“Yes. She changed her name, too, by the way. She used to be called Linda. Linda Godwin. Then, with all the publicity, she wanted to change it. The Liversedges assured me it’s all legal and aboveboard.”

From Linda Godwin to Lucy Liversedge to Lucy Payne, Banks thought. Interesting.

“Anyway,” Jenny went on, “after they’d told me all this I pushed them a bit more and at least got them to admit life with Lucy wasn’t quite as ‘ordinary’ and ‘normal’ as they’d originally said it was.”

“Oh?”

“Problems adjusting. Surprise, surprise. The first two years, between the ages of twelve and fourteen, Lucy was as good as gold, a quiet, passive, considerate and sensitive kid. They were worried she was traumatized.”

“And?”

“Lucy saw a child psychiatrist for a while.”

“Then?”

“From fourteen to sixteen she started to act up, come out of her shell. She stopped seeing the psychiatrist. There were boys, suspicions that she was having sex, and then there was the bullying.”

“Bullying?”

“Yes. At first they told me it was an isolated incident and came to nothing, but later they said it caused a few problems with the school. Lucy was bullying younger girls out of their dinner money and stuff like that. It’s fairly common.”

“But in Lucy’s case?”

“A phase. The Liversedges worked with the school authorities, and the psychiatrist entered the picture again briefly. Then Lucy settled down to behave herself. The next two years, sixteen to eighteen, she quieted down, withdrew more into herself, became less active socially and sexually. She did her A-levels, got good results and got a job with the NatWest bank in Leeds. That was four years ago. It seemed almost as if she were planning her escape. She had very little contact with the Liversedges after she left, and I get the impression that they were relieved.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why. Call it intuition, but I got the feeling that they ended up being scared of Lucy, for the way she seemed able to manipulate them. As I say, it’s just a vague feeling.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

“They saw even less of her after she hooked up with Terence Payne. I thought when they first told me that that he might have been responsible for isolating her from her family and friends, you know, the way abusers often do, but now it seems just as likely that she was isolating herself. Her friend from work, Pat Mitchell, said the same thing. Meeting Terry really changed Lucy, cut her off almost entirely from her old life, her old ways.”

“So she was either under his thrall or she’d found a new sort of life that she preferred?”

“Yes.” Jenny told him about the incident of Lucy’s prostitution.

Banks thought for a moment. “It’s interesting,” he said. “Really interesting. But it doesn’t prove anything.”

“I told you that would probably be the case. It makes her weird, but being weird’s no grounds for arrest or half the population would be behind bars.”

“More than half. But hang on a minute, Jenny. You’ve come up with a number of leads worth pursuing.”

“Like what?”

“Like what if Lucy was involved in the Alderthorpe abuse herself? I remember reading at the time that there were cases of some of the older victims abusing their own younger siblings.”

“But what would it mean even if we could prove that after all this time?”

“I don’t know, Jenny. I’m just thinking out aloud. What’s your next step?”

“I’m going to talk to someone from the social services tomorrow, see if I can get the names of any of the social workers involved.”

“Good. I’ll work it from the police angle when I get a spare moment. There are bound to be records, files. Then what?”

“I want to go to Alderthorpe, nose around, talk to people who remember.”

“Be careful, Jenny. It’s bound to be a very raw nerve still out there, even after all this time.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“And don’t forget, there might still be someone who escaped prosecution worried about new revelations.”

“That makes me feel really safe and secure.”

“The other kids…”

“Yes?”

“What do you know about them?”

“Nothing, really, except they were aged between eight and twelve.”

“Any idea where they are?”

“No. The Liversedges don’t know. And I did ask them.”

“Don’t be defensive. We’ll make a detective of you yet.”

“No, thanks.”

“Let’s see if we can find them, shall we? They might be able to tell us a lot more about Lucy Payne than anyone else.”

“Okay. I’ll see how much the social workers are willing to tell me.”

“Not much, I’ll bet. Your best chance will be if one of them’s retired or moved on to some other line of work. Then spilling the beans won’t seem like such a betrayal.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the psychologist. Leave that sort of thinking to me.”

Banks laughed over the phone. “It’s a blurred line sometimes, isn’t it? Detective work and psychology.”

“Try and tell some of your oafish colleagues that.”

“Thanks, Jenny. You’ve done a great job.”

“And I’ve only just begun.”

“Keep in touch.”

“Promise.”

When Banks put the phone down, Mahalia Jackson was singing “Come Sunday.” He turned up the volume and took his drink outside to his little balcony over Gratly Falls. The rain had stopped, but the downpour had been heavy enough to swell the sound of the falls. It was just after sunset and the deep vermilions, purples and oranges were dying in the western sky, streaked with dark ribs of cloud, while the darkening east went from pale to inky blue. Just across the falls was a field of grazing sheep. In it stood a clump of huge old trees where rooks nested and often woke him early in the morning with their noisy squabbling. Such ill-tempered birds, they seemed. Beyond the field, the daleside sloped down to the river Swain and Banks could see the opposite hillside a mile or more away, darkening in the evening, rising to the long, grinning skeleton’s mouth of Crow Scar. The runic patterns of the drystone walls seemed to stand out in relief as the light faded. Just a little to his right, he could see the Helmthorpe Church tower poking up from the valley bottom.

Banks looked at his watch. Still early enough to stroll down there and have a pint or two in the Dog and Gun, maybe chat with one or two of the locals he’d become friendly with since his move. But he decided he didn’t fancy company; he had too much on his mind, what with Terence Payne’s death, the mystery of Leanne Wray, and the revelations Jenny Fuller had just come through with as regards Lucy’s past. Since taking on the Chameleon investigation, he realized, he had become more and more of a loner, less inclined to make small talk at the bar. Partly, he supposed, it was the burden of command, but it was also something more; the proximity to such evil, perhaps, that tainted him somehow and made small talk seem like a completely inadequate response to what was happening.

The news of Sandra’s pregnancy was also still weighing on his mind, bringing back some memories he had hoped to forget. He knew he wouldn’t be good company, but nor would he be able to get to sleep so early. He nipped inside and poured another shot of whiskey, then picked up his cigarettes and went back outside to lean against the damp wall and enjoy the last of the evening light. A curlew piped up on the distant moors and Mahalia Jackson sang on, humming the tune long after she had run out of words.