"What do you mean?"

"You spent eleven minutes alone with Hayley Daniels's body."

"So? She was dead when I found her."

"I know that," said Banks.

"Look, I think you should just apologize, cut your losses, let me go and have done with it. Sebastian?"

Crawford cleared his throat. "Er...My client does have a point, Chief Inspector. After all, you've already agreed that he couldn't possibly have been responsible for the murder of Hayley Daniels, which is what you've been holding him for."

"That could change," Banks said.

"What do you mean?" Randall asked.

"The problem remains," Banks went on. "Our forensic experts definitely found your DNA in semen samples taken from the victim. In fact, our crime scene coordinator had been puzzled that the semen hadn't dried as much as he would have predicted, had it been there overnight."

Randall folded his arms. "I told you, I'm sorry, but I can't help you there."

"Oh, I think you can," said Banks. He leaned forward and rested his palms on the desk, face only a couple of feet from Randall's. "Would you like me to tell you what I think really happened in that storeroom, Joseph?"

Randall licked his lips. "What's the point? You'll tell me anyway. More fantasy."

"Perhaps it started as a fantasy," said Banks, "but it wasn't mine. I think you're telling the truth, and so is Mr. Colegate. I think you saw Hayley Daniels in the Duck and Drake after you closed up shop on Saturday night and you liked what you saw. Perhaps you'd seen her there before? After all, she frequently spent Saturday nights on the town with her college friends. Or perhaps it didn't really matter who you saw as long as she was young and scantily dressed. I believe you went home, as you said you did, watched television, or perhaps some porn on DVD, and drank yourself into a stupor, fuelling your fantasies, until you could hardly stand up at half past twelve, when you put the cat out and, in all likelihood, went to bed."

"So what if any of this is true?" said Randall. "None of it's illegal."

"I'd like to believe that you dashed back to the shop, saw Hayley Daniels conveniently walking into the Maze and hurried after her," Banks went on, "but in all fairness, I don't think that's very realistic. The timing doesn't work, and it would be far too much of a coincidence."

"Well, thank heaven for that! Can I go now?"

"But you did find the body the following morning," Banks said.

"And reported it."

"Something happened in those eleven minutes, didn't it, Joseph? Something came over you, some urge you couldn't resist."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

"Chief Inspector"

"Please be quiet, Mr. Crawford. I'm not infringing your client's rights in any way." Banks turned back to Randall. "That's what happened, isn't it, Joseph? You walked into your storeroom as usual to pick out some suitable remnants, turned on the light, and you saw her there, lying on her side on the soft pile of scraps as if she were asleep, some poor lost babe in the woods taking shelter from the storm. She looked so innocent and beautiful lying there, didn't she? And you couldn't help yourself. I'll bet you touched her, didn't you, Joseph? Fondled those small firm breasts, small cold breasts? Did it really turn you on, her being dead like that, unable to respond, to say or do anything, to stop you? You were in complete control, weren't you, probably for the first time in your life? There wasn't a thing she could do, was there? So you touched her skin, and you ran your hands over her thighs. Did you kiss her, Joseph? Did you kiss those dead lips? I think you probably did. How could you resist? She was all yours."

Randall hung his head in hands. Crawford moved over to him. "You don't have to say anything, Joseph," he said. "This is sick."

"Indeed it is," said Banks. "And he's right. You don't have to say anything. I already know, Joseph. I know everything. I know how you felt as you knelt beside her and unzipped. You were hard, weren't you, harder than you'd ever been? And with one hand you touched her between her legs and with the other you touched yourself, and it happened, didn't it? Perhaps sooner than you expected. Then you had to clean up. You didn't do a very good job. That's why we found what we did, isn't it? You thought you'd got it all, but you were in a hurry and you missed some. Eleven minutes, Joseph."

Randall sobbed into his hands. Crawford had one arm draped awkwardly over his shoulders. "I didn't kill her," Randall cried. "I didn't hurt her. I would never have hurt her." He looked up at Banks with a tear-streaked face. "You must believe me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Banks felt sick. He edged his chair back, stood up and went to open the door. "Take him back down to the custody suite," he said to the constable on guard. "And ask the sergeant to charge him with committing an indignity on a dead body, or whatever the bloody hell they call it these days. Go with him, please, Mr. Crawford. Go quick. Just get him out of my sight. Now!"

Crawford helped Randall to his feet and they shuffled out into the grasp of the waiting constable. Alone in the small interview room with only the hum of the recording machines breaking the silence, Banks let out a loud expletive and kicked the only chair that wasn't bolted to the floor so hard that it sailed across the room and smashed into the tape recorder. Then all was silent.

