“But that’s all that’s right. You might just as well say Reggie and Ronnie did it.”

“Maybe they did.”

Banks laughed. “It makes more sense than Brady and Hindley. They operated miles away. No, there’s something else going on. Something we can’t figure out because there are still too many missing pieces. Another?”

“I’ll go.”

Michelle walked to the bar and Banks sat wondering what the hell it was all about. So far, all they had was an investigation that had concentrated on only one possibility—the passing pedophile. Now they had Bill Marshall’s relationship with the Krays and with Carlo Fiorino and Le Phonographe, and the fact that Banks remembered Graham often had money enough to pay for their entertainment. And now the missing records. There were links—Graham, Bill Marshall, Carlo Fiorino—but where did it go after that? And how did Jet Harris fit in? It was possible that he’d been on the take, paid by Fiorino to head off trouble. Jet Harris, bent copper. That would go down well at headquarters. But how did it relate to Graham and his murder?

Michelle came back with the drinks and told him about Donald Bradford’s death and the pornography that had been found in his flat. “There might be no connection,” she said. “I mean, Bradford could have been the victim of a random break-in, and plenty of people have collections of pornography.”

“True,” Banks said. “But it’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.”

“What if Bradford was using the newsagent’s shop as an outlet for distributing porn?” Banks suggested.

“And Graham delivered it?”

“Why not? He always seemed to be able to get his hands on it. That’s another thing I remember. A bit of Danish submission with your Sunday Times, sir? Or how about some Swedish sodomy with your News of the World, madam? Gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘Sunday supplement,’ doesn’t it?”

Michelle laughed. “Maybe he just found out about it.”

“Is that worth killing someone for?”

“Who knows? People have killed for less.”

“But all we’re assuming is that Bradford was a minor porn dealer.”

“He had to get it from a wholesaler, didn’t he? Maybe Bradford was working for someone with even more at stake?”

“Someone like Carlo Fiorino?” suggested Banks. “And Harris was on Fiorino’s payroll? It’s possible, but still speculation. And it doesn’t get us a lot further with the missing notebooks.”

“Unless Proctor and Shaw inadvertently hit on the truth during their interviews, and it was recorded in Shaw’s notebooks. I don’t know how we’d find out, though. It’s not as if we can talk to Harris or Proctor.”

“Maybe not,” said Banks. “But we might be able to do the next best thing. Were they married?”

“Harris was. Not Proctor.”

“Is his wife still alive?”

“As far as I know.”

“Maybe she’ll be able to tell us something. Think you can find her?”

“Piece of cake,” said Michelle.

“And let’s delve a little deeper into Donald Bradford’s domain, including the circumstances of his death.”