“Leanne was willing,” Mr. Wray insisted.

“When did you tell her?” Banks asked.

“The morning of the day she disappeared.”

He sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us this when we interviewed you after Leanne’s disappearance?”

Mr. Wray looked surprised. “Nobody asked. It didn’t seem important. I mean, it was a private family matter.”

“Besides,” said Victoria, “it’s bad luck to tell strangers until after three months.”

Were they really so thick or were they just playing at it? Banks wondered. Trying to keep his tone as calm and neutral as possible, reminding himself that they were the parents of a missing girl, he asked, “What did she say?”

The Wrays looked at each other. “Say? Nothing, really, did she, dear?” said Mr. Wray.

“Acted up, is what she did,” said Victoria.

“Was she angry?”

“I suppose so,” said Mr. Wray.

“Angry enough to punish you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, Mr. Wray,” Banks said, “when you told us that Leanne was missing and we couldn’t find her within a day or two, we were all of us willing to think the worst. Now, what you’ve just told us puts a different light on things.”

“It does?”

“If she was angry at you over her stepmother’s pregnancy, then she might easily have run away to strike back.”

“But Leanne wouldn’t run away,” Mr. Wray said, slack-jawed. “She loved me.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Banks said. He didn’t know if it was called the Electra complex, but he was thinking of the female version of the Oedipus complex: Girl loves her father, then her mother dies, but instead of devoting himself to her, the father finds a new woman, and to make things worse, he makes her pregnant, threatening the entire stability of their relationship. He could easily see Leanne doing a bunk under circumstances like that. But the problem still remained that she would have to be a very uncaring child indeed not to let them know she was still alive after all the hue and cry about the missing girls, and she wouldn’t have got far without her money and her inhaler.

“I think she’d probably be capable of it,” said Victoria. “She could be cruel. Remember that time when she put castor oil in the coffee, the evening of my first book-club meeting? Caroline Opley was sick all over her Margaret Atwood.”

“But that was early days, love,” Mr. Wray protested. “It all took a bit of getting used to for her.”

“I know. I’m only saying. And she didn’t value things as she should have. She lost that silver-”

“Do you think she might have at least been angry enough to disobey her curfew?” Banks asked.

“Certainly,” answered Victoria without missing a beat. “It’s that boy you should be talking to. That Ian Scott. He’s a drug dealer, you know.”

“Did Leanne take drugs?”

“Not to our knowledge,” said Mr. Wray.

“But she could have done, Chris,” his wife went on. “She obviously didn’t tell us everything, did she? Who knows what she got up to when she was with those sorts of people.”

Christopher Wray put his hand over his wife’s. “Don’t get excited, love. Remember what the doctor said.”

“I know.” Victoria stood up. She swayed a little. “I think I need to go and lie down again for a while,” she said. “But you mark my words, Superintendent, that’s the one you should be looking at – Ian Scott. He’s no good.”

“Thank you,” said Banks. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

When she’d gone, the silence stretched for a while. “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Banks asked.

“No. No. I’m sure she wouldn’t do… what you say. I’m sure something must have happened to her.”

“Why did you wait until morning to call the police? Had she done that sort of thing before?”

“Never. I would have told you if I thought that.”

“So why did you wait?”

“I wanted to call earlier.”

“Come on, Mr. Wray,” said Winsome, touching his arm gently. “You can tell us.”

He looked at her, his eyes beseeching, seeking forgiveness. “I would have called the police, honest I would,” he said. “She had never stayed out all night before.”

“But you’d had an argument, hadn’t you?” Banks suggested. “When she reacted badly to the news of your wife’s pregnancy.”

“She asked me how could I… so soon after… after her mother. She was upset, crying, saying terrible things about Victoria, things she didn’t mean, but… Victoria told her to get out if she wanted, and said she could stay out.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this at the time?” Banks asked, though he knew the answer: embarrassment, that great social fear – something Victoria Wray would certainly be sensitive to – and not wanting the police involved in your private family arguments. The only way they had found out about the tension between Victoria and Leanne in the first place was through Leanne’s friends, and Leanne clearly hadn’t had time or chance to tell them about Victoria’s pregnancy. Victoria Wray was the kind of woman, Banks thought, who would make the police use the tradesman’s entrance, if they had a tradesman’s entrance – and the fact that they didn’t was probably an unbearable thorn in her side.

There were tears in Mr. Wray’s eyes. “I couldn’t,” he said. “I just couldn’t. We thought it was as you said, that perhaps she had stayed out all night to spite us, to demonstrate her anger. But no matter what, Superintendent, Leanne isn’t a bad girl. She would have come back in the morning. I’m certain of that.”

Banks stood up. “May we have another look at her room, Mr. Wray? There may be something we missed.”

Wray looked puzzled. “Yes, of course. But… I mean… it’s been redone. There’s nothing there.”

“You redecorated Leanne’s room?” Winsome said.

He looked at her. “Yes. We couldn’t stand it with her gone. The memories. And now, with the new baby on the way…”

“What about her clothes?” Winsome asked.

“We gave them to the Oxfam shop.”

“Her books, belongings?”

“Them, too.”

Winsome shook her head. Banks asked, “May we have a peek, anyway?”

They went upstairs. Wray was right. Not an object remained that indicated the room had ever belonged to a teenager like Leanne Wray. The tiny dresser, bedside drawers and matching wardrobe were all gone, as was her bed with the quilt bedspread, little bookcase, the few dolls left over from her childhood. Even the carpet was gone and the pop star posters had been ripped off the walls. Nothing remained. Banks could hardly believe his eyes. He could understand how people want to escape unpleasant memories, don’t like being reminded of someone they’ve loved and lost, but all this just over a month after their daughter’s disappearance, and without her body having been found?

“Thank you,” he said, indicating for Winsome to follow him down the stairs.

“Isn’t that weird?” she said when they’d got outside. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Think what, Winsome?”

“That maybe Leanne did go home that night. And that maybe when they heard we were digging up the Paynes’ garden, Mr. Wray decided it was time for redecoration.”

“Hmm,” said Banks. “Maybe you’re right, or maybe people just have different ways of showing their grief. Either way, I think we’ll be looking a bit more closely at the Wrays over the next few days. You can start by talking to their neighbors, see if they’ve seen or heard anything unusual.”

After her chat with Maureen Nesbitt, Jenny decided to visit Spurn Head itself before heading for home. Maybe a good long walk would help her think things over, blow the cobwebs away. Maybe it would also help her get rid of the eerie feeling she had had since Alderthorpe that she was being watched or followed. She couldn’t explain it, but every time she turned suddenly to look over her shoulder, she felt rather than saw something slip into the shadows. It was irritating because she couldn’t quite grasp whether she was being paranoid or whether it was a case of just because she was paranoid it didn’t mean someone wasn’t following her.