Banks showed her how to operate the reader, and as soon as she was satisfied she could manage by herself, she shooed him away. He had no real idea how long it would take, but he reckoned he’d give her an hour, for starters, which allowed him plenty of time for a coffee and Kit Kat in the Tiled Room cafe, where he made a couple of phone calls and checked his e-mail. There was nothing much new. According to Winsome, the media crowd was growing outside Eastvale HQ now that they knew Mimosa Moffat was the Bradham Lane victim and that there were rumors of grooming. Annie had set off for Wytherton to meet up with Gerry and talk to Albert Moffat, who had finally turned up.

After that, Banks did take a few minutes to go and see the Atkinson Grimshaws in the art gallery before heading back to see how Linda was doing. He wasn’t a great fan of art galleries and was far more comfortable with music and literature than with the visual arts, but Grimshaw’s moody quayside and oddly lit nighttime city scenes were a delight. An hour and ten minutes had passed by the time he checked his watch, and he walked back next door to the library. He hadn’t got far when he saw Linda wandering down a broad stone staircase, holding on to the banister. She was glancing around, the other hand clutching the neck of her blouse, as if searching for someone. Him, perhaps.

“Linda,” Banks called out, heading toward her. She seemed as if she were ready to fall down the stairs, and he felt like reaching out his arms to save her, but she held on as she turned and caught his eye. He could tell by her expression and her pallor that she had been successful.

“I saw him,” she said, still clutching the cotton of her blouse at her throat with one hand. “I found him.”

“Show me,” said Banks, taking her arm and leading her gently back up the staircase to the viewing room.

Linda pointed toward the viewer as if it were something she couldn’t bear to touch, and Banks leaned forward to study the head-and-shoulders photograph of a handsome young man in a dark suit. According to the brief story, his name was Tony Monaghan, and his picture was in the newspaper because he had been found murdered in the public conveniences in Hyde Park, Leeds, on the twelfth of October 1967.

“There’s something else,” Linda said. “Something else I saw when I was looking through. I didn’t see it at the time, but . . . You have to see it first.” Linda fiddled with the machine. “As I said, I haven’t seen this one before today. I went ahead a bit to see if there was anything else about the man I recognized and I saw this. Here. The end of October. Look.” She moved away.