“I’ve told you why that is,” Annie said. “And his team’s overstretched anyway.” She paused. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but there was something going on at the Berger-Lennox Centre. Dr. Lukas told me she was helping young eastern European prostitutes who got pregnant – mostly illegal immigrants, she said – to get free abortions on the quiet. She called them ‘late girls.’ Jennifer Clewes found out about it, but instead of blowing the whistle she helped bury some of the paperwork. I don’t think that’s everything Dr. Lukas knows, but it’s a start. And don’t even think of going to see her. She’s on the edge and a visit from a stranger would alienate her completely.”

“Don’t worry,” said Banks. “I’m not altogether stupid. I’ll leave her to you. You don’t believe her story?”

“Most of it,” Annie said. “I think she might be willing to tell me more, but she’ll only do it in her own time, on her own terms.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a year.”

“How much money is involved?”

“The center charges between four hundred and a thousand pounds for consultation, termination and postoperative care, depending on how advanced the pregnancy is.”

“So it could add up to quite a tidy sum over time?”

“Yes. But not worth killing over.”

“I suppose not,” said Banks. “Did Roy know about it?”

“Jennifer knew, and I’ll bet she told Roy. The problem is that Dr. Lukas says Jennifer had known about it for a couple of months, but it was only in the last few days that people noticed any difference in her behavior.”

“So perhaps she found out something else?” Banks suggested. “Something we don’t know. How did the girls find Dr. Lukas?”

“That’s what seems a bit vague about it all. She’s from Ukraine. She said she’s known in the community. It’s possible, I suppose. Some of these communities are very close-knit. Word gets around.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“I think she’s holding something back. And I think she’s scared.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Banks. “Two people have been murdered.”

“I think there might be three.”

“Oh?”

“Jennifer mentioned a girl called Carmen Petri – one of the ‘late’ girls – to her close friend Melanie Scott shortly before she was killed. Her ex-boyfriend Victor Parsons was sort of stalking Jennifer. Ironically enough, it’s the first time a stalker’s actually been any practical use to us. He saw Jennifer come out of the center last Monday evening with a young girl who looked pregnant. A man immediately came out of the shadows and the girl went off with him in a car.”

“And you think that girl was this Carmen?”

“Yes. And I think she’s dead, too. The man she went off with was a muscle-bound lump with a ponytail, the one I told you about before, and he sounds remarkably like the man we think shot Jennifer Clewes and broke into your cottage.”

“And followed me back here from Peterborough,” said Banks.

Annie’s eyes widened. “What?”

Banks told her what happened on the motorway the previous day and what measures he had taken to protect his parents.

“Did you get the number?” Annie asked.

“What do you take me for?”

“Give it to me. I’ll trace it.”

“It’s already being done.”

“Burgess?”

Banks said nothing.

Annie sighed. “Give it to me anyway.”

Banks did as she asked.

“I take it you haven’t told Dave Brooke about this yet?”

“I told you. I rang the Peterborough police. It’s their manor. I checked with them again this morning and nothing out of the ordinary happened during the night.”

“Fine,” said Annie. “I’ll tell him myself.”

“Ponytail might well have killed Jennifer and tried to scare me off, but we know he can’t have killed Roy.”

“So there’s someone else involved.”

“Well, if ponytail is the muscle and prostitution is the business, I’d say there’s a pimp somewhere at the top of it all, wouldn’t you?”

“Possibly,” Annie agreed. “Lambert?”

“Maybe.” Banks stood up. “Anyway, we won’t find out the answer by sitting around here, however pleasant it is. Thanks for breakfast, Annie, and for clearing the air.”

“Where are you going?”

Banks smiled. “Well, if I told you that, you’d really be in trouble, wouldn’t you?”

Annie put her hand on Banks’s arm. “I know I can’t stop you,” she said, “but promise me a few things?”

“Go on.”

“Keep in touch, let me know what you find out.”

“Okay. You, too.”

“Stay away from Dr. Lukas. She’ll come around in her own time. You’ll only freak her out.”

“No problem.”

“And be careful, Alan. This isn’t a game.”

“Believe me, I know that.” Banks bent forward, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and left. Annie watched him go, then she hurried back up to her room to pack. This morning, after checking in with Brooke, she was going back to Eastvale come hell or high water.

“You wouldn’t believe it. It was like a bloody three-ring circus here the last couple of days,” said Malcolm Farrow as he settled in his armchair with a stiff gin and tonic in his hand. Banks had declined the offer of gin as it was only ten o’clock in the morning, but he accepted the tonic water gratefully. Farrow had looked puzzled but poured it anyway. “As you can see, things have settled down a bit now.”

Banks looked out of Farrow’s window at Roy’s house. The detectives must have finished their search and removed everything they thought pertinent to their investigation, because the place was unguarded.

They would have gone through Roy’s stuff for any evidence related to the crime and also for information about his lifestyle, his habits and his associates that might give them a lead to follow. Banks knew what they would find because he had already made a thorough search himself and handed over everything to Brooke. Now the formalities were done with, the house would be turned over to Roy’s next of kin – his parents.

“I can imagine what it was like,” said Banks. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t ring you straightaway, but I had to go take care of my parents and I didn’t have your number handy.”

“That’s all right. I was really shocked to hear the news. It’s been all over the papers, and the television. We’ve had reporters around. They’ve gone now the police seem to have moved on.”

“There’s nothing left for them here,” said Banks.

“Anyway, it’s nice of you to remember me and drop by.”

“No problem. Did the police want to talk to you?”

“The police? Oh, yes. They were all over the street.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Just what I told you. It’s all I know.”

“What about the reporters?”

His face reddened. “Sent them packing. Bunch of scavengers.”

“Have you thought any more about that photo I showed you?” asked Banks, slipping the envelope out of his briefcase.

Farrow looked at it again through his reading glasses, which were clipped tightly to his bulbous, purple-veined nose. “Look, I’m not going to have to say anything in court, am I?”

“This is just between you and me,” said Banks. As Farrow squinted at the photos. Banks sipped some tonic water. The fizziness made him burp and he could still taste the bacon and eggs he’d eaten for breakfast.

“Well,” said Farrow, “it certainly could be him. The more I look, the more I see the resemblance. As I said, my eyesight’s not so good on detail, but there are streetlights and the man’s size and the gray hair look about right.” He passed the photo back to Banks. “A bit vague, I know, but it’s the best I can do.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Who is he, anyway? He’s surely not the one who…?”

“I don’t think so,” said Banks. “If it really is him, he’s an old business partner of Roy’s.” Someone Roy would probably open the door to and accompany for a drink or whatever, which was the way it seemed to have happened. Someone he trusted.