When he got back to the conservatory with the wine, Annie lay sprawled in her chair, fast asleep, glass clutched to her chest, mouth open, snoring gently. Banks refilled his glass, then put his feet up and settled down to enjoy the breeze and listen to “Alone Again Or.”

10

THE FOLLOWING MORNING IT WAS STILL WARM, BUT the sky had become overcast when Banks went to pick up Winsome and head for Leeds. Annie had looked rough at breakfast, and they hadn’t spoken much. Banks didn’t suppose that sleeping on the chair in the conservatory had done her much good. Whether it was her intended meaning or not, she certainly hadn’t needed the spare bedroom.

The ex–detective constable Simon Bradley, Winsome had discovered on the computer before they set off, still lived in the same stone-built detached house off Shaw Lane in Headingley that Banks remembered from his previous visit. Banks rang him, and he agreed to see them whenever they could get there.

After an uneventful drive down the busy A1 listening to a live Jerry Garcia Band CD, Banks and Winsome pulled up in the quiet, leafy street near the end of “Dear Prudence.” Beyond the green gate, the garden was in full bloom. Banks didn’t even know what half the flowers were called, but the riot of shape and color certainly created a joyous effect. It had been almost ten years since he had last visited, but he remembered the garden had been Mrs. Bradley’s pride and joy. It seemed that it still was.

Simon Bradley opened the front door on the first ring. “Detective Superintendent Banks. Glad you could make it so quickly. Good to see you again. Come in, come in.” He glanced at Winsome. “My, my, things have changed since the old days.”

Winsome gave her best toothy smile, curtsied and said “Why, yes, mastah, dey surely have.”

Bradley laughed. “Cheeky minx, isn’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I wouldn’t mess with her, if I were you. And call me Alan, please. And the cheeky minx is DS Winsome Jackman.” Banks felt Winsome nudge him in the ribs, not hard enough to hurt, as they followed Bradley into the living room, from which French doors led out to a neatly mown lawn at the back, complete with a small gazebo, garden shed, outdoor grill, bird feeder and patio with a green table and matching molded plastic chairs.

Bradley turned to Winsome. “Please let me apologize. I really didn’t mean anything by what I said back there. I just sometimes feel like a bit of a dinosaur. Old habits die hard.”

“Indeed they do,” said Winsome. “That’s all right, sir. I’ve been learning a lot recently about how things were back in the day. It’s an education.”

“I’ll bet.” Bradley clapped his hands. “Outside or in? No air conditioning, I’m afraid. Only an old fan.”