"I'm sorry. I was just thinking out loud. Bad habit of mine. I was also just wondering if there was any evidence that the strangulation was part of the thrill, rough sex gone wrong?"

Dr. Wallace shook her head. "I don't think so. Though he was certainly rough with her. As I said, it very much looks as if he had one knee pushing against her chest as he strangled her, and it would be difficult, if not impossible, in that position, to perform a sexual assault on her. I'd say in this case that he strangled her when he'd done with her."

"Dr. Burns estimated time of death at between midnight and two on Sunday morning. Do you agree?"

"I can't find anything that would argue against that estimate," Dr. Wallace said. "But it is just an estimate. Time of death is"

"I know, I know," said Banks. "Notoriously difficult to establish. The one thing that can sometimes help us most. Just one more of life's little ironies."

Dr. Wallace didn't respond.

"Anything odd or unusual?"

"All perfectly normal so far, for this sort of thing." Dr. Wallace sounded weary and too old for her years, as if she'd seen it all too many times before. Banks stood back and kept quiet to let her get on with her work. She gripped the scalpel and started to make the Y incision quickly and precisely and Banks felt a shiver run up his spine.

Annie took Ginger with her to Nottingham to talk to Gail Torrance, Karen Drew's social worker, while Tommy Naylor held the fort back in Whitby. Annie liked Ginger's company, felt at ease with her. She was irreverent and funny, chewing gum constantly, talking a mile a minute, complaining about the other drivers, and she always seemed cheerful. Perhaps because of her rather butch appearance, many of the blokes at the station had first thought she was a lesbian, but it turned out that she had a stay-at-home husband and two young kids. For a moment, as Annie drove and listened to the hilarious tirade about the kids' weekend with a bouncy castle, she thought that Ginger might be someone she could talk to about Ericthere, he had a name nowbut she realized it wouldn't be appropriate, that she didn't really know her well enough, and that she didn't want anyone to know, at least not right now. What did she expect? Advice? She didn't need any. She knew what to do. And if she talked to anyone about it, it would be Winsome, though they hardly saw one another these days.

Annie was driving because she didn't feel safe with Ginger behind the wheel. And Ginger knew that. Though she had somehow got her licence, driving was simply one of the skills she hadn't truly mastered yet, she apologized, and she was due for yet another training course in a month's time. But by the time they got lost in an area of desolate industrial estates, Annie was wishing she had handed the wheel over to Ginger, who was proving to be an even worse navigator than she was a driver.

They finally found the offices in West Bridgford. It was almost lunchtime when they arrived, and Gail Torrance was more than happy to join them in the nearest pub. The place was already busy with office workers, but they found a table cluttered with the previous occupants' leftover chips, salad and remains of scotch eggs, along with empty, lipstick-stained half-pint glasses with pools of pale warm lager in the bottom. The ashtray, too, was overflowing with crushed pink-ringed cigarette ends, one of them still smouldering slightly.

Ginger took the orders and went up to the bar. By the time she got back with the drinks, a sullen teenaged waitress had cleared away the debris, then brought knives and forks folded in paper serviettes. Annie and Ginger drank Slimline bitter lemon and Gail sipped a Campari and soda. She lit a cigarette. "Ah, that's better," she said, blowing out the smoke.

Annie managed to smile through the smoke. "As you know," she said, "we've come to talk about Karen Drew." She noticed Ginger take out her pen and notebook. Despite her size and her flaming-red hair, she had the knack of disappearing into the background when she wanted to.

"You're probably wasting your time," said Gail. "I mean, I can't really tell you very much about her."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know anything."

"But you were her liaison between the hospital and Mapston Hall."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean anything. I mean, I handle all sorts of similar residential care cases all over the county."

"So tell us what you do know."

Gail tied her hair back behind her head. "About four months ago," she began, "the administration at Grey Oaks, the hospital where Karen had been for almost three years, got in touch with meI've worked with them beforeand told me about a woman they had been treating who needed special care. That's my area. I went out there and met Karenfor the first and only time, I might addand talked to her doctors. They had assessed her needs, and from what I could see, I agreed with themnot that my opinion on the matter was required, of course." She flicked the ash off her cigarette. "There was nothing suitable available locally, and I'd dealt with the Mapston Hall people before, so I knew their area of specialization matched Karen's needs. It was just a matter of waiting for a bed, getting the paperwork done, dotting the i's and crossing the t's. I really had nothing more to do with it than that."

"What were your personal impressions of Karen?" Annie asked.

"That's a funny question."

"Why?"

"Well, what impression can you have of someone who just sits there and says nothing?"

"She must have had a life before the accident."

"I suppose so, but that wasn't any of my business."

