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innards. Banks’s office, for example, featured a venetian blind that was almost impossible to work and a grey metal desk with drawers that rattled. The only human touch was the calendar on the wall, with its series of local scenes. The illustration for October showed a stretch of the River Wharfe, near Grassington, with trees lining the waterside in full autumn colour. It was quite a contrast to the real October: nothing but grey skies, rain and cold winds so far.
    On his desk was a message from Superintendent Gristhorpe: “Alan, Come see me in my office soon as you get in. G.”
    Remembering first to unhook the Walkman and put it in his desk drawer, Banks walked along the corridor and knocked on the superintendent’s door.
    “Come in,” Gristhorpe called, and Banks entered.
    Inside was luxury—teak desk, bookcases, shaded table lamps—most of which had been supplied by Gristhorpe himself over the years.
    “Ah, good morning Alan,” the superintendent greeted him, “I’d like you to meet Dr Fuller.” He gestured towards the woman sitting opposite him, and she stood up to shake Banks’s hand. She had ashock of curly red hair, bright green eyes with crinkly laugh-lines around the edges, and a luscious mouth. The turquoise top she was wearing looked like a cross between a straight-jacket and a dentist’s smock. Below that she wore rust-coloured cords that tapered to a halt just above her shapely ankles. All in all, Banks thought, the doctor was a knock-out.
    “Please, Inspector Banks,” Dr Fuller said as she gently let go of his hand, “call me Jenny.”
    “Jenny it is, then,” Banks smiled and dug for a cigarette. “I suppose that makes me Alan.”
    “Not if you don’t want to be.” Her sparkling eyes seemed to challenge him.
    “Not at all, it’s a pleasure,” he said, meeting her gaze. Then he remembered Gristhorpe’s recent ban against smoking in his office, and put the pack away.
    “Dr Fuller is a professor at York University,” Gristhorpe explained, “but she lives here in Eastvale. Psychology’s her field, and I brought her in to help with the Peeping Tom case. Actually,” he turned a charming smile in Jenny’s direction, “Dr Fuller—Jenny—was recommended by an old and valued friend of mine in the department. We were hoping she might be able to work with us on a profile.”
    Banks nodded. “It would certainly give us more than we’ve got already. How can I help?”
    “I’d just like to talk to you about the details of the incidents,” Jenny said, looking up from a notepad that rested on her lap. “There’s been three so far, is that right?”
    “Four now, counting last night’s. All blondes.”
    Jenny nodded and made the change in her notes.
    “Perhaps the two of you can arrange to meet sometime,” Gristhorpe suggested.
    “Is now no good?” Banks asked.
    “Afraid not,” Jenny said. “This might take a bit of time, and I’ve got a class in just over an hour. Look, what about tonight, if it’s not too much of an imposition on your time?”
    Banks thought quickly. It was Tuesday; Sandra would be at the Camera Club, and the kids, now trusted in the house without a sitter, would be overjoyed to spend an opera-free evening. “All right,” heagreed. “Make it seven in the Queen’s Arms across the street, if that’s okay with you.”
    When Jenny smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkled with pleasure and humour. “Why not? It’s an informal kind of procedure anyway. I just want to build up a picture of the psychological type.”
    “I’ll look forward to it, then,” Banks said.
    Jenny picked up her briefcase and he held the door open for her. Gristhorpe caught his eye and beckoned him to stay behind. When Jenny had gone, Banks settled back into his chair, and the superintendent rang for coffee.
    “Good woman,” Gristhorpe said, rubbing a hairy hand over his red, pock-marked face. “I asked Ted Simpson to recommend a bright lass for the job, and I think he did his