"We'll worry about them later," said Banks. "Someone has to interview them as soon as possible anyway. For the moment, I want the entire area sealed. No one goes in or out without me knowing about it. Got that?"

"Yes, sir." The constable scuttled off.

Banks rapped on the door of the Fountain.

"He's gone home, sir," said Winsome, emerging from Taylor's Yard and slipping under the police tape. "The place is all shut up."

Banks grunted. "I wish the rest of them would do the same." He noticed the occasional camera flashpress, most likelyand one or two people were holding their mobiles in the air and taking photographs, or even video-recording the scene, the way they did at rock concerts. In some ways it was a sick trend, but it sometimes got results; occasionally, someone captured something none of the CCTV cameras or police photographers did, a suspect in the crowd, for example, and it could help bring about an early solution.

"What the hell's going on, anyway?" Banks asked. "I couldn't hear a word you said over the phone. Who's the victim? Is she dead?"

"No, sir," said Winsome. "This one survived. If she was meant to be the victim. But someone's dead. I haven't had a look at the body yet. It's dark and I didn't want to disturb anything before you got here. We're waiting on SOCO, but Dr. Burns has just arrived."

"Okay. I'm sure Dr. Burns will be more than adequate. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," said Winsome.

Banks followed her under the tape and into the Maze, deeper than the previous week, past the end of Taylor's Yard, around corners and across small cobbled squares, down ginnels so narrow they almost had to walk sideways. And all the while he could see beams of light sweeping the darkness, hear the crackle of police radios in the distance. It was a labyrinth in here, and Banks wished they'd brought a ball of twine. He remembered he had said the same thing about Annie's cottage in Harkside the first time he had dinner with her therethe first time they had made lovethat it was hidden at the centre of a labyrinth and he could never find his way out alone. It had been a good way of suggesting he stay the night, at any rate.

There was little light in the Maze, so it was sometimes hard to see exactly where they were going, but Banks trusted to Winsome. She seemed to know her way without the twine.

"Where's Kev Templeton?" he asked from behind her.

"Don't know, sir. Couldn't raise him. Maybe he's at some club or other."

They came to a ginnel that led into a square, and Banks could see lights at the end, hear conversation and radios. When they approached, he noticed that someone had already put up arc lights, so the place was lit up like Christmas. Everyone seemed pale and pink around the gills. Banks recognized Jim Hatchley and Doug Wilson lingering by one wall, and a couple of the uniformed officers were making notes. Peter Darby was taking photographs and videotaping the entire scene, though Banks supposed it could hardly be videotape if it was digital, the way they were these days. Everyone glanced Banks's way as he entered the square, then turned nervously away and a hush fell over them. His heart was in his throat. There was something going on, something he needed to be prepared for.

Dr. Burns bent over the body, which lay face down on the ground, an enormous pool of dark blood spread from the head area towards the wall. Dr. Burns, almost as pale and shaken as the rest, stood up to greet Banks and Winsome. "I don't want to touch or move the body until the SOCOs get here," he said. Even Banks could see from where he was standing that it wasn't the body of a woman.

"Can we have a look now?" he asked.

"Of course," said Dr. Burns. "Just be careful."

Banks and Winsome knelt. The stone flags were hard and cold. Banks took a torch one of the uniformed officers offered him, knelt and shone it on the face as best he could. When he saw the young, bloodless profile, he fell back on his tailbone and slumped against the wall as if he had been pushed.

Winsome squatted at his side. "Bloody hell, sir," she said. "It's Kev. It's Kev Templeton. What the hell was he doing here?"

All Banks could think was that he had never heard Winsome swear before.

One of the uniformed officers had been dispatched to fetch a pot of fresh, hot coffee, even if he had to wake up one of the coffee-shop owners in the market square, and the rest of the weary troupe filed into the boardroom of Western Area Headquarters, no more than about a quarter of a mile from where the body of their colleague lay, undergoing the ministrations of Stefan Nowak and his SOCOs.

