“And I asked myself if you, like me when I heard about it, would make the connection and wonder if it could have anything to do with our old friend Phil Keane?”

“It did cross my mind. You told me he liked to start fires. But why would you think this Keane knew my boss, Mr. Hawkins?”

“Your boss would have seen the photographs, surely? It’s not such a long stretch from there, especially if Keane is involved with known traffickers.”

“Of course. But why would you think Keane would harm Mr. Hawkins?”

“Are you still looking for Keane, Zelda?”

“I never stopped. Just nothing happened for so long. There have been no more photographs of him. I’m sorry.”

“And then?”

“The fire.”

“Whitescape” was playing now, all long, drawn-out chords, flurries of sound and crashing percussion behind. “Why did you walk by the house?”

Zelda looked down into her wineglass. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just wanted to see for myself. It was terrible. A ruin. They said it was an accident.”

“But you think differently?”

“How do you know about all this? My name? The fire?”

“A friend. Another policeman.”

“And he wants what?”

“Nothing. He knows the detectives who talked to you.”

“Danvers and the one he called Deborah?”

“That’s right.”

“They think I killed Mr. Hawkins?”

“No. But they think there’s something you’re not telling them. You think there’s something odd about it all, don’t you?”

“I didn’t tell them about Keane.”

“I’m afraid I let that slip to my friend.”

“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I don’t think Mr. Hawkins was the kind of man to get drunk and then put a chip pan full of oil on his burner, if that’s what you mean.”

“So you suspect that someone helped him do it?”

“I think it is possible, yes. But I’m not investigating the case. Perhaps you are. Is that why you’re asking me all these questions?”

“No. I told you. A friend of mine dropped by and told me about it. He found out about your connection with Ray, and he knows Annie through me. He put two and two together. He works with the NCA. I don’t think they’re entirely happy with the chip-pan theory either.”

“So they asked you to question me to see if I know anything I’m not telling them?”

“Sort of. But it’s nothing as sinister as that. He just asked if I’d have a chat with you about it, see if you knew anything more. Nobody thinks you had anything to do with it, Zelda. Besides, they know you were in Croatia at the time.”

“That’s true.”

“With an old friend?”

Zelda nodded.

“It’s OK,” said Banks. “I’m not asking you for an alibi. I trust you. I don’t think you had anything to do with what happened.”