10.

It was almost twenty past twelve when Annie made her way along Church Street to the Black Horse, having escaped the station and the media. She half hoped that Eric would have left by now; it would save her the trouble of dumping him in person. It would have been easier simply not to turn up, of course, but she already had the impression that Eric wasn't the type to let go easily; he would need a bit of coaxing.

Annie had deliberately dressed down for the occasion in a pair of old trainers, a shapeless, knee-length skirt and a black turtleneck jumper under her denim jacket. She had also resisted putting on any makeup. It had been difficult, more so than she would have expected. She wasn't vain, but in some ways she would like to have made a stunning entry, turned all the heads in the pub, and then given him his marching orders. But she also wanted to do nothing to encourage him.

As it turned out, such was her natural appealor perhaps it was because everyone in the pub was malethat heads turned anyway when she entered the small, busy bar. Including Eric's. Annie's heart sank as she dredged up a weak smile and sat opposite him. "Sorry I'm late," she said, pushing her hair back. "Something came up at the office." It was partly true. Her meeting with Superintendent Brough had gone on longer than expected, mostly because it was hard to convince him that Les Ferris's information amounted to anything at all. Finally, she had got Brough to agree to let her initiate a limited search for the Australian and for Sarah Bingham, while Les Ferris tried to find the hair samples for comparison.

"That's all right," Eric said, smiling. "I'm just glad you came at all. Drink?"

"Slimline tonic, please." Annie was determined to do this in a civilized way, over lunch, but with a clear head.

"Are you sure?" Eric had a pint of Guinness in front of him, almost finished.

"Yes, thanks," Annie said. "Tough afternoon ahead. I'll need all my wits about me."

"You must have a really demanding job. I'll be back in a minute, and you can tell me all about it."

Eric headed for the bar and Annie studied the menu. She was starving. Given the lack of choice, the veggie panini would have to do. Either that or a cheese-and-onion sandwich. When she looked up, Eric was on his way back with the drinks, smiling at her. His teeth were straight and white, his black hair flopped over one eye, and he hadn't shaved since she had last seen him, by the looks of it. He handed her the drink and clinked glasses.

"Decided?" he asked.

"What?"

"Food."

"Oh, yes," said Annie. "I think I'll have a panini with mushrooms, mozzarella and roasted red peppers. Tell me what you want, and I'll go order."

Eric put his hand on her arm and stood up. "No. I insist. I invited you. As it happens, I'm a vegetarian, so I'll have the same." He smiled. "Is that something else we have in common?"

Annie said nothing. She watched him walk away again and found herself thinking that he had a nice bum and wondering what he thought they had in common other than being vegetarians. She chastised herself for the impure thought and steeled herself for what she had to do, faltering for just a moment as to why she had to do it. But she had no place in her life and career for a young, marijuana-smoking musician, no matter how nice his bum or his smile.

"It'll only be a few minutes," Eric said as he sat down again and lit a cigarette. He offered Annie one, but she said no.

Annie sipped some Slimline tonic. "That e-mail you sent me last night wasn't too cool, you know," she said.

"What? I'm sorry. I just thought it was a laugh, that's all."

"Yeah, well. That's the difference between you and me. I didn't. If anyone else saw it"

"Who else is likely to see it? I only sent it to you. Why would you show it to anyone else?"

"That's not the point. You know what I mean. E-mails are hardly private."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you worked for MI5. Sworn the Official Secrets Act, have you?"

"I don't, and I haven't."

"What exactly do you do?"

"That's none of your bloody business."

"Sorry. Don't you have a sense of humour?"

"That's neither here nor there."

"Are we on again?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and me. We've had our first fight, and we're over it, so why don't we make a few plans for some more lovely evenings like the other night?"

"I don't think so, Eric," said Annie.

His face dropped. "Why not?"

"It's what I wanted to talk to you about. Why I'm here." She paused again but not for dramatic effect. Her throat was suddenly dry, and she sipped some more tonic. Why did it come in such small bottles? The serving girl came over with their paninis. Eric tucked in and eyed her expectantly. "I really don't know how to say this," Annie went on, not touching her food. "I mean, you seem like a nice guy, and I had a lovely time the other night and all, but I don't think...I mean, I just don't think it has to lead anywhere. What I'm saying is that I don't want it to lead anywhere."

"A one-night stand?"

"If you like."

Eric put his panini down and shook his head. A slimy sliver of red pepper with a charred edge hung out of the bread. "I don't like. I definitely don't like. I don't go in for one-night stands."

