When he arrived in the AV suite, Rita had her feet up on the desk and was sipping from a can of Dandelion and Burdock.

‘Got a main suspect,’ he said. ‘Two, actually. What about you?’

‘This!’ She swung her feet off the table and pressed ‘play’. ‘The old road on the edge of Broadyards Country Park? It runs up towards Birstall, then you can take the B6135 to Drighlington.’

‘Jesus, do none of those places have normal names?’

‘Cleckheckmondsidge!’

‘That’s not a real one, is it?’

She shrugged. ‘Look. Nine-twenty, Thursday evening.’

He looked. The footage wasn’t too bad. It was black-and-white, medium-res, good enough to make out a cyclist in dark clothes and some sort of skull cap going up the hill at a pretty good lick, legs pumping, head down. The bike had three light-coloured strips on the crossbar and three more on each upright.

‘This is going away from Birstall?’

‘Yes. The back lane goes up towards the town. Then it joins this main road. The bike turned left, away from Birstall, towards Drighlington.’

‘And then where?’

She let a massive breath escape from her mouth.

‘The options are friggin’ endless. Look at the map, it’s nuts. And most of the roads have no cameras on ’em. You couldn’t have chosen a better escape route.’

He nodded.

‘And this is the best image we’ve got?’

‘It’s all we’ve got, so far. The cyclist’s about five-ten, I reckon. Lithe, physically fit, owner of a dark-coloured bike.’

‘With yellow tape stripes on it.’

‘Scuffed yellow tape stripes.’ She sat back in the reclining chair. ‘How many folk on our radar are gonna fit that description? We’ll nail this one. Easy as.’ She emptied the last dregs of the Dandelion and Burdock down her throat. ‘Anyway, what did you get?’

He sat down, suddenly deflated, despite the progress.

‘Your pals from Batley, Daz and Ranksy? They threatened Shaw’s mum. Told her that Craig had to stop dealing. But,’ he wagged a finger at the screen, ‘they’re big lads. It’s not them, is it? An accomplice? I’m bringing ’em in, whatever.’

‘We’ll have a job on, tonight.’

‘We could at least try.’

‘Get ’em first thing tomorrow. I know where they live.’ She sprang to her feet, grabbing her leather jacket. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. The pencils!’

‘Go on.’

‘I got her at home. The Gaia Office Supplies sales director. Hippy-dippy type, based in Dagenham. Fancy acid-free paper, all sorts of ecological…’

‘And?’

‘And they don’t supply many places up here. But they do supply Cleckheaton Library. Come on, I need curry.’

‘You’re hungry after all this?’

‘Does the Pope shit in the woods?’

A bhuna it was, then.

22

They drove the six miles down the M621 to Birstall because, according to the more expert of the two, curries in Leeds were ‘a friggin’ disgrace’.