“Well, there’s someone you should keep in your sights. I always thought he was a bad influence on our Michael. He’s older, for a start. They’ve known each other for a few years, since before I left. I suspect Morgan was behind the joyriding business, for a start. It was only Michael who took the blame, but I’ll bet you anything Morgan was behind it. He was older. He’d probably have got a harsher sentence. I also blamed him for putting ideas into Michael’s head.”

“What ideas?”

“Oh, about what a waste of time education was, how you should just make your own way, that there was plenty of easy money to be had if you knew how to get it. Christ, I wish to bloody God I’d gone to university when I had the chance.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Denise gave a harsh laugh. “I wanted money in my pocket, the flash life. I couldn’t see the sense in learning some subject I didn’t care about. I wanted holidays abroad, sun and fun. What I got was Frank bloody Lane and the farm. Only myself to blame. But that’s behind me now.”

“So Morgan was a bad influence on Michael. Is that all you know about him?”

“He’s . . . I think . . .” She looked away.

“What is it, Denise?”

“I think he’s dangerous, too.” She glanced around the coffee shop, as if to make sure no one could hear. Annie didn’t think anyone could. Then Denise lowered her voice. “Or he could be. One time, about three years ago, before things really started to fall apart, Morgan came up to the farm looking for Michael. He wasn’t there. Neither was Frank. I was by myself. Morgan didn’t seem bothered by that, and he started to . . . I don’t know . . . chat me up, I suppose. Then he got more explicit. Said why didn’t we go upstairs, we could have some fun. That I wasn’t bad looking for an old woman, and he could give me a good time. That sort of thing. Thinks he’s God’s gift.”

Annie felt herself turn cold. “Did he touch you?”

“Just, you know, he put his hand on my breast, but I slapped him away. I thought then for a moment from the expression on his face that he was going to force me. He looked so angry at being rejected.”

“But he didn’t do anything?”

“No. He just left.”

“And that was the only time?”

“I wouldn’t have him in the house after that.”

“Did you tell your husband or Michael?”

“No. I haven’t told anyone. I felt so dirty, so ashamed, and things were already bad between Frank and me. But I want you to know what kind of person he is. If there’s any trouble, if Michael’s in any sort of bother, then you can bet Morgan Spencer is behind it.”

“THANKS FOR agreeing to see me at such short notice,” Banks said to Detective Inspector Joanna MacDonald as they sat in a pub on the outskirts of Northallerton waiting for lunch.

“Any excuse to get out of the office,” Joanna said, smiling. “And you did say you were buying.”

“How’s it going?”

Joanna shrugged. “What can I say? The career’s fine. The personal life’s still a bit of a mess. It gets a bit lonely sometimes.”

Banks knew that Joanna had recently separated from her husband after she had discovered that he was involved in a number of affairs, or flings, as she had called them. He remembered how much it had hurt him when his own ex-­wife, Sandra, had left him for someone else, the betrayal, the sense of being played for an idiot for not seeing it coming, the shame and humiliation.

“You miss your husband?”

“Like a bad smell. But to look on the bright side, I’m not in Professional Standards anymore, so everyone doesn’t hate me.”

Somehow, Joanna didn’t seem so much the icy Hitchcock blonde she had been when Banks had first met her. She was still blond, and still a very attractive woman, but now instead of wearing her hair piled on top, she let it hang straight over her shoulders. She wore black-­rimmed glasses, which suited her and gave her the aspect of a college professor. There was also something warmer and more open about her manner. When they had been on a case in Tallinn together, she had been remote, edgy and quick-­tempered. It was probably a lot to do with working for Professional Standards, Banks knew, and suspecting her husband of infidelity, and he had to admit that he hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms. She was the enemy, after all. In fact, he had treated her cruelly, and he now felt childish when he remembered the silly practical jokes he had played on her.

“You did a damn good job,” Banks said simply.

Joanna laughed. “Thanks. It might have helped if you’d told me so at the time.”

“Well, no one likes being under the microscope.”

“Oh, I was never out to get you. You know that. You just had an exaggerated sense of your own importance, like most men.”

“Now there’s a generalization if ever I’ve heard one. I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Joanna wrinkled her nose and held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart. “Maybe just a little bit. Anyway, you haven’t come all this way only for the pleasure of my company.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “What can I do for you?”

Banks waited while the server brought their plates of food, warning them to be careful, they were hot. It was typical modern pub grub, haddock and chips and a beef and mushroom pie, also with chips. Banks sipped a pint of Timothy Taylor’s and Joanna stuck to Diet Coke.

“You’re still working on Operation Hawk, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I spend most of my waking hours on it. Ever since our new police commissioner made it a priority. Why?”

Banks explained a little about the missing tractor and the blood found at the abandoned hangar.

“And you think they’re linked?” Joanna asked.

“Yes. Not officially, of course, not yet. We don’t have the DNA results, for a start. But we do have a stolen tractor and two ­people of interest who seem to have disappeared. And the timing is just too close to be coincidence.”

“Are these two local?”

“Yes.”

“Can you give me their names?”

Banks told her, and Joanna wrote them down in her notebook. She ate some more fish, then put her knife and fork aside and rested her arms on the table. Banks noticed that the cuffs of her white blouse were a little frayed around her wrists. That wasn’t like the Joanna he had known. Had she let things go? Was she hard up? Perhaps the divorce was costing her in more ways than one. Or maybe she was just working too hard. “As you probably know,” she said, “what we do on Operation Hawk is try to keep track of criminals on the move who strike at rural communities around the country. We also link up with various farm and border watch groups, along with the National Parks Commission, Country Watch and the Farmers’ Union, to spread awareness of the problem. I don’t really see how we can help you much if it’s a local matter. You’d be just as well equipped to deal with something like that as we would.”

“I understand,” said Banks. “But it’s the national angle I’m interested in. Maybe even international. Who knows? I mean, if someone steals a few sheep, the odds are he’s going to slaughter them locally in an illegal abattoir and sell the meat off the back of a lorry, especially with the price of lamb these days. But if he steals a tractor worth a hundred thousand quid or more, he’s going to whisk it out of the country sharpish. And for that you need organization. Remember Tallinn?”

“I do remember,” Joanna said, with a tilt of her head. Then she laughed and touched his hand. “Whatever happens, Alan. We’ll always have Tallinn.”

Definitely not the Joanna Banks he had known. She had changed. She would never have said something like that before.

“But that was different,” Joanna went on. “It was ­people we were dealing with, not sheep or pigs. Or tractors.”

“We think the hangar might have been used as an exchange point,” Banks went on. “You know, somewhere the local thieves deliver their goods, whatever they are, make the transfer, and get it on transport brought in specially for the purpose. Then it goes on its way to Bulgaria or wherever. For that, some of the ­people involved have to drive up and down the A1. I understand you’re using ANPR to track the movements of suspects?”