Janet moved the T-shirt and bra from the back of the armchair. “Sit down, sir.”

“Can we have the sound on for a minute?” Banks asked. “Who knows, maybe we’ll learn something.”

“Sure.” Janet turned the volume up, but all they got was a repeat of AC Hartnell’s earlier press statement. When it was over, Janet got up and turned off the TV. She still seemed slow in her movements, slurred in her speech, and Banks imagined it was something to do with the tranquilizers the doctor would have given her. Or maybe it was the half-empty bottle of gin on the sideboard.

A plane took off from Leeds and Bradford Airport, and while the noise didn’t actually shake the flat, it was enough to rattle a glass and make conversation impossible for a minute or so. It was also hot in the small room, and Banks felt the sweat gather on his forehead and under his arms.

“It’s why the place is so cheap,” Janet said after the noise had waned to a distant drone. “I don’t mind it that much. You get used to it. Sometimes I sit here and imagine I’m up there in one of them, flying off to some exotic country.” She got up and poured herself a small gin, adding some tonic from an open bottle of Schweppes. “Fancy a drink, sir?”

“No, thanks. How are you coping?”

Janet sat down again and shook her head. “The funny thing is, I don’t really know. I’m all right, I suppose, but I feel sort of numb, as if I’ve just come around from an anesthetic and I’m still all padded in cotton wool. Or like I’m in a dream and I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning and everything will be different. It won’t, though, will it?”

“Probably not,” said Banks. “It might even be worse.”

Janet laughed. “Well, thanks for not giving me a load of bollocks.”

Banks smiled. “My pleasure. Look, I’m not here to question your actions, but I need to know what happened in that house. Do you feel up to talking about it?”

“Sure.”

Banks noticed her body language, the way she crossed her arms and seemed to draw in on herself, and guessed that she wasn’t up to it, but he had to press on nonetheless.

“I felt like a criminal, you know,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“The way the doctor examined me, bagged my clothes, scraped under my fingernails.”

“It’s routine. You know it is.”

“I know. I know. That’s not what it feels like on the receiving end, though.”

“I suppose not. Look, I’m not going to lie to you, Janet. This could be a serious problem. It could be over in no time at all, a minor bump in the road, but it could stick around, cause you problems with your career-”

“I think that’s pretty much over, don’t you, sir?”

“Not necessarily. Not unless you want it to be.”

“I must admit I haven’t given it a lot of thought since… you know.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Funny thing is, if this was America, I’d be a hero.”

“What happened when you first received the call?”

Janet told him about the car fire and the call and finding Lucy Payne unconscious in the hallway in short, halting sentences, occasionally pausing for a sip of gin and tonic, once or twice losing her thread and staring toward the open window. Sounds of evening traffic came up from the busy road and occasionally a plane landed or took off.

“Did you think she was seriously hurt?”

“Serious enough. Not life-threatening. But I stayed with her while Dennis checked around upstairs. He came back with a blanket and a pillow, I remember that. I thought that was nice of him. It surprised me.”

“Dennis wasn’t always nice?”

“It’s not a word I’d use to describe him, no. We disagreed a lot, but I suppose we got on okay. He’s all right. Just a bit of a Neanderthal. And full of himself.”

“What did you do next?”

“Dennis went in back, the kitchen. I mean, someone had hit her, and if it was her husband, the odds were he was still in the house somewhere. Right? Probably feeling sorry for himself.”

“You stayed with Lucy?”

“Yes.”

“Then what happened?”

“Dennis called me, so I left her. She was as comfortable as I could make her, with the blanket and the pillow. The bleeding had pretty much stopped. I didn’t think she was in any real danger. The ambulance was on its way…”

“You didn’t sense any danger in the house?”

“Danger? No, not at all. I mean, no more than you do in any domestic. They can turn on you. It’s happened. But no.”

“Okay. What made you go down to the cellar? Did you think her husband might be there?”

“Yes, I suppose we must have.”

“Why did Dennis call you?”

Janet paused, clearly embarrassed.

“Janet?”

Finally she looked at him. “You’ve been there? Down the cellar?”

“Yes.”

“That picture on the door. The woman.”

“I saw it.”

“Dennis called me to see it. It was his idea of a joke. That’s what I mean. Neanderthal.”

“I see. Was the door open? The door to the cellar?”

“No, it was closed. But there was light showing under it, a sort of flickering light.”

“You didn’t hear anyone in there?”

“No.”

“Did either of you call out before you went in, identifying yourselves as police officers?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Okay, Janet. You’re doing fine. Carry on.”

Janet’s knees were pressed tight together and she was twisting her hands on her lap as she spoke. “Like I said, there was this flickering light.”

“The candles.”

Janet looked at him and gave a little shudder. “There was a bad smell, too, like drains.”

“Did you have any reason to be afraid at this point?”

“Not particularly. It was creepy, but we were proceeding cautiously, as we always do in such situations. Routine. He could have been armed. The husband. We were aware of that possibility. But if you mean did we have any inkling of what we’d find in there, then no. If we had, we’d have been out of there like a shot and brought in the troops. Dennis and me, we’re neither of us the hero types.” She shook her head.

“Who went in first?”

“I did. Dennis kicked the door in and stood back, like, you know, making a bow. Taking the piss.”

“What happened next?”

She gave a sharp jerk of her head. “It was all so fast. It was a blur. I remember candles, mirrors, the girl, crude drawings on the walls, things I saw out of the corners of my eyes. But they’re like images from a dream. A nightmare.” Her breathing became sharper and she curled up on the armchair, legs under her, arms wrapped around herself. “Then he came. Dennis was right behind me. I could feel his breath warm on my neck.”

“Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know. Behind. A corner. So fast.”

“What did Dennis do?”

“He didn’t have time to do anything. He must have heard or sensed something to make him turn, and the next thing I knew he was bleeding. He screamed out. That’s when I pulled my baton. He cut Dennis again, and the blood sprayed over me. It was as if he hadn’t noticed me, or he didn’t care, he’d get to me later. But when he did, I had my baton out and he tried to slash me but I deflected it. Then I hit him…” She started to sob and rubbed the backs of her hands against her eyes. “Sorry. Dennis, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Banks said. “Take it easy, Janet. You’re doing fine.”

“He had his head on my lap. I was trying to hold the artery closed, like they teach in First Aid. But I couldn’t do it. I’d never done it before, not with anyone real. The blood just kept seeping out. So much blood.” She sniffed and ran the back of her hand across her nose. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. You’re doing fine, Janet. Before that. Before you tried to save Dennis, what else did you do?”

“I remember handcuffing the man to one of the pipes.”

“How many times did you hit him?”

“I don’t remember.”

“More than once?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t stop coming, so I hit him again.”

“And again?”

“Yes. He kept getting up.” She started sobbing again. When she’d calmed, she asked, “Is he dead?”