"What do you do?"

"Claire's on the checkout at the local supermarket," said her mother. "Aren't you, dear?"

"Yes, Mother." Claire stared defiantly at Annie.

There was no easy response to that. You could hardly say, "Oh, that's interesting." It was a job, and an honest one at that, but Annie felt sad for her. According to all accounts, Claire had been a bright, pretty young girl of fifteen with a good future: GCSEs, A levels, university, a professional career, but something had happened to put paid to all that. Terence and Lucy Payne. Now she had grossly under-achieved and she hated her body. Annie had seen the signs before. It wouldn't have surprised her to find the scars of self-administered burns and cuts under the long sleeves of Claire's shirt. She wondered if she had been getting psychiatric help, but realized it was none of her business. She wasn't here as a social worker; she was here for information about a murder.

"Did you know Lucy Payne at all?"

"I'd seen her around, at the shops, like. Everyone knew who she was. The teacher's wife."

"But you never talked to her?"

"No. Except to say hello."

"Do you know where she was living?" she asked.

"The last I heard was that there wasn't enough of a case against her and she was unfit to stand trial anyway, so you were letting her go."

"As I told you," Annie repeated. "She couldn't harm anyone ever again. She was in an institution, a place where they take care of people like her."

"Murderers?"

"Quadriplegics."

"I suppose they fed her and bathed her and let her watch whatever she wanted on television, didn't they?"

"They took care of her," Annie said. "She couldn't do anything for herself. Claire, I understand your anger. I know it seems"

"Do you? Do you really?" Claire said. She reached for another cigarette and lit it. "I don't think you do. Look at me. Do you think I don't know how ugly and unattractive I am? I've seen a shrink. I went for years and it didn't do me a scrap of good at all. I still can't bear the thought of a boy touching me." She laughed harshly. "That's a joke, isn't it? As if any boy would want to touch me, the way I look. And all that's down to Lucy and Terence Payne." She glared at Annie. "Well, go on, then!"

"What?"

"Tell me I don't look so bad. Tell me with just a dab of makeup and the right clothes I'll be all right. Like they all do. Like all I need is Trinny and fucking Susannah."

As far as Annie was concerned, nobody needed Trinny and Susannah, but that was another matter. Wave after wave of aggression rolled off of Claire, and Annie just didn't feel equipped to cope with it. Truth be told, she had enough hangups of her own eating away at her.

"Even my dad couldn't stand it," Claire said disgustedly, glancing at her mother. "It didn't take him long to desert the sinking ship. And Kim's parents moved away right after you let Lucy Payne go. Couldn't sell their house for years, though. In the end, they got practically nothing for it."

Mrs. Toth reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes but said nothing. Annie was beginning to feel oppressed by the weight of sadness and loss in the room. Irrationally, she found herself picturing Eric in her mind's eye for a split second and felt like throttling him. It was all too much for her; her chest felt tight and she was having difficulty breathing. It was too hot in there. Get a grip, Annie, she told herself. Get a bloody grip. Control.

"So you didn't know where Lucy was?" Annie asked Claire.

"Obviously not, or I'd have probably strangled her myself."

"What makes you think she was strangled?"

"Nothing. I don't know. Why? Does it matter?"

"No, not really."

"Where was she?"

"As I told you, she was in a home. It was near Whitby."

"A home at the seaside. How nice. I haven't been to the seaside since I was a kid. I suppose she had a nice view?"

"Have you ever been to Whitby?"

"No. We always used to go to Blackpool. Or Llandudno."

"Do you drive a car?"

"Never learned, did I? No point."

"Why not?"

"I can walk to work and back. Where else would I go?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Annie. "Out with friends, maybe?"

"I don't have any friends."

"Surely there must be someone?"

"I used to go and see Maggie up the road, but she went away, too."

"Where did she go?"

"Back to Canada, I suppose. I don't know. She wasn't going to stay around here after what happened, was she?"

"Did you ever write to one another?"

"No."

"But she was your friend, wasn't she?"

"She was her friend."

There didn't seem much that Annie could say to that. "Do you know where she went in Canada?"

"Ask the Everetts. Ruth and Charles. It's their house she was living in, and they're her friends."

"Thanks," said Annie, "I will."

"I never went back to school, you know," Claire said.

"What?"

"After, you know, Kim. I just couldn't face going back. I suppose I could have done my exams, maybe gone to university, but none of it seemed to matter somehow."

"And now?"

"Well, I've got a job. Me and Mum are all right, aren't we?"

Mrs. Toth smiled.

Annie could think of nothing else to ask, and she couldn't stand being in the room for a moment longer. "Look," she said to Claire as she stood up and reached for her briefcase. "If you think of anything that might help..." She handed her a card.

"Help with what exactly?"

"I'm investigating Lucy Payne's murder."

Claire's brow furrowed. She ripped the card in pieces and scattered them on the floor. "When hell freezes over," she said, folding her arms.

