“Maybe so, but not as insulting as your ignoring the problem. You knew Mimosa was involved, didn’t you? But you didn’t do anything. Why was that? You were afraid of being branded a racist, sent on a diversity training course?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I had no idea what was going on. If indeed anything was going on. You haven’t even proved that to me yet.”

“Haven’t I? Well, I’m getting fed up of your evasions and excuses. First of all the local police, now you. The very people who should be looking out for girls like Mimosa. What is it with this place?”

“Those girls are already lost,” said O’Byrne. “Like you said, they’d do anything for a packet of crisps or a can of alcopop. Whatever it is they’re doing, it’s their own choice. Why can’t you just accept that?”

It was Gerry’s turn to stop in her tracks. “The dregs from the estates, eh? If you really believe that, Mr. O’Byrne,” she said, “then you’re in the wrong job.” Then she turned and walked back up the towpath toward the bridge, her face burning with anger.

BANKS HAD been wondering what to play on the journey from Eastvale to Leeds. His first thoughts had been maybe Bob Dylan, Patti Smith or Leonard Cohen. After all, Linda was a poet, and so were they. Or perhaps he should play nothing at all in case she wanted to talk. In the end, he asked her if there was anything she liked in particular. She thought for a moment, then said she’d always been a huge Bowie fan. Banks put on Pin Ups, not perhaps Bowie’s most popular album, but one which satisfied Banks’s love of old sixties music and Linda’s love of Bowie. The startling segue from “Rosalyn” to the shimmering portamento that opened “Here Comes the Night” still sent a shiver up his spine every time he heard it, like the opening chords of the Small Faces’ “All or Nothing.” He didn’t turn the volume so high that they couldn’t talk if they wanted to, but Linda seemed distant, lost in her own thoughts. Occasionally she pointed out a song she particularly liked—“See Emily Play” or “Sorrow,” for example—but mostly she remained silent, staring out of the side window at the passing landscape of the Vale of York. They turned off at Wetherby, made their way past the outer ring road and into the city center, and Banks managed to find a parking spot near the Merrion Centre, just behind the library. They walked across Millennium Square, which was crowded with people sitting out at the cafes enjoying the fine weather.