Banks shook his head. “You disappoint me, Michael, you really do. For a moment, you know, you almost had me believing that you cared about that girl of yours and the bairn. That you really loved them.”

“I do love them!”

“Then we want names,” Banks shouted back.

Lane appeared to consider his options and perhaps, Banks thought, to try to come up with a way to make his story sound acceptable without implicating himself. He licked his lips and his eyes flitted from one to the other and back. “OK,” he said finally. “Look, maybe Morgan did talk a bit more about some of the things he was up to. After he’d had a ­couple of drinks, like. But you have to understand, I thought it was all just stories, tall tales, bullshit, and I never had anything to do with any of it.”

“That’s better, Michael,” said Banks. “What sort of things did Morgan tell you? What names did he mention?”

“I know who the boss is,” Lane said. “Morgan bragged about the tractor, that he was going to steal it while the miserable bastard was on his holiday.”

“We know that, too,” Annie said. “He’s John Beddoes. The point is that if Morgan knew he was the boss, why did he steal his tractor and set up an exchange meet with the others in the gang? It doesn’t make sense. Were they all in on it?”

“I don’t think Morgan knew who the boss was,” said Lane. “I mean, that’s the way it sounded in the hangar. When the other bloke mentioned it, he said something like, ‘What the fuck? Beddoes?’ It was muffled, so I’m not really sure, but he sounded surprised.”

That made sense, Banks thought. Spencer is so low level he doesn’t even know who the top men are, and he steals one’s tractor by mistake. He reports to Tanner and only Tanner deals directly with Beddoes. The typical sad story of a loser’s life. But was a tractor really worth killing for? Was it a viable motive for his murder? Why couldn’t they just give the tractor back to Beddoes and give Spencer a good hiding?

Then Banks realized why. Beddoes was due back early Sunday morning. They couldn’t know that his flight had been delayed. As far as they were concerned, he’d come home, found his tractor gone and done the only thing he could do under the circumstances: call the police to report it stolen. Any other course of action would have looked odd. Even if they had tried to phone him to check and he didn’t answer, they would most likely assume that he was down at the police station describing the tractor. Spencer’s theft had caused them a lot of trouble and put them all in a difficult position. The gang had had to continue behaving as if they had stolen the tractor even after they knew who it belonged to. The best they could do was have someone—­the driver Utley, most likely—­dump it down south somewhere and hope it was found and returned in good condition before too long.

Still, Banks wondered, was it worth the hue and cry of a murder investigation? On the other hand, perhaps the killer enjoyed his work. Perhaps he also had a grudge against Spencer. After all, Spencer’s body wasn’t supposed to turn up in a car crash at the bottom of Belderfell Pass. It was supposed to be incinerated in Vaughn’s yard with the fallen stock. Someone, probably Tanner, had searched Spencer’s caravan for anything that might incriminate the gang and then burned it down just to make sure. ­People would assume that Spencer had simply moved on after his caravan had burned down. But the gang hadn’t reckoned on Lane overhearing the murder and going on the run. That set everything in motion, with Beddoes, who had no doubt been quickly informed about Spencer’s mistake, calmly playing the injured party, the victim, knowing it would make him appear blameless, invulnerable.

“Beddoes was an arsehole,” said Lane. “He had it in for me right from the start.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Annie. “He called you a tearaway and a juvenile delinquent. What sort of things was Morgan up to?”

“He was never very clear about it, but obviously stealing tractors was a part of it. He had the removal van, see, and he knew what was going around the dale.”

“Who else was involved in this?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. Morgan didn’t know the ­people in charge. I never heard him mention Beddoes. He did mention a bloke called Ron once, a club bouncer or something who liked to beat ­people up. Morgan liked to show off about being around dangerous guys. He was a hothead. He talked big. Said he was going to show them. But he didn’t know any of the real bosses.”

“Ronald Tanner was the one who broke Alex’s finger and frightened her half to death,” said Annie.

Lane turned pale. “Oh, God,” he said, and put his head in his hands.

“We haven’t finished yet,” said Banks. “Time for tears and recriminations later.”

Lane wiped his eyes and gave Banks a truculent glare. “You’re a hard bastard, you are.”

“You say Morgan Spencer mentioned wanting to steal Beddoes’s tractor while its owner was on holiday, and that he knew a thug called Ron. Did he ever mention Caleb Ross?”

“Not to me.”

“Ross smoked pot. Do you know where he got it from?”

“No way. I’m not into that sort of thing. Alex wouldn’t have it in the house even if I was, not with Ian around. A few drinks when we can afford them. The occasional bottle of cheap wine in front of the telly. That’s all the drugs we do.”

“Very domestic,” said Banks. “Did Spencer mention any of his other partners in crime to you?”

“There was one other bloke. Morgan didn’t like him much. Even sounded a bit frightened when he talked about him. Like, he was a psycho or something. Lived way out on the moors all by himself. Come to think of it, he might have been growing some pot out there. He had his own private abattoir. Used to be a slaughterman, only he got fired for some reason or other.” Lane gave a shudder. “Like I said, I thought he was just bullshitting me.”

“Did he give this person a name?”

Lane frowned, then said, “Let’s see . . . Ken . . . Ken Atherton, or something like that. All I know is he sounded really scary.”

AS ATHERTON advanced toward her, Winsome calculated the distance she would have to go and the estimated time she would have to do it. She thought she could probably outrun him, but she didn’t think she could take him on in a fight. Even outrunning him depended on the weather out there. There was certainly no chance of getting to her car and driving off, even if it started, even if drifts weren’t blocking the drive already. If she ran, she had to run somewhere, had to have a plan. There was only one possibility that came to her mind, and it was a desperate one. But first she had to get out.

“It’ll be easier if you just relax,” Atherton said. “Sometimes the animals got overexcited, and I had to kick them or stub a cigarette out in their eye to show them who was boss. I can do that with you.”

He looked down to fiddle with the gun and Winsome seized her chance. She grabbed the hook and hurled it toward Atherton. It swung fast, but he was faster and moved his head out of the way in time. He was disoriented enough to forget about the return, though, which came quicker than expected. The hook hit one of the low rafters and bounced back unexpectedly fast, and this time it connected directly with the back of Atherton’s head. He dropped the gun, which skittered far away down the channel, and fell face forward onto the filth.

Winsome wasn’t sure how stunned he was but she had no desire to hang around. He was stronger than her, and he could easily turn the tables in a fight. She decided that running was still the best option.

She slid back the bolt, hauled the door open and ran outside. It was hard to see far beyond the cottage, but the rock face of Woadly Edge stood out dramatically, dark against the whiteness of the snow. Winsome could hear Atherton moving inside the abattoir. She headed for the rock face as fast as her legs could carry her. She had been an award-­winning sprinter at school, and she hadn’t done badly over distances, either, so she thought she had an advantage. It was a gamble. She couldn’t run forever, and she didn’t intend to. Much of what happened to her in the next while would depend on whether Atherton knew the caves as well as she did. And on the cavalry coming, of course. Where was the cavalry?