The short trip gave Joe the chance to phone his deputy and bring him up to speed on the investigation. Gwyn Merchant had clearly taken the evening off, but he listened patiently, the sound of a TV in the background, and agreed to be in the office at six tomorrow morning to get things moving.

Birstall: another small town, but a slightly more picturesque one. There was even a bit of bustle in the town centre, with buses and taxis coming and going around a triangular market square enclosed on all sides by soot-darkened buildings from a century and a half ago, perhaps longer. And in the very centre, a statue of someone or other. Birstall’s favourite son. But the town wasn’t known for him. Not anymore.

Inside the Bangla Lounge the air was so ridiculously sweet and spicy that Joe was glad he’d let himself be dragged away from Leeds. The smell alone calmed him down, taking the edge off his anxiety. An unidentified main suspect, and two known persons of interest to haul in? The investigation was progressing quickly, but his nerves were raw and jangly. A bit of downtime was exactly what he needed.

As soon as they got a table the manager came across, chatting to Rita in Bengali for what seemed like an unreasonably long time. When they were done talking, everything had apparently been decided.

‘I just ordered for the both of us, hope that’s all right?’ she asked, as the manager disappeared into the kitchen. ‘We’re going a bit off-menu.’

‘That’s fine.’ He sat back. ‘So, Birstall, hotbed of English nationalist rage.’

She cast a glance around the restaurant, which was filling up. ‘Not so as you’d notice.’

‘Angry white men?’

‘It was just off the main square.’

Joe knew. Birstall had been worldwide news. The murder of a Member of Parliament by a deranged English nationalist.

‘The bloke that did it,’ she said. ‘He’d eaten in here a few times. Lived just up the way.’

‘Why did he do it? I mean, what leads someone to murder another human being to prove a point? Delusion? Madness?’

‘We got him, that’s the main thing,’ she said. ‘You want a beer? It’s BYO. Offie’s in the square.’

He shook his head. ‘Big day tomorrow. Time to decide on a main suspect?’

‘Most def,’ she said, suddenly sitting up straight as a waiter approached with the first of the starters. ‘Stuff about the pencil’s good. You’ll be off back to the library?’

He nodded as they started eating. But he was tired, almost too tired to think.

‘The main courses are Bengali fish, mutton in apricots, some chicken in a minced lamb sauce and…’ she twiddled her fingers, trying to remember, ‘well, a few other bits and bobs.’