‘Did you tell her what it was?’ Banks asked.

‘Not in so many words.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Just that it was something very special for Veronica.’

‘How did Caroline react?’

‘She didn’t. She just glanced at it, and I put it down.’

‘Did you argue with her?’

Ivers shook his head. ‘Not this time, no. It was cool between us, but civilized. I’ve told you, I was out again within five minutes.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I drove over to the shopping centre – I wanted to buy a few last minute things I couldn’t get here in the village – then I came home.’

‘What things?’

Ivers frowned. ‘Oh, I can’t remember. Books, a sweater Patsy wanted, a case of decent claret… that kind of thing.’

‘You didn’t by any chance see your wife in the shopping centre, did you?’

‘No. I’d have mentioned it if I did. It’s a fairly large place, you know, and it was very busy.’

‘Why did you go to Eastvale that night in particular?’

‘Because it was so close to Christmas and Patsy and I… well, I always leave things till the last minute, and we just didn’t want to have to go anywhere over the next few days. I’m very involved in a complex piece of music right now. It’s all to do with the rhythms of the sea, so I don’t want to spend more time than necessary away from here. I have no other commitments until after the new year, so I thought I’d get the shopping and Veronica’s present out of the way, then my time would be my own.’ He returned to the chair and started to refill his pipe. ‘Believe me, it’s nothing more sinister than that. I haven’t killed anyone. I couldn’t. Not even someone I hated the way I hated Caroline Hartley. If I’d been stupid enough to believe that killing Caroline would bring back Veronica, I’d have done it two years ago. But I’ve got a new life now, with Patsy. It’s been tough getting here, but I’ve put Veronica behind me now.’

‘Yet you still took her a special Christmas present Rather a sentimental gesture, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I never claimed to have no feelings for her. After so long, you can’t help that. She put me through hell, but that’s over.’ He took Patsy’s hand. ‘I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.’

It was the second time Banks had heard someone refer to having a motive for killing Caroline some years ago but not in the present. Ivers’s story rang truer than Gary Hartley’s, though. In the first place, Ivers obviously did have a comfortable life with an attractive younger woman, a cosy cottage by the sea and his music. Gary Hartley had nothing. On the other hand, Ivers could easily have lost his temper and lashed out at something Caroline said. Sometimes, after all the big things have been endured and overcome, some apparently inconsequential matter sets off an explosion. There was no real evidence pointing either way, though the use of a knife so close to hand indicated a spontaneous act. If he charged Claude Ivers with murder now, he wouldn’t have had much of a case.

‘I’d like you to drop by the Eastvale police station tomorrow morning and sign a statement,’ Banks said, gesturing for Susan to close her notebook.

‘Must I…? My work…?’

‘Much as I love your music, Mr Ivers,’ Banks said, ‘I’m afraid you must.’ He smiled. ‘Look at it this way, it’s a hell of a lot better than being charged with murder and sitting in a cell with the drunks on New Year’s Eve.’

‘You’re not charging me?’

‘Not yet. But I want you to stay where I can find you. Any unexpected moves on your part will be considered as very suspicious behaviour indeed.’

Ivers nodded. ‘I wasn’t going anywhere.’

‘Good. See you tomorrow then.’

Banks and Susan made their way back down the winding path to the car. On their left, only partially obscured by wraiths of mist, the sea lay quiet and the small waves lapped and hissed on the sands. Banks wondered what Ivers’s winter sea music would sound like. Something along the lines of Peter Maxwell Davies’s Third Symphony perhaps, or the ‘Sea Interludes’ from Britten’s Peter Grimes? There was certainly a lot of potential in the idea.

They had just reached the road when Banks became aware of a figure running after them. It was Patsy Janowksi, and she hadn’t even bothered to put an overcoat on. They turned, and she stood facing them, shivering, with her arms wrapped around her chest. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said. ‘Please. It’s really important.’

Banks nodded. ‘Go on.’

She looked around. ‘Is there somewhere we can go? I’m freezing.’

They were outside the Lobster Inn, and Banks could think of no better place to talk. They went inside and found the lounge almost deserted except for the landlord and a couple of gnarled old men chatting at the bar. The large room was cold and draughty, even by the hearth where they sat. The fire clearly hadn’t been lit long and the pub had not yet warmed up.

Banks walked to the bar. The two old men flicked their hooded eyes in his direction and continued talking in low voices, thick with local dialect. The landlord shuffled over and stood in front of Banks drying a glass. He neither spoke nor looked up. Banks found himself marvelling at Jim Hatchley for getting information out of such a taciturn old bugger. One day he’d have to ask Jim how he’d managed it.

He asked for three whiskies and the landlord ambled off without a word. The entire transaction took place in silence. When he got back to the table, Banks found Patsy and Susan Gay huddled around the meagre fire trying to get warm.

‘It’s not the cold I mind,’ Patsy was saying, ‘but the goddamn chill. It’s so damp it gets right in your bones.’

‘Where are you from?’ Banks asked.

‘Huntington Beach, California.’

‘Warm there?’

Patsy managed a smile. ‘All year round. They even play beach volley ball in winter. Don’t get me wrong, though. I love England, even the weather. I’m just not dressed right for outdoors today.’

Banks passed her the whisky. ‘Here. This should warm the cockles of your heart, as we say up here.’

‘Thank you.’ She took a sip and smacked her lips. Her eyes ranged around the pub and settled briefly, like a butterfly, on various objects: a dented ashtray, the range of wine glasses above the bar, an optic, the old fishing print on the far wall.

Banks lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. ‘What was it you wanted to tell us?’

Patsy frowned. ‘I know it must seem too late to you, that we’ve told so many lies, but Claude was telling the truth just now, honestly he was. We only lied because we knew he’d be the main suspect.’

‘You must have known we’d find out the truth sooner or later.’

She shook her head. ‘Claude said it’s only on television that things like that happen. Not in real life. Despite what he says, he has watched television. He said policemen in real life are just thick.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry.’

Banks smiled. ‘Where did you drive to that night?’

‘Well, that’s just what I came out to tell you. I know Claude can’t have killed Caroline Hartley because I went to see her after he’d left, and I can assure you she was still alive then.’

‘What do you mean?’

Patsy rubbed her temple and frowned. ‘What I say. Look, I know it’s not very nice, but I was… well, checking up on him.’

‘You suspected he was still involved with Veronica Shildon?’

‘Yes. He still loves her, there’s no doubt about that. You heard what he said. But I did hope he really had put her behind him… and I know he loves me, too. I suppose I’m just jealous, possessive. I’ve been burned before by people hung up on past relationships.’

‘Did you know him when he split up with her?’

‘No. We met afterwards. He was in real bad shape.’

‘In what way?’

‘In every way. Claude is a naturally confident man, used to getting what he wants and having his own way, but after he split with Veronica his self-esteem was at rockbottom. He felt betrayed and… well… sexually, too, he felt worthless and unwanted. He told me he never thought another woman would want him as long as he lived.’ She smiled and looked into the fire. ‘I know it sounds like a come-on, but it wasn’t. You have to know him. When we got together I helped him build up his confidence again. There was nothing wrong with him, really. It was all just the psychological mess caused by what that woman did to him.’