When DS Nowak and his team had arrived in the Maze, they had made it clear they wanted the scene to themselves, and that the little square was far too crowded. It was a relief for most of the officers attending there to leave, and a signal to get the investigation in motion. Everyone was stunned by Templeton's murder, and no one seemed able to take it in, but all that confusion had to be translated into action as quickly as possible.

Dr. Burns and Peter Darby stuck with the SOCOs, and the rest, about ten of them in all, including Banks, Hatchley and Winsome, returned to the station. Superintendent Gervaise had arrived straight from bed, hurriedly dressed in black denims and a fur-collared jacket, and she was busy setting up the whiteboard while the others arranged themselves around the long polished table, pads and pens in front of them. They wouldn't need a mobile van near the scene because the station itself was so close, but they would need to set up a special incident room, with extra phone lines, computers and civilian staff. For the moment, they would work out of the Hayley Daniels incident room, given space limitations and the shared location of the crimes.

They would also have to assign the usual rolesoffice manager, receiver, statement readers, action allocators and so on. Banks was already designated SIO and Gervaise would "interface with the media," as she put it. But she also made it clear that she wanted to be hands on and to be kept informed every step of the way. This was one of their own, and it went without saying that there would be no concessions, no quarter. But first they needed to know what had happened to Templeton, and why.

When the coffee arrived, everyone took a Styrofoam cup. They passed milk and sugar around, along with a packet of stale custard cream biscuits someone had found in a desk drawer. Banks joined Gervaise at the head of the table, and the first thing they asked for was a summary from the officer on the scene, a PC Kerrigan, who had just happened to be on duty in the public order detail that night. "What happened?" Banks asked. "Take it slowly, lad, step by step."

The young PC looked as if he'd been sick, which he probably had. At least he had had the presence of mind to do it away from the immediate scene. He took a deep breath, then began. "I was standing outside my van trying to decide whether to..." He glanced at Gervaise.

"It's all right, man," she said. "At the moment I don't care whether you were having a smoke or a blow job. Get on with it."

The constable blushed, and everyone else was taken aback, even Banks. He hadn't heard Gervaise talk like that before, any more than he had heard Winsome swear, but he ought to know by now that she was full of surprises. This was turning out to be a night of firsts.

"Y-yes, ma'am," Kerrigan said. "Well, you see, there was a minor fracas going on over by the Trumpeter's, and we were wondering whether we should just let it run its natural course, you know, like, or jump in there and risk exacerbating matters. The long and the short of it is that we decided to let it run its course. Just at that momentand I checked my watch, ma'am, it was three minutes to twelvea young woman came running out of the Maze covered in blood and screaming her head off."

"What did you do then?" Gervaise asked.

"Well, ma'am, I couldn't help but think that she'd been attacked, like, especially after last week, so I ran over to her. She seemed all right physically, but, as I said, there was quite a lot of blood on her, and she was pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf."

"Spare us the cliches, constable, and get on with the story," said Gervaise.

"Sorry, ma'am. I asked her what was wrong, and she just pointed back where she'd come from. I asked her to take me there, and she froze. She was terrified, shaking her head. Said she was never going back in there. I asked her what she'd seen, but she couldn't tell me that either, or where it was. In the end, I persuaded her that she would be safe with me. She stuck to me like...like a..." He glanced at Gervaise. "She stuck close to me and led me to, well, you know what to."

"In your own words," said Banks. "Be calm, Kerrigan. Take it easy."

"Yes, sir." Constable Kerrigan took a deep breath. "We reached the area where the body was lying. I didn't know who it was, of course. You just couldn't tell, the way the face was squashed down on the flagstone like that. There was such a lot of blood."

"Did you or the girl go anywhere near the body?" Banks asked.

"No, sir. Except right at first, to get a closer look to see if he was still alive."

"Did either of you touch anything?"

"No, sir. I knew to stay well back, and there was no way she was going anywhere near it. She cowered back by the wall."

"Very good," said Banks. "Go on."