The open-air cafe below Malcolm Austin's window seemed a reasonable place for a second interview with Stuart Kinsey, Banks thought, as he and Winsome settled down at the flimsy fold-up chairs and rickety table under the shade of a budding plane tree. And as they had found him in the department library working on an essay, it was a short trip for everyone. It was still a bit chilly to sit outside for long, and Banks was glad of his leather jacket. Every now and then, a breeze rattled the branches of the tree and ruffled the surface of Banks's coffee.

"What is it you want now?" Kinsey asked. "I've already told you what I know."

"That wasn't very much, was it?" Winsome said.

"I can't help it, can I? I feel awful enough as it is, knowing I was there, so close"

"What could you have done?" Banks asked.

"I...I don't"

"Nothing," said Banks. It probably wasn't strictly true. If Kinsey had arrived in Taylor's Yard at the same time the killer was assaulting Hayley, he might have interrupted things, and the killer might have fled, leaving her alive. But what was the point in letting him believe that? "You had no idea what was going on," he said, "and besides, it was all over by then. Stop whipping yourself."

Kinsey said nothing for a few moments, just stared down into his coffee.

"How fond of Hayley were you?" Banks asked.

Kinsey looked at him. He had an angry red spot beside his mouth. "Why are you asking me that? Do you still believe I'd hurt her?"

"Calm down," Banks said. "Nobody's saying that. You told us the last time we talked to you that you fancied Hayley, but that she didn't reciprocate."

"That's right."

"I'm just wondering how that made you feel."

"How it made me feel? How do you think it made me feel? How does it make you feel when someone you want so much you can't even sleep doesn't so much as acknowledge your existence?"

"Surely it wasn't as bad as that?" Banks said. "You hung out with Hayley, you saw plenty of her, went to the pictures and so on."

"Yeah, but mostly the whole crew was around. It was rare we were together, just me and her."

"You had conversations. You admitted you even kissed her once."

Kinsey gave Banks a withering glance. Banks felt he probably deserved it. Conversation and a couple of friendly kisses weren't much compensation when you were walking around with a hard-on that took up so much skin you couldn't close your eyes.

"Stuart, you're the only person we can place at the scene of the crime at the right time," said Winsome in as matter-of-fact and reasonable a voice as she could manage. "And you've got the motive, too: your unrequited infatuation with Hayley. We need some answers."

"Means, motive and opportunity. How bloody convenient for you. How many more times do I have to tell you that I didn't do it? For all the frustrations, I cared about Hayley, and I don't think I could ever kill anyone. I'm a fucking pacifist, for crying out loud. A poet."

"No need to swear," said Winsome.

He looked at her, contrite. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. It's just so unfair, that's all. I lose a friend and all you do is try to make me into a criminal."

"What happened in the Maze that night?" Banks asked.

"I've already told you."

"Tell us again. More coffee?"

"No. No, thanks. I'm wired enough already."

"I wouldn't mind a cup," said Banks. Winsome rolled her eyes and went over to the stand.

"Just between you and me," Banks said, leaning forward, "did you ever get anywhere with Hayley beyond a couple of kisses in the back row at the movies? Come on, you can tell me the truth."

Kinsey licked his lips. He seemed on the verge of tears. Finally, he nodded. "Just once," he said. "That's what hurts so much."

"You slept with her?"

"No. Good Lord, no. Not that. We just, you know, kissed and messed about. And then it was like she didn't want to know me."

"That would make any man angry," said Banks, seeing Winsome on her way back with the coffee. "Having her right there, tasting her, then having her taken away forever. Thinking of other people having her."

"I wasn't angry. Disappointed, I suppose. It wasn't as if she made any promises or anything. We'd had a couple of drinks. It just felt so...right and then it was like it never happened. For her. Now, no matter what, it'll never happen again."

Winsome put one coffee down in front of Banks and took one for herself. "Let's get back to Saturday night in the Maze," Banks said. "There might be something you've forgotten. I know it's difficult, but try to reimagine it."

"I'll try," said Kinsey.

Banks sipped some hot, weak coffee and blew on the surface. "You all went into the Bar None around twenty past twelve, is that right?"

"That's right," said Kinsey. "The music was bloody awful, some sort of industrial hip-hop sub-electronic disco...I don't know what. It was loud too. I felt, you know, we'd all been drinking, and it was hot in there. I was thinking about Hayley, just wishing she'd come with us and feeling jealous that, you know, she was off to see some other lucky bloke."

"So you were upset?" Winsome asked.

"I suppose so. Not really. I mean, I wasn't in a rage or anything, just more disappointed. I needed a pI needed to go to the toilet, too, so I went to the back of the club, where the toilets are, and I saw the door. I knew where it went. I'd been out that way before when I"

"When you what?" Banks asked.

Kinsey managed a rare smile. "When I was under eighteen and the police came."

Banks smiled back. "I know what you mean." He'd been drinking in pubs since the age of sixteen. "Go on."