“Yes,” said Banks.

“Please take a seat.” She gestured toward a modular orange couch arranged around a glass table, on which was spread a selection of magazines: the Economist, House & Home, along with the Financial Times and a selection of the morning’s papers, all looking untouched.

Brenda busied herself on the telephone, her voice reduced to a distant whisper. When she hung up, she said, “Mr. Norrington will see you in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?”

“Coffee, please. Black, two sugars,” said Annie.

Banks asked for water.

Brenda disappeared and came back seconds later with a cup and saucer and a plastic bottle of fizzy water. Before Annie had managed to finish her coffee, Brenda’s phone buzzed and she asked them to follow her.

Norrington’s office was at the end of the corridor. It was larger than the entire Eastvale squad room, and the far wall was one giant picture window. The sky was gray, so the venetian blinds were up. Unfortunately, the window didn’t look out over the city center, but toward the south, a flat and dreary wasteland of other office buildings, arterial roads, factory yards and retail warehouse outlets. Banks could even see the sprawling shopping park at Crown Point. Beyond that, lanes of traffic sped on the M621 as it coiled through the run-­down urban areas of Hunslet and Beeston. Perhaps the view was an inspiration to property developers, Banks thought, a spur to bigger and better things. To most, though, he imagined it would be depressing.

Norrington himself had the look of a man who was comfortable with his environment. As he stood up and came forward to greet them, Banks noticed he had hung his suit jacket on the back of his chair, had his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his arms and his tie loose at the collar, the way Banks liked to wear his when he had to wear one. His thinning gray hair was swept back and his nose slightly bulbous. His manner was open and polite. He even gave a little bow when Banks introduced Annie, and for a moment Banks thought he was going to kiss her hand. Instead, he offered more refreshments, which both Banks and Annie declined, then bade them sit. Their chairs were wide and comfortable, and faced the large window. At that angle, they could see only the sky, not the wastelands of south Leeds.

“One of our colleagues rang you yesterday, I believe?” Banks said.

“She talked to Geoffrey Melrose, not to me,” said Norrington. “He’s my partner, to all intents and purposes. I’m afraid he’s had to go to London on business today, but I can help you with anything you need.”

“I hope so. My colleague said she got rather short shrift.”

“Geoff’s a busy man. He told me it was something to do with the Drewick development.”

“That’s right. The old airfield with the hangar. How long have you owned the property?”

“About four years now. It was run-­down for years, going cheap, so we bought it for the land. Ever since then we’ve been trying to get zoning laws and investors in line for a new shopping development. It’s a long haul, I can tell you.”

“Do such things usually take so long?”

“It depends. You certainly need patience in this business, though.”

“While you’re negotiating all this, who takes care of the property?”

“Again, it depends on the property.”

“In this case.”

Norrington leaned back in his chair and started stretching a rubber band. “In this case, nobody, really. There seemed little point in employing a night watchman or a security company, as there was nothing there to watch. The chain link and gates were already in place. We put up all the required signs and padlocks. I suppose some schoolkids might have managed to sneak in through a hole in the fence, but even a night watchman probably couldn’t have prevented that. Kids get everywhere.”

“Too true,” Banks agreed. “And anyone can take a pair of bolt cutters and replace your chain and padlock with their own. Did you ever consider whether the premises were being used for criminal activity?”

“Why would I? We have many properties awaiting development, and it’s never been an issue before.” Norrington put his rubber band down and wagged his finger. “Now, I do hope you aren’t trying to lay the blame for anything like that at our feet? Is this a matter of liability?”

“Well, as a legal issue, I suppose it might interest the lawyers and cost everyone else a fortune. But nobody’s blaming anyone. That’s not why we’re here.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“Of course we didn’t know anything about criminal activities. I’m shocked to hear that you think we did.”

“Not only that, Mr. Norrington,” said Annie, “but the area is now also a crime scene, a possible murder scene, in fact. What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know what to think. I find it very hard to believe, as a matter of fact. Besides, you can’t blame any of this on us.”

Banks stood up and walked over to the window. Norrington swiveled his chair so he could keep his eyes on him.

“Believe me, it’s true,” Annie went on. Norrington didn’t seem to know who to look at. He finally decided on Annie.

“But what can I possibly do to help you?” he asked. “I’ve already told you, we’ve been involved in negotiations to develop that property for years now. It’s not as if we stand guard over it or anything. Sometimes these things move very slowly.”

“What’s the matter? Not managed to grease the right palms yet?” said Banks, reclaiming his chair again. “Not found the right city councillors to enlist in the cause?”

Norrington reddened. “I resent that.”

“Of course you do. But it happens in your business, doesn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact,” Norrington went on, “that’s not the problem at all. Not that we’d resort to such a thing.”

“’Course not. What is the problem, then?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s investors. Lack thereof. To put it crudely, we’re still a bit short of the readies to make a start, even with the requisite planning permission, which we are on the verge of acquiring.”

“I’m surprised you can’t get anyone to invest in the building of a major shopping center where there isn’t any competition for miles around.”

“It surprises me, too, but that’s the way it happens sometimes. Man plans. God laughs.”

“I’ve had that feeling myself, often,” said Banks. “Wouldn’t it help if you rented the place out for some private venture in the meantime? Perhaps that would bring in the cash you need? Help you keep your heads above water until it’s time to proceed?”

“Too much hassle,” said Norrington. “Then we would have to hire security and worry about it all the time. We’ll get the money. And by legitimate means.” Norrington glanced from Banks to Annie and back. “What exactly is it that you want from me, Mr. Banks? I do have things to do, you know. Important things.”

“I’m sure you do. And we’ll try not to keep you much longer. For a start, I’d like to know if you have any idea who has been using the old airfield and hangar as a transfer point on a trafficking route.”

“Trafficking? What do you mean? What trafficking?”

“Stolen farm equipment and livestock. Maybe other things. ­People. Drugs. We don’t know the full extent of the operation yet. It’s an ideal location, though. Isolated, unguarded, close to the A1.”

“I have no knowledge of any such activity.” Norrington seemed shaken. He stood up, took his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on. “Look, I think I’m going to have to ask our legal representatives to come in if our conversation continues in this vein.”

“Why?” asked Banks.

“These insinuations you’re making.”

“I’m not making any insinuations. Do you have something to hide?”

“No, of course I don’t. It’s just . . . well, I don’t know what you’re after.”