"Well, that's about it, sir. My mates from the van weren't far behind me, and when I heard them all piling into the square behind me, I told them to stop, turn back and go to station and call everyone they could think of. Maybe I shouldn't have panicked like that, but"

"You did the right thing," said Gervaise. "You stayed with the body while they went?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And the girl?"

"She stayed, too. She sort of slid down the wall and held her head in her hands. I did get her name and address. Chelsea Pilton. Funny name, I thought. Sounds like an underground stop, doesn't it? Daft thing naming a kid after a bun or a flower show, anyway, if you ask me," he added. "But that seems to be the way of the world these days, doesn't it?"

"Thank you for those words of wisdom," muttered Gervaise with her eyes closed and the knuckle of her right middle finger against her forehead.

"Maybe she was named after the football team," Banks offered.

Gervaise gave him a withering glance.

"She lives on the East Side Estate," Constable Kerrigan added.

"Where is she now?" Gervaise asked.

"I sent her to the hospital with Constable Carruthers, ma'am. She was in a proper state, the girl. I didn't see any sense in keeping her there, next to, well, you know."

"You did right," said Banks. "They'll know what to do. I assume Carruthers has instructions to stay with her until someone gets there?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Excellent. The parents?"

"Carruthers informed them, sir. I think they're at the hospital now."

"How old is she?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"Good work." Banks called down the corridor for a constable. "Get down to the hospital," he said, "and make sure that Chelsea Pilton is taken straight to the Sexual Assault Referral Centre. Got that? Chelsea Pilton. They'll know what to do with her there. Ask for Shirley Wong, if she's in tonight. That's Dr. Shirley Wong." The new referral centre, the only one in the Western Area, was attached to the hospital, and was seen by many as a rather sad sign of the times. "And see if they can get the parents out of the way. The girl's nineteen, so they don't have to be present during any interview or examination, and I'd rather they weren't. Their presence might cause her to clam up. I'll talk to them separately later."

"Yes, sir." The constable set off.

"She's not a suspect, is she, sir?" Kerrigan asked.

"At the moment," Banks said, "even you're a suspect." Then he smiled. "We have to follow certain procedures. You ought to know that, constable."

Kerrigan swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"You mentioned that she had blood on her," Banks said.

"Yes. It looked like it had sprayed onto her face and chest. Funny, it seemed like freckles in the dim light." Kerrigan glanced nervously at Gervaise, who rolled her eyes and muttered, "God help us, a poetic PC."

"Did she say where it had come from?" Banks asked.

"No, sir. I just assumed, well, that she'd been close when it happened."

"Did you ask her?"

"Yes, sir, but she wouldn't answer."

"Did you see or hear anything or anyone else in the Maze while you were there?" Banks went on.

"Not a dicky bird, sir."

"Any music or anything?"

"No, sir. Just a bit of argy-bargy from the market square. Drunks singing, cars revving up, glass breaking, the usual sort of thing."

More coffee arrived, a large urn this time, indicating that it was going to be a long night for everyone, and two constables set it up at the far end of the table. Someone had obviously gained access to the station canteen. They had also brought a bigger stack of Styrofoam cups, fresh milk, a bag of sugar and a packet of Fig Newtons. Everyone helped themselves. It was definitely canteen coffee, weak and bitter, but it did the trick. Banks noticed his hand trembling slightly as he raised the cup to his mouth. Delayed shock. He still found it impossible to accept that Kevin Templeton was dead, despite what he had seen with his own eyes. It just didn't make sense. He ate a fig biscuit. Maybe the sugar would help.

"Did Chelsea tell you anything about what she witnessed?" Banks asked.

"No, sir," said Kerrigan. "She was too stunned. Near mute with terror, she was. It'll be a long time before she has an easy night's sleep again, I can tell you."

Me, too, thought Banks, but he didn't say anything about that. "Right," he said. "You did a good job, Constable Kerrigan. You can go now. Stick around the station for now. We might need to talk to you again."

"Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."

Kerrigan left and no one said anything for a while. Finally, Gervaise said, "Anyone met Templeton's parents? I understand they live in Salford."

