“But you know someone is?”

“We’re pretty sure. He has an uncanny way of knowing when to lie low.”

“That’s why you’re here, then, rather than me being over at County HQ?”

“Partly. I wanted to meet somewhere more neutral.”

“Someone at HQ you don’t trust?”

“No one specifically. I just thought it made more sense to come over here and talk to you. There was the boy, too. It’s your case. I’m not saying these things are connected, but we’ve no idea yet what Blaydon might have been doing here last night, or who he might have had with him.”

“What did he say?”

“We haven’t talked to him yet. I thought maybe you . . .”

“Where does he live?”

“Big old manor house between Harrogate and Ripon. Tuscan-villa style. Fountains, statues, maze, the lot. Handy for the A1, but not so close that the noise disturbs his peace. Surrounded by woods and walls. Tranquil. The business offices are in Leeds, but Blaydon mostly works from home.”

“What’s the rest of his history?”

“The short version?”

“That’ll do for now.”

“He’s sixty-one years old. Started in the property business as a young lad working for an estate agent called Norman Peel, who showed him the ropes. They made a fortune throughout the eighties on Thatcher’s right-to-buy scheme, buying up council houses from the tenants who’d been living in them long enough to buy legally, offering an attractive profit margin. Then Blaydon and Peel tarted them up a bit and resold them, sometimes for a massive profit. Including some on your very own East Side Estate, as well as Hollyfield, I understand. After that, they moved on to other kinds of properties and other kinds of money-making.”

“Criminal?”

“Not at first. Not as far as we can make out. Of course, it’s often a thin line in his business. Blaydon eventually made enough money to buy a holiday home in Corfu shortly after the millennium, when such places were still affordable.”

“That wasn’t long after the Balkan wars,” Banks said. “What happened next?”

“A few years later, Norman Peel died. Boating accident, apparently. They were business partners by then, and Blaydon took over the reins.”

“Foul play?”

“Oh, definitely suspected. Peel was far too honest and straight to fit in with Blaydon’s plans. It happened off Corfu, while Peel was a guest at Blaydon’s holiday home, and nobody could prove it was anything other than a tragic accident.”

“So what criminal activity do you think he’s involved in these days?”

“Some of it involves the development side. Big time. Company’s called Unicorn Investments International. Rather a fanciful sort of name for it, I’d say. He’s involved in shopping centers, housing estates like the Elmet Centre project—you name it. It’s a form of insider trading, but he seems to know when to snap up properties pretty cheaply, and suddenly their value is enhanced when a development is announced.”

“One of his developments?”

“Usually. But he sometimes works through others, stays at least at one remove. That’s where the Kerrigans come in. As you probably know, they’re club owners, not natural property developers, but they’re quite happy to front some of Blaydon’s more dodgy enterprises for a reasonable return.”