What was Annie supposed to say to that? she wondered. That she did? "Look," she went on, "it's not something I make a habit of, either. We had a few drinks and a good time and we ended up, well, you know, but that's it. It was fun. It doesn't have to go any further. I hope we can still be friends." Christ, Annie, she thought, that sounded pathetic.

"Friends? Why would we be friends?"

"Fine," said Annie, feeling herself redden. "We won't. I was just trying to be nice."

"Well, don't bother on my account. What's wrong with you?" He had raised his voice so much that some of the other customers were glancing their way.

"What do you mean?" Annie scanned the pub, feeling her panic rise. "And keep your voice down."

"Why are you saying this? Keep my voice down? I mean, look at you, you're old enough to be my mother. You should be bloody grateful I picked you up in that pub and gave you a good shag, and here you are trying to work it out so that you're dumping me. Just how do you get to that, I wonder?"

Annie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her ears buzzed and her breath caught in her throat. She could only sit there with her mouth open and her skin burning, aware of the silence all around them and everyone's eyes on her.

"Maybe you don't remember," Eric went on, "but I do. Christ, you couldn't get enough of it the other night. You were screaming for it. You should be flattered. I mean, isn't that just what you older women want, a young stud to give you"

"You bastard!" Annie stood up and tossed the rest of her Slimline tonic in his face. Unfortunately for her, there wasn't much left in the bottom of her glass, which undermined the dramatic effect somewhat, but as she shot to her feet, her thighs caught the underside of the table and tipped it over, spilling Eric's full pint of Guinness and his panini with the slimy red peppers all over his lap. Then, as fast as she could, she dashed out into Church Street and made her way, tears in her eyes, towards the 199 steps up St. Mary's Church. Only when she had got to the top and stood in the almost deserted graveyard leaning on a windworn tombstone did she stop for breath and start sobbing as the seagulls screeched around her, the wind howled and waves crashed on the rocks below.

"It must mean business if someone of your rank is paying house calls," said Malcolm Austin as he let Banks and Winsome into his office Thursday late afternoon. Winsome had argued for bringing the professor into the station, but Banks thought it would be a better idea to go at him harder once more on his own territory, where he was surrounded by everything he had to lose.

Banks glanced around at the overflowing bookcases. Sometimes he thought he wouldn't have minded being an academic, spending his life surrounded by books and eager young minds. But he knew he'd miss the thrill of the chase, and that the young minds were not necessarily as eager or as exciting as he might think. The window was open a few inches, and Banks could smell coffee and fresh bread from the courtyard cafe below and hear the hum of distant conversations. All morning his mind had been full of Lucy Payne and her crimes, and of Annie's mysterious behaviour, Winsome's aside in the Queen's Arms, how he could approach Annie about it, but now he needed to concentrate on the job at hand: finding Hayley Daniels's killer.

Austin bade them sit and arranged his lanky body, legs crossed, in the swivel chair behind his messy desk. He wore track pants and a red sweatshirt emblazoned with an American basketball team logo. An open laptop sat on the desk in front of him, and as he sat down he closed it. "How can I help you?" he asked.

"Do you remember the last time I talked to you?"

"Who could forget such"

"Never mind the bollocks, Mr. Austin," said Banks. "You told DC Jackman that you weren't having an affair with Hayley Daniels. Information has come to light that indicates you were lying. What do you have to say about that?"

"What information? I resent the implication."

"Is it true or not that you were having an affair with Hayley Daniels?"

Austin looked at Winsome, then back at Banks. Finally he compressed his lips, bellowed up his cheeks and let the air out slowly. "All right," he said. "Hayley and I had been seeing one another for two months. We started about a month or so after my wife left. Which means, strictly speaking, that whatever Hayley and I had, it wasn't an affair."

"Semantics," said Banks. "Teacher shagging student. What do you call it?"

"It wasn't like that," said Austin. "You make it sound so sordid. We were in love."

"Excuse me while I reach for a bucket."

"Inspector! The woman I love has just been murdered. The least you can do is show some respect."

"How old are you, Malcolm?"

"Fifty-one."

"And Hayley Daniels was nineteen."

"Yes, but she was"

"That's an age difference of thirty-two years, according to my calculations. It makes you technically old enough to be her grandfather."

"I told you, we were in love. Do you think love recognizes such mundane barriers as age?"

"Christ, you're starting to sound like a bloody pedophile," said Banks. "If I had a quid for every time I've heard that argument."

Austin flushed with anger. "I resent that remark. Where do you draw the line, Inspector? Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-one? You know you don't have a leg to stand on as far as the law is concerned." He paused. "Besides, as I was about to tell you, Hayley was much older than her years, very mature for her age."

"Emotionally?"

"Well, yes."