The library and art gallery were on the Headrow, next to the town hall, housed in another grand Victorian building. Inside and out, the library complex was also an architectural delight, with its magnificent stone staircases, parquet floors, marble pillars, tiles and mosaics. A reviewer had once complained that the ceiling in the reading room was so glorious it would distract people from actually reading. Both Banks and Linda had been inside before, so they didn’t stand and gawp as much as some visitors were doing, but made their way straight to the office where Ken’s contact, Marian Hirst, was waiting for them.

Marian was a short, trim woman with no-nonsense gray hair and a pair of black-rimmed glasses that hung on a chain around her neck. Her nose was beaklike and her eyes dark and lively. Banks couldn’t help thinking that she couldn’t look more like most people’s image of a librarian if she tried.

“DCI Blackstone told me you were coming,” she said, with a distant trace of a Scottish accent. “He uses the service often himself. I’ve got everything prepared for you in a little office here. Now, you know how to work the machine, I assume?”

Banks nodded. He’d used a film reader before.

“Everything is clearly labeled, so you’ll know exactly where you are.”

“Is it possible to get copies?” Banks asked.

“Not as you go,” she said. “But if you put in a request our staff can provide one for you.”

She led them across the intricate parquet floor, her shoes clicking and echoing from the high ceiling as they walked, and entered a small room. Three boxes of film rolls sat on the table beside the reader.

“Make yourselves as comfortable as you can,” Marian said. “I’ll be off about my business. And by the way, Ms. Palmer, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m a great fan of your poetry.”

Banks noticed Linda blush as she muttered her thanks.

“I see some people recognize you,” Banks said when Marian Hirst had left them.

“No doubt your friend told her I was coming.”

“I shouldn’t think so. Ken knows better than to blab your name around. Besides, he wouldn’t know an ode from an oud.”

Linda laughed. “Hmm. I think this is a one-person job. Why don’t you just show me how to set up the rolls then go and have a look at the Atkinson Grimshaws or something? I don’t want you hovering over my shoulder the whole time.”