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DC Gerry Masterson there, tapping away at her computer.
    ‘Gerry, what’s up?’
    ‘You’re back early, sir. Everything all right?’
    ‘Everything’s fine. I’m fresh from the plane. Seeing as I’m back, I thought I might as well come by and find out if anything’s been happening in my absence.’
    ‘You’re a glutton for punishment, sir.’
    ‘Where is everyone?’
    ‘At this very moment? I’m not exactly sure.’
    ‘In general will do. Is there some sort of flap on?’
    Gerry leaned back in her chair and linked her hands behind her head. Her luxuriant red pre-Raphaelite hair was tied back so it stayed out of her eyes as she worked. ‘No flap,’ she said. ‘Basically, we’ve got a stolen tractor, which DI Cabbot and DC Wilson are investigating, and a mysterious bloodstain, which DC Jackman is attending to.’
    ‘Major crimes, indeed.’ Banks grabbed Doug Wilson’s empty chair and sat facing Gerry’s desk. ‘Do tell me more.’
    ‘Not much more to tell, sir. You’ve just missed Doug. He was back briefly checking out some names in connection with the stolen tractor. They’re searching for a lad called Mick Lane.’
    ‘Never heard of him.’
    ‘His dad’s a neighbour of Mr Beddoes, whose tractor was stolen.’
    ‘It just gets more and more exciting, doesn’t it?’
    Gerry laughed. ‘Yes, sir. Maybe you should have stayed in Umbria?’
    ‘I should be so lucky. And the bloodstain?’
    ‘A chap called Terry Gilchrist claims he came across it walking his dog. The AC decided to send DS Jackman to check it out.’
    ‘Is AC Gervaise in her office?’
    ‘Meeting at County HQ.’ Gerry’s telephone rang. ‘Excuse me, sir.’
    ‘Of course.’ Banks stood up and went back to his own office, wondering which of the major crimes that had occurred in his absence required his immediate attention. Stolen tractor or possible bloodstain? The tractor wasn’t the first piece of expensive farm equipment to go missing over the past few months, and they had nothing resembling a lead so far. Perhaps this Lane boy Gerry said they were looking for would provide the break they needed.
    Moments later, Gerry Masterson popped her head round the door. ‘That was dispatch, sir. DS Jackman just called in from that abandoned airfield near Drewick, on the other side of the A1.’
    ‘I know the place,’ said Banks.
    ‘It seems our amateur bloodstain expert was right on the mark. Winsome’s found what she thinks is a pool of congealed blood in the old hangar there. They’ve already sent more patrol cars, and Ms Singh is on her way.’
    ‘Right,’ said Banks, grabbing his raincoat and satchel. ‘It’s probably a fox or something, but I’ll take a possible human bloodstain over a stolen tractor any day. What are we waiting for?’
     
    Annie discovered that Mick Lane had been arrested eighteen months ago for stealing a car and taking it for a joyride that resulted in over two thousand pounds’ worth of damage. Not a fancy German tractor, just a knockabout Honda, but even so, Annie thought, young Lane merited further investigation. He had got off with community service, supervised by a probation officer, as he had been only seventeen at the time, and it had been his first offence. He seemed to have acquitted himself well and had not reoffended. Or he hadn’t been caught. It was early days yet. Also, according to his probation officer, Mick Lane was living in a flat in Hague House on the East Side Estate with a twenty-eight-year-old woman called Alex Preston. She had a four-year-old shoplifting charge on her record and an eight-year-old son called Ian to care for. Whether she was still up to her thieving tricks, the probation officer didn’t seem to know, but her name wasn’t known around the station. Maybe Mick Lane had made an honest woman of her?
    Rain suited the East Side Estate, Annie thought as Doug Wilson pulled up outside the block of flats. It looked too dirty, too bright and too brittle in sunlight.