"That's right," said Banks. "I met them once, a few years back, when they came to Eastvale to visit him. Nice couple. I got the impression he didn't get along very well with them, though. He never said much about them. They'll have to be told."

"I'll see to it," said Gervaise. "I know DS Templeton wasn't exactly the most popular detective in the station," she went on, "but I know that won't stop anyone from doing their jobs." She stared pointedly at Winsome, who said nothing. "Right, then," Gervaise said. "As long as that's understood, we can get down to work. Any theories?"

"Well," said Banks, "first of all we have to ask ourselves what Kev was doing in the Maze close to midnight."

"You're implying that he was about to rape and kill Chelsea Pilton?" Gervaise said.

"Not at all," Banks answered, "though we'd be remiss in our duties if we failed to acknowledge that possibility."

"Pushing that unpleasant thought aside for moment," Gervaise said, "do you have any other theories for us to consider?"

"Assuming that Kev wasn't the Maze killer," Banks said, "I think it's a pretty good guess that he was there because he hoped he might catch him. Remember at the last meeting how he was convinced it was a serial killer who'd strike again soon in the same area?"

"And I ridiculed him," said Gervaise. "Yes, I don't need reminding."

"I don't mean to do that, ma'am," said Banks. "You were right. We had no evidence to justify the expense of a full-saturation operation. But it does appear rather as if Templeton took matters upon himself."

"Our Dr. Wallace agreed with him, too, as I remember," said Gervaise.

"I'm not arguing right and wrong here," Banks said. "I'm just trying to ascertain why Templeton was where he was."

Gervaise nodded brusquely. "Go on."

"I think he might have been there late on Friday, too," Banks added. "I remember he was a bit peaky and tired yesterday, dragging his feet. I thought he'd been clubbing, woke up with a hangover, and I gave him a bollocking. He didn't disabuse me of the notion." Banks knew that his last words to Templeton had been harshsomething about growing up and behaving like a professionaland he also now knew that they had been unjustified, though how professional was it to wander a possible murder site alone and unarmed? Still, it didn't make Banks feel any better.

He knew how Templeton rubbed most people the wrong wayaccomplished women like Winsome and Annie in particular, and parents of difficult teenagers. No doubt there were some personal issues there. He could also be a racist, sexist bastard, and he had a personality that would steamroller over a person's finer feelings if he thought it would get him what he wanted. Sometimes you had to do that to a certain extent, Banks knewhe had even done it himself with Malcolm Austinbut Templeton didn't only do it out of necessity; he also seemed to relish it. Even Banks had seen him reduce witnesses to tears or rage on occasion, and Winsome and Annie had seen it happen far more often.

He was also bright, hard-working and ambitious, and whether he would have matured with age, Banks didn't know. He wouldn't have the option now. He was gone, snuffed out, and that wasn't bloody right. Even Winsome looked upset, Banks noticed, when he cast quick glances in her direction. He needed to talk to her. She could be carrying around a lot of guilt about the way she felt about Templeton, and it wouldn't help the investigation. He remembered that one of the subjects she and Annie had discussed at dinner was the way Templeton had behaved with Hayley Daniels's parents. Winsome hadn't told Banks exactly what had gone on between them, but he knew that a line had been crossed, a bridge burned. It could be eating away at her now, when they all needed to start focusing and thinking clearly.

"I also find myself wondering if he was just hanging out there on spec," Banks said, "or if he knew something."

"What do you mean?" Gervaise asked.

"Maybe he had a theory, or some special knowledge, something he was working on that he didn't share with the team."

"That sounds like Templeton," said Gervaise. "You mean he might have had inside knowledge, knew who was doing it, that it would happen again tonight, and he was after the glory?"

"Something like that," said Banks. "We'd better have a very close look at his movements since the Hayley Daniels case began."

"We're overstretched as it is," said Gervaise. "First Hayley Daniels and now this. I'll see about bringing in extra personnel."

"Are you sure it's not the same investigation?" Banks asked.