Zelda would have to lie low for a while. She would have no opportunity to discover whether Hawkins had been killed, or the fire had been an accident. Even when the department started operating again, she would have to keep her head down. She would have liked to finish what she had started and help Alan find the man who had tried to kill him, but it was getting too dangerous.

Even Vasile Lupescu would have to wait for a while.

BANKS AND Blackstone settled into their comfortable seats at an exotically decorated Thai restaurant in the city center. There were painted Buddhas and deep maroon paneled walls, each panel marked out in ornate gold trim. The smells of herbs and spices—coriander, star anise, cumin and lime—were mouthwatering, and the food, when it came, was just as good, from the spring rolls to the pad thai, fried rice and green chicken curry they shared. The only drawback was that the restaurant sold only bottled beer, so they settled for cold Singha.

“Do you think you can track down someone from the county lines at this end and get them to talk?” Banks asked.

“I don’t know,” said Blackstone. “We’ve got a couple of drugs squad officers working undercover. They might be able to come up with something useful, but they won’t want to risk blowing their cover. What do you want to know?”

“Most of all, we’d like to know when Samir started working in Eastvale. We have no sightings of him there before the day he was killed, and then two witnesses saw him arriving from a Leeds bus carrying a backpack.”

“That would be the drugs,” said Blackstone. “Any sign of it later?”

“No. It disappeared, along with his jacket. We know that Connor Clive Blaydon’s chauffeur took them from the trap house on Hollyfield Lane the night Samir and Stokes died. Gashi had phoned Blaydon earlier and asked for a favor. I just have a feeling the timing is important, but there are still too many gaps in what we know.”

“Blaydon? So he’s involved in this?”

“He’s connected with the Albanians. Gashi in particular. They’ve known each other for years, and they’re involved in a property development Blaydon is managing.”

“You can bet whatever money they invest will be dirty.”

“Too true,” said Banks. He washed down a mouthful of pad thai with his Singha. “Any loose gossip your men might pick up would be useful,” he said. “Something like this happens, people talk. They can’t help themselves. Maybe they think they’re being careful, but that’s not always the case.”

“Right,” said Blackstone. “I’ll see what I can do. Pass the roti.”

Banks passed him the roti basket and Blackstone tore off a strip and spooned up some green chicken curry with it.

Banks worked on his Singha. It would have to do him for the evening, because he planned on driving back to Eastvale. “What do you know about the county line operations here?” he asked.