“Alan,” said Gervaise when he had joined them. “I’m not going to ask you if there are any developments yet because I know there aren’t.”

“Not entirely true,” said Banks. “I had a drink with DI Joanna MacDonald from Criminal Intelligence last night, and she pointed us toward a villain named Connor Clive Blaydon.”

ACC McLaughlin frowned. “Blaydon?”

“You know him, sir?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said McLaughlin, “but I know of him. He’s some sort of property magnate, as I understand it.”

“Plays golf with the chief constable?”

AC Gervaise raised an admonishing finger. “Now, now, Alan.”

“The chief constable doesn’t play golf,” said McLaughlin, a ghost of a smile on his face. “She’s strictly a squash and bridge woman.”

“Sorry,” said Banks. “Anyway, he’s one of the main players in that new Elmet Centre redevelopment.”

“So what’s the murder of a young boy got to do with him?” Gervaise asked.

“That I don’t know,” said Banks. He gave McLaughlin a quick glance. “Maybe nothing. Only DI MacDonald says they’ve been keeping an eye on Blaydon and discovered he’s been meeting with one or two unsavory characters. One’s an Albanian called Leka Gashi, known to be heavily involved in the drugs trade. He’s also linked to the Albanian Mafia, the Shqiptare.”

“My, my, Blaydon does get around,” said Gervaise. “How is this man linked to the murder?”

“We don’t know that he is yet, ma’am, but his car was spotted leaving Eastvale last night, just after the time we think the boy’s body was dumped. And the boy was carrying a small amount of cocaine.”

“You know this for certain?” said McLaughlin. “About the car?”

“According to Criminal Intelligence and ANPR surveillance,” said Banks. “There’s nothing specific against Blaydon, except one of his properties was recently used as a pop-up brothel in Scarborough. Unbeknownst to him, or so he says. There could also be this Albanian connection. But it’s all speculative right now. We can’t even prove Blaydon was in the car that night, but I’ll be having a chat with him later today as a matter of course.”

“Tread carefully,” said Gervaise.

“Don’t worry,” said Banks, “I’m not going to go accusing him of anything.”

“Watch out that you don’t.” Gervaise put her coffee mug down. “Golf or not, he’s not without influence. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about handling the East Side case. I suppose you know it’s already high profile?”

“Yes,” said Banks. “I’ve got a morning meeting planned with my team.”

“I’ll organize a press conference for noon,” said Gervaise. “Make sure you brief me fully before then. I’ll be having a meeting with Adrian first.”

Banks nodded. Adrian Moss was a bit of a drip as far as he was concerned, but he did the useful and thankless job of media liaison officer, placing himself as a kind of buffer between the police and the media, translating the needs of one into something acceptable for the other. “Any chance of more officers?” Banks asked. “We could do with a lot more help on the house-to-house inquiries, and I need to set up a murder room.”