”

“Super-recognizer. Yes, I know.”

“Then . . . ?”