Banks had been asked so many times why he didn’t have lower ranking members of his team drive him around, and he always answered that he preferred to drive himself. It was partly a control issue—he didn’t fully trust anyone else—and partly because the Porsche inherited from his brother had come to fit him like an old glove, despite the various insurance forms and waivers he had to sign before being allowed to use his own car at work rather than some wreck from the police garage. This way, if he got involved in a police chase and smashed it up, the county wouldn’t be liable.

Several miles beyond Lyndgarth they crested a rise and came out from the obscuring shade of roadside trees to see St. Botolph’s spread out in a natural trough of land like some fairy-tale castle held in the palm of a giant’s hand. The school was a rambling Victorian construction, though on a relatively small scale, built in 1866 of local limestone, complete with turrets and gables. The grounds were extensive, scattered with numerous buildings, both original and more modern additions, including dormitories, stables, storage areas and a chapel with lancet stained-glass windows. There were also the inevitable green swathes of playing fields with rugby posts, and smaller pitches, clearly intended for cricket, along with tennis courts. All in all, it was quite a sight, and Banks stopped in a lay-by for a few moments to let Gerry take it all in.

“Not seen it before?” he asked.

“No, guv. It’s like something out of Brideshead Revisited. You know, on the TV, when Charles Ryder first sees Brideshead.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I’m working my way through great box sets. It was on the list.”

“That was filmed at Castle Howard, you know.”

“I know. I’ve always wanted to visit, but it’s prohibitively expensive.”

“Well, St. Botolph’s isn’t quite as magnificent, but it’s free. Unless you want to be a pupil there, of course.”

“No, thanks. I’ve had my fill of posh schools.”

“Of course. I remember. Merchant Taylors,” wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“And you still a lowly DC.”

Gerry laughed. “That’s all right, guv. I’ve still got my sights on the chief constable’s job.”

Banks gave a mock shudder. “I couldn’t imagine anything worse.” He drove out of the lay-by and wound his way down the road to the school, surrounded by open fields and moorland on both sides, all under a great blue dome of sky scattered with fluffy white clouds. As they floated over, the clouds cast shadows, which seemed to chase one another across the landscape.

Banks parked outside the main building. “The head said he’d meet us in his office,” he said. “It’s on the second floor.”