"Didn't you have to contact her family at all?"

"She didn't have any. You must have read her file."

"Yes. It tells me nothing."

"Which is about as much as I can tell you, too." Gail stubbed out her cigarette as the food arrived. Burgers and chips for Gail and Ginger, the inevitable cheese-and-tomato sandwich for Annie. Maybe she should start eating meat again, she thought, then decided that her diet was probably the only part of her life she seemed to have much control over at the moment. The conversations ebbed and flowed around them. At one table, a group of women laughed loudly at a bawdy joke. The air was full of smoke tinged with hops.

"Karen lived in Mansfield before the accident according to her file," said Annie. "Do you know what her address was?"

"Sorry," said Gail. "But you should be able to find out from Morton's, the estate agents. They handled the sale for her. I do happen to know that. It was part of the financing."

"Okay," said Annie. "How do you know about the estate agent?"

"Her solicitor told me about them."

"Karen Drew had a solicitor?"

"Of course. Someone had to take care of her affairs and look after her interests. She couldn't do it herself, could she? And a proper bloody busybody she was, too. Always ringing about this, that or the other. Voice like fingernails on a blackboard. 'Gail, do you think you could just...' 'Gail, could you...'" She gave a shudder.

"Do you remember her name?"

"Do I? Connie Wells. That was her name. Constance, she called herself. Insisted on it. Right bloody smarmy stuck-up bitch."

"Do you have her phone number or address?"

"Probably, somewhere in my files. She worked for a firm in Leeds, that's all I can remember. Park Square."

It would be, thought Annie. Leeds. That was interesting. If Karen Drew lived in Mansfield, why was her solicitor with a firm in Leeds? It wasn't far away, true, just up the motorway, but there were plenty of lawyers in Mansfield or Nottingham. Well, she could google Constance Wells easily enough once she got back to Whitby. Maybe the solicitor would be able to tell them something about Karen Drew's mysterious past.

"Look, there she goes," said DS Kevin Templeton, pointing at the television screen. "Right there."

They were in the viewing room on the ground floor of Western Area Headquarters reviewing one of the CCTV tapes. It could have been a clearer image, Banks thought, and perhaps technical support could tidy it up, but even blurred in the dark, with flaws and light flares, there was no doubt that the tall, long-legged girl, a little unsteady on her pins, heading up the alley between Joseph Randall's leather shop and the Fountain pub was Hayley Daniels, teetering on her high heels, reaching her hands out to touch the walls on both sides as she made her way down Taylor's Yard.

She had come out the pub with a group of people at 12:17, said something to them and, after what looked like a bit of a heated discussion, waved them away and headed into the alley at 12:20. It was hard to make out exactly how many of them there were, but Banks estimated at least seven. He could see the backs of a couple of her friends as they lingered and watched her disappear, shaking their heads, then they shrugged and walked in the direction of the Bar None after the others. Banks watched as Hayley's figure was finally swallowed up by the darkness of the Maze. Nobody waited for her.

"Anyone go down there before or after her?"

"Not on any of the surveillance tapes we've seen," said Templeton. "It's her, though, isn't it, sir?"

"It's her, all right," said Banks. "The question is, was he waiting or did he follow her?"

"I've watched it through till half past two in the morning, sir, well after the doc's estimate of time of death," said Templeton, "and no one else went up Taylor's Yard earlier and no one goes up there after her. No one comes out, either. We've got some footage from the Castle Road cameras to view, but this is it for the market square."

"So whoever it was entered by some other way, an entrance not covered by CCTV," said Banks.

"Looks that way, sir. But surely no one could have known she was going to go into the Maze? And if no one followed her..."

"Someone was already there, waiting for just such a likelihood? Possibly," said Banks.

"A serial killer?"

Banks gave Templeton a long-suffering look. "Kev, there's only one victim. How can it be a serial killer?"

"So far there's only one victim," said Templeton. "But that doesn't mean it'll stop with one. Even serial killers have to start somewhere." He grinned at his own weak joke. Banks didn't follow suit.

Banks knew what he meant, though. Sexual predators who had done what this man had done to Hayley Daniels didn't usually stop at just one victim, unless the killer was a personal enemy of Hayley's, an area that remained to be explored. "What if she isn't his first victim?" he said.

"Sir?"

"Get on the National Database," Banks went on. "See if you can find any similar incidents in the last eighteen months, anywhere in the country. Get Jim Hatchley to help you. He's not much good with a computer, but he knows his way around the county forces."

"Yes, sir," said Templeton.

