Zelda made a face. “The bread is moldy.”

“Oh, sorry. Well, I’ll happily take you out for breakfast. They do a pretty decent full English down on Helmthorpe High Street.”

“The coronary special?”

“Some people call it that.”

Zelda stood up. “I suppose I should go home. I just wanted to make sure I thanked you for . . . you know, for everything.”

“It’s nothing. Are you sure you’re OK to go, Zelda? I have to go to work—it’s going to be a busy day, today—but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

“No. I can go. It’s fine. I feel much better now. Thank you.”

“There’s nothing wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“If you need anything . . . I mean, the spare room’s always here for you.”

“I’ll be all right. It was just my first night back, that’s all. Nerves. I don’t think I’ve ever been by myself up there before, and sometimes my memories are not good to be alone with. But Raymond will be back soon.”

Banks followed Zelda toward the front door, where she picked up her jacket from the hook. “Thank you once again, Alan,” she said. “See you soon?”

“Absolutely.”

And Banks stood there feeling like an idiot, waving to her little Clio as it disappeared down his drive. She knew; he was sure she knew what he had been thinking. It must be obvious just from looking at him. It must happen to her all the time. What a bloody fool he was. He had lain awake most of the night, conscious that she was sleeping only feet away, imagining her body, its outline under the thin sheet. She must think he is like all the men she has ever met, all the perverts and abusers. Once, she had cried out during the night, he was certain. He had almost gone to her to ask what was wrong and offer comfort—he would have been happy just to lie beside her and hold her—but realized what a mistake it would have been to enter her bedroom in the middle of the night.

Anyway, Zelda was gone now, and it was time to get a grip. Banks went back to his coffee and stood at his conservatory windows enjoying the early morning light dappling the hillsides, the blue tits flitting from branch to branch in his garden, a robin poking about on the lawn for an early worm. There were things to be set in motion today, including a search of the park at the bottom of Elmet Street, and people to talk to. He was starting to feel very much as if he was coming to the end of this investigation. He couldn’t say that he knew who had killed Samir, or why, but he did feel that he was finally on the right track.