“I don’t know how. But these organizations rely on terror, Gerry,” Banks said. “You know that. They don’t only rely on the threat of retribution, they rely on the reality of actually carrying it out. Painfully. Sometimes you just have to write off a debt to make a point—and remember, that’s what we thought the murder might be about right from the first. Boy in a wheelie bin. Example. Warning. It’s just a matter of to whom and about what.”

“So you think it’s this smuggling gang based in Birmingham?” said Annie.

“I’m saying it’s a possibility. That’s all. Maybe they traced him and tracked him down.”

“I suppose it’s just possible,” Annie agreed. “At a pinch.”

“But you don’t like it as a working theory?”

“Not really, no. It sounds both too pat and far-fetched at the same time.”

“I agree,” said Banks.

“Then . . . ?”

Banks pushed his plate aside. Already a couple of fat bluebottles seemed interested in the congealing mess. “I’m just casting around in the dark, Annie, trying to construct alternative scenarios. And I do have one I’m leaning very much toward, though we’ll need a lot more spadework first, and a bit of luck with the forensics.”

“What’s that?”

Banks rested back in his chair, careful not to overdo the tilt on the soft grass. “We’ve been working on the assumption that Samir was killed because of his connection with county lines, with drugs, or, as I suggested just now, with people smugglers.”

“So what’s wrong with that?” Annie asked.

“Nothing. But it hasn’t got us anywhere, has it?”

“I don’t know about that, guv,” Gerry said. “It’s thrown up Blaydon, the Kerrigans, Frankie Wallace, all sorts of villains.”

“But we don’t have any evidence against any of them.”

“We know from what Frankie told us that Blaydon was definitely involved,” said Annie.

“Maybe. At least we know he told us that he got a call from Blaydon asking him to bring Samir out of Hollyfield that night.”

“That shows that Blaydon was somehow involved, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. But we’ve suspected that all along, haven’t we, proof or not? Ever since my meeting with Joanna MacDonald, anyway.” The waitress came and collected their plates and empty glasses. “Coffee, anyone?” Banks asked. They all said yes and Banks went to the bar to order them. As he waited for service, he mulled over the ideas he’d been having as he drove to Eastvale and hung around in the park that morning, and the more he thought, the more he realized there might be something in them. But he—the entire team—would have to reboot and tread carefully.