A few years ago, Banks knew, such information would not have been easily available, but a lot had changed in the wake of the Yorkshire Ripper investigation and other interforce fiascos. Now, belatedly, Banks thought, they had come kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century with the realization that criminals don't respect city, county or even country borders.

"I still wonder why she went into the Maze alone," Templeton said, almost to himself. "No one went in with her or waited for her to come back."

"She was well pissed," said Banks. "They all were. You could see that for yourself. People don't think straight when they're pissed. They lose their inhibitions and their fears, and sometimes it's only your fears that keep you alive. I'll send DC Wilson out to the college. He looks young enough to be a student there himself. We've got to find those people she was with, and the odds are that they were fellow students. She talked to them. You can see her doing it. They talked to her. It looked as if they were maybe trying to persuade her not to go. Someone must know something."

"She could have arranged to meet someone in there earlier. The Maze, that is."

"She could have," Banks agreed. "Again, we need to talk to her friends about that. We need to interview everyone she met that night from the time they set out to the time she went into that alley. We've let ourselves be sidetracked by Joseph Randall."

"I'm still not sure about him," said Templeton.

"Me, neither," Banks agreed. "But we have to broaden the inquiry. Look, before you get cracking on that database, have another word with the bartender who was on duty at the Fountain on Saturday night. Find out if there were any incidents in the pub itself. Any sign of him on the tapes?"

"Oddly enough, yes, sir," said Templeton.

"Why oddly?"

"Well, he wheeled his bicycle out of the front door and locked up."

"What's so strange about that?"

"It was nearly half past two in the morning."

"Maybe he's a secret drinker. What did he have to say?"

"He wasn't there when the lads canvassed the pubs yesterday. Day off. Nobody's talked to him yet."

"Interesting. If he's not there today, find out where he lives and pay him a visit. Ask him what he was doing there so late and see if he remembers anything more. We know Hayley and her friends left the Fountain, had a discussion in the market square, then three minutes later she left to go down Taylor's Yard. Maybe something happened in the pub? It's almost the last place she was seen alive in public."

"Yes, sir."

Templeton left the viewing room. Banks took the remote control and rewound the surveillance tape. He pressed play again and watched Hayley Daniels argue with her friends and head down Taylor's Yard. He couldn't read her lips; the tape was of too poor quality. There was also an annoying, flickering strip of light, like you get on old film prints, behind the group, beside Taylor's Yard. It disappeared. When Hayley stretched her arms out for balance, she could touch both sides of the alley easily. The glitter on the cheap plastic belt around her waist caught the headlights of a passing car.

After she had disappeared into the darkness, Banks rewound and watched the tape one more time. They might be able to isolate and enhance the licence plate of that car, he thought, reasoning that if the driver had seen a pretty girl walking into the Maze alone, he might have zipped around the back and entered from the car park, where there were no CCTV cameras, and seized his opportunity. It was a long shot, but in the absence of anything else, it was worth a try. Banks called DC Wilson down from the squad room.

There was no point in going all the way back to Whitby first, Annie realized, as she aimed the car towards Leeds on the M1. Not when she could ring Detective Inspector Ken Blackstone at Millgarth and find out exactly where on Park Square Constance Wells practised law.

"Annie," said Blackstone. "How nice to hear from you. How's things?"

"Fine, Ken."

"And Alan?"

Blackstone sometimes spoke as if Banks and Annie were still an item, or as if he wished they were, but it didn't bother her. "Haven't seen him for a while," she said. "I'm on loan to Eastern Area. Look, maybe you can help me?"

"Of course, if I can."

"Should be easy enough. I'm trying to track down a Park Square solicitor, name of Constance Wells. Ring any bells?"

"No, but give me a few minutes. I'll call you back."

Annie and Ginger passed close by the massive cooling towers near Sheffield, and around the bend Annie saw the sprawl of Meadowhall, the popular shopping mall, to her left, cars parked everywhere.

Annie's mobile rang and she answered immediately. "Ken?"

"Ken?" said the voice. "Who's that? Do I have a rival? Sorry to disappoint you, but it's me. Eric."

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to check if you were still going to join me for lunch on Thursday."

"I'm expecting an important call. I can't talk now," Annie said.

"See you Thursday, then. Black Horse."

Annie pressed end. She felt her face flush as Ginger gave her a sideways look. "Boyfriend trouble?" she asked.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

Ginger held her hands up. "Sorry."

Annie glanced at her, then laughed. "Some blokes just won't take no for an answer, right?" she said.

"Tell me about it."

It wasn't an invitation, or Annie might have relented. As it was, the mobile saved her. Ken Blackstone this time.

"Yes?" Annie said.

"Constance Wells does indeed work in Park Square," he said. "Conveyancing."

"Makes sense," said Annie.