“You used your notebook?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to it?”

“Same as usual, I suppose.”

“You also found two men together?”

“Yes. I looked in some of the rooms, and in one bedroom I saw two men in bed together. Naked.”

“Were they doing anything?”

“Not when I opened the door. They were just…very close together. I’d never seen anything like that before. I mean, I knew about homosexuality, I wasn’t that naive, but I’d never actually seen it.”

“Did either of them look underage?”

“No. One I pegged at early twenties, the other older, maybe forty. But it didn’t matter how old you were back then.”

“So what did you do?”

“I…er…I arrested them.”

“Did they resist?”

“No. They just laughed, put their clothes on and went back to the station with me.”

“What happened then?”

“Jet Harris was waiting for me. He was furious.”

“He was at the station waiting for you? On a Sunday morning?”

“Yes. I suppose someone from Mandeville’s house must have phoned him.”

“Probably dragged him out of church,” Banks said.

“What did he do?” Michelle asked.

“He had a private talk with the two men, let them go and had his little chat with me. That was the end of it. No further action.”

“Just out of interest,” Michelle asked, “how old was Rupert Mandeville at the time?”

“Quite young. In his thirties. His parents had been killed in a plane crash not too long before, I remember, and he’d inherited a fortune, even after tax. I suppose he was just doing what many young people would have done if they’d gained their freedom and had unlimited funds.”

“Ever hear of Donald Bradford?” Michelle asked.

“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Bill Marshall?”

“He was one of Fiorino’s muscle men. I ran into him a couple of times in Le Phonographe. Tough character. Thick as the proverbial pig shit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Talbot.”

“You’re welcome. Look, I can’t see as I’ve been any help, but…”

Banks placed the photograph of Graham Marshall in front of him. “Do you recognize that boy?”

Talbot paled. “My God, isn’t that the boy who…? His photograph was in the papers only a few weeks ago.”

“Did you see him at the Mandeville house?”

“No…I…but that’s the room. Mandeville’s living room. I remember the sheepskin rug and the fireplace. Does that mean what I think it means? That the boy’s death is somehow connected with Mandeville and Harris?”

“Somehow,” said Michelle. “We’re just not quite sure how yet.”

Talbot tapped the photo. “If we’d had something like that back then, we’d have had some evidence,” he said.

“Possibly,” said Banks. “If it ever saw the light of day.”

They stood up and Talbot showed them to the door. “You know,” he said, “I felt at the time that there was more going on than met the eye. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I’d pushed it a bit harder, not let go too easily.”

“You’d have probably ended up under a field with Graham Marshall,” said Banks. “Bye, Mr. Talbot. And thank you.”