“Paul’s your mate, Albert. Either you waited until he passed out, or he’s lying to protect you. Either way, we’ve got you for it. We’re just waiting for the forensics on the van. It’s my bet that neither you nor Mr. Nuttall have done a good-enough cleaning job on it to get rid of all the traces of Mimosa’s blood. In the meantime, we’ll be wanting your clothes and shoes for forensic examination. I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Mimosa Moffat. Do you understand me, Albert? We’re taking you into custody. Is that clear?”

Albert turned pale. “You’re what?”

“We’re arresting you, Albert, and we’re taking you back to Eastvale. If you fail to say something now you later rely on in court it may go against you. Anything you do say may be used in court. You’ll be hearing that again before we start the official interview at the station. You’re entitled to a lawyer, and if you don’t have one we’ll provide one for you.”

Albert was shaking his head as Annie spoke, and when she’d finished, he slumped in his chair and folded his arms. “I think I will have that lawyer you mentioned,” he said.

A FRESH breeze skidded off the North Sea and bent the long fat blades of lush green grass through which the trodden path meandered along the cliff top. Across the sparkling blue water stood the tidal island of Lindisfarne, Holy Island, consisting of a village, a small castle on a hill and a ruined priory where St. Aidan and St. Cuthbert had lived, and where the exquisite Lindisfarne Gospels had been painstakingly illuminated in the eighth century. The island was connected to the mainland by a mile-long causeway, which at the moment was covered by the tide. Banks and Ursula Pemberton were walking on the edge of the cliffs with her dogs, two fine Irish setters. Ursula was a hearty, outdoorsy type, wearing loose-fitting jeans and a thin polo-neck sweater against the slight chill off the sea. She had a ruddy, weather-beaten face, and her tight gray curls hardly moved in the wind. Banks reckoned she must be about ten years older than Linda Palmer.

“It’s a stunning view,” said Banks.

“Yes. It never fails to send a shiver up my spine,” said Ursula. “And I don’t mean the wind. It’s that sense of history being close enough to grasp, more real than what you get on the news every day. It invigorates me. I don’t know how I lived without it for so many years.”