Peter Robinson - When the Music's Over

Banks’s resolve had returned fully by now. In fact, it was even stronger than it had been the previous evening when he had replayed his conversation with Linda Palmer. He would have to tread carefully from now on. ‘And not underage?’

‘Naturally they weren’t. Goes without saying. It was just too easy. Sometimes I really felt sorry for those poor young lads who wasted away pining for a taste when I had so much I didn’t know what to do with it. The puny boyfriends. They didn’t stand a chance against real men like me.’

‘Danny!’ said the lawyer.

‘None of them ever gave you any trouble, said no?’ Banks asked.

Caxton frowned. ‘Not so as I remember.’

‘And your memory’s that good, is it?’

‘For my age.’

‘What was your driver called?’

‘Eh?’

‘The chauffeur? What was his name?’

‘I can’t remember petty details like that. Mike or Steve or Frank or something. I’ve been through a few drivers in my time. Never did learn to drive. Whoever he was, he’ll be dead by now.’

‘Do you remember the Majestic Hotel?’

‘Lovely old place. Gone now, I suspect?’

‘Long ago. You had a sort of private entrance, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘It wasn’t private. They just allowed me certain privileges. We used the staff entrance and the staff lift.’

‘That’s the way our witness remembers it. Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you feel the need to smuggle her up in the staff lift? So nobody could see you?’

‘Smuggle her? I never smuggled anybody in it. You make me sound like one of those people-traffickers.’

‘Well, why did you use it, then?’

‘There were always fans waiting in the hotel lobby. Autograph hunters and what have you. It was a celebrity hotel. A lot of us in the summer shows stayed there. The staff didn’t like it, the celebrities getting mobbed and so on. It was a discreet hotel. Easier all round if we took the back way.’

‘Yet she left by the front, when you’d done with her.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. If it had happened, the police would have been round fifty years ago, wouldn’t they?’

‘Who was the other man in the room, the one who asked the victim to get into the car? What was his name? His function?’

Caxton’s expression suddenly became guarded, and a hint of anxiety crept into his tone. ‘What are you talking about? There was no one else in the room.’

‘Which room? When?’

‘Whatever room you’re talking about. Ever.’

‘When you shared your prize with another man?’

‘Don’t be insane. Why would I share anything? Are you trying to say I’m a queer or something?’

‘Are you? I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘I must admit, you don’t seem the sharing type. But I’m afraid our witness has a clear memory of this other person. He was younger than you, apparently, so there’s every chance he’s still in fine fettle today. Who knows, maybe the years have worn away at him and he’s ready to talk. Maybe his conscience has got the better of him. Was he there on other occasions, too? Other times with young girls? We heard he seemed rather reluctant, as if he was pushed into it. Maybe trying to impress you or something. What were you doing, Danny? Showing off. Throwing a little titbit his way. Who is he? Who were you hanging out with back then? We’ll find him, Danny, don’t worry about that. Then we’ll have a witness. Maybe we’ll even track down the chauffeur and some of the hotel employees. Some of them must have been young at the time. A bellboy, maybe. And then—’

‘That’s enough,’ said Feldman.

Banks gestured to Winsome and they both stood up. ‘For once,’ Banks said, ‘I find myself actually agreeing with something a lawyer says. Don’t bother to show us out. We’ll be seeing you again soon, Danny.’

Caxton didn’t look so cocky now, Banks thought. In fact, he seemed deep in thought, and worried thought, at that. Banks felt the lawyer’s eyes burning into his back as he and Winsome walked away, no doubt keeping an eye out in case they decided to steal the silverware or a painting. He thought he heard Caxton’s raspy voice saying something about making some calls.

Outside at the car, Winsome leaned forward and rested her palms on the bonnet to take a deep breath.

‘What is it?’ Banks asked. He could see that she was shaking.

‘Sorry, guv. I feel sick. That man. Who does he think he is? I feel like I’ve been slimed.’

Banks couldn’t help but laugh at those words coming from her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I never took you for a Ghostbusters fan.’

Winsome gave him a lopsided smile. ‘It was my dad. He had the video. Practically wore it out. Family tradition. Every Christmas. I wouldn’t mind, but it’s not even a Christmas movie.’

‘Come on, I’ll take you for a drink, and after that we’ll pay a little visit to the ex Mrs Caxton in York. I’ll bet she has some interesting stories to tell.’

The Unicorn wasn’t one of Annie’s favourite pubs, being too cramped, run-down and unfriendly for that, but it did have the advantage of being just across the road from Eastvale General Infirmary. Burned-out A & E doctors drank there when their shifts were over, and exhausted nurses dropped in for a quick bracer before heading home to face yet more domestic drudgery. It also attracted the occasional errant pupil from Eastvale Comprehensive, just down the hill, not necessarily over eighteen. As long as they kept to themselves and didn’t cause any trouble, the landlord wasn’t bothered, nor were the police. The Unicorn’s other advantages were that, during the day, it was quiet, with no games, jukebox or yahoos, and the landlord kept a decent pint of Black Sheep. Smoking had long since been banned in pubs, but Annie could have sworn that the Unicorn still stank of stale tobacco smoke and that the gloss brown of its ceiling was the result of years of accumulated nicotine and tar.

Annie and Gerry found a table by the bay window easily enough. One of the legs was too short, so Annie folded up a beermat and stuck it underneath. Someone had carved a heart and initials into the wood. The carving had been there so long, had so many drinks spilled on it, that it had almost faded into the table. Annie wondered if ‘KP’ still loved ‘HB.’

‘You’re having a double brandy, no argument,’ she said to Gerry, and proceeded to drop her bag on her chair and head for the bar. ‘I don’t suppose you’re hungry?’ she asked over her shoulder. Gerry shook her head. Annie was starving, so she ordered a packet of salt and vinegar crisps along with her pint of bitter.

Back at the table, she opened the crisps and offered the packet. ‘Help yourself.’

‘No thanks.’ Gerry’s luxuriant red tresses were securely fastened back in a ponytail, which showed off her high forehead with its intricate blue tracery of veins just below the surface, the delicate bone structure of her pale, lightly freckled face, the green eyes.

‘So how are you really?’

‘I’m fine. Really.’ Gerry took a sip of the drink and coughed. A hint of colour came to her cheeks.

‘Not exactly VSOP, I know,’ said Annie. ‘But it’ll do the trick.’

‘Really, I’m all right. I don’t need mothering.’ She put the glass on the table.

‘Mothering?’ Annie spluttered. ‘Christ, Gerry, all I’m trying to do is show a little concern, and you accuse me of mothering.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘How else am I supposed to take it? I’m just about old enough to be your bloody mother if I’d had a teenage pregnancy, which I didn’t.’

Gerry smiled. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. It didn’t bother me, really. The post-mortem. True, I felt a bit faint when Dr Glendenning made the first incision, but it’s fascinating, really, once you get a really good look at someone’s insides. I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger. I used to love ER and Casualty and Holby City .’