“As far as we know, it didn’t,” said Banks. “But thanks, anyway.”

“No problem.” Ms. Brindley smiled and asked them if there was something else they required.

“No, thanks,” said Blackstone. “You’ve been a great help. Thanks very much.”

Ms. Brindley inclined her head briefly, then drifted away. Banks and Blackstone made their way outside again, where it was marginally cooler than inside.

They found a pub with a beer garden not far from the cathedral and sat down at a table in the shade next to two young women struggling to control three small children, who already appeared to have ingested a surfeit of sugar. The pretty mother with the ring in her nose and a stud in her lower lip gave Banks a long-suffering glance, and he smiled at her.

It was a chain pub, but that was OK with Banks. At least it meant they would get their food quickly. Blackstone passed him a laminated menu. They both decided on the steak and mushroom pie special, and Blackstone went to get some drinks—Coke, as they both had to drive later—and put in their order at the bar. While he was away, the eldest of the children at the next table, perhaps about three, tottered over to Banks, grinning and slobbering drool down the front of his bib. The girl with the stud in her lip swept forward and picked him up with one arm in a surprisingly gentle and graceful motion, smiled sweetly at Banks and apologized.

When Blackstone got back, Banks raised his Coke. “Cheers. I didn’t notice you pursuing young Ms. Brindley with quite the vigor I would have expected from you.”

“Didn’t you notice the ring on her finger?”

“Afraid not.”

“Big sparkler. Probably zircon. Third finger of her left hand. Wasn’t there the last time I saw her.”

“Too late, then.”

“Story of my life. Cheers,” said Blackstone. “I see from the news you’ve got a media circus on your hands up in Eastvale.”

“Tell me about it. I’m sneaking around like a mischievous schoolboy. Our media relations officer is about ready to blow a gasket. The mere mention of ‘Pakistani’ sends him into conniptions.”

“Pakistani?”

“Annie might have a grooming case on her hands involving members of the British Pakistani community. Not a word, mind you.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“We think the girl was raped by three men and beaten to death by another on a remote country lane in our neck of the woods. Gerry’s just discovered who she was, and her home happens to be on a council estate that’s conveniently located just on our side of the county border.”

“Nasty. I don’t suppose this Caxton business helps with the media relations, either?”

“Oh, Adrian loves that,” said Banks. “That’s his wet dream. It’s the race thing that’s got his knickers in a twist.”