“I don’t know. She might have done, if she knew them. If your theory is right, she might have gone with them because they’d groomed her. She might have thought that she had nothing to fear, that they were just going to have a bit of fun. Then things got out of hand, perhaps because of the ketamine. But from what I read in the postmortem report about her injuries, and I mean the sexual injuries, I doubt that she went along with what they did. On the other hand, as Jazz said, if she was off her face on ketamine, who knows what was going through her mind? If Gerry’s on the right track, you might get a lead from the CCTV.”

“Maybe,” said Annie. She picked up a forkful of lasagne. “Eventually. What about your case? Danny Caxton. Do you believe the accuser after all this time?”

“I think so,” Banks said. “You know, she was about the same age as the Bradham Lane victim when it happened. And she was raped, too. In her case, by two men. She also lived to tell the tale. She went willingly to the hotel with Caxton, drank a glass or two of champagne, then things turned ugly. That’s what I mean. Maybe your victim got willingly into the van for the drugs, booze, music, party time, whatever, and then things turned nasty. There’s no evidence that she was abducted or anything like that.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Annie. “She was ejected. On the other hand, the three men could have abducted her from the street somewhere first. I just wish we knew more.”

“It’ll come,” said Banks. “Danny Caxton is a nasty piece of work, I can tell you that much.” He finished his pint. “Bugger it,” he said. “That went down well. I’m going to have another.”

“Drinking and driving?”

“I’ll get one of the PCs to drive me home.”

“Ooh, flexing our superintendent’s muscles, are we? Remember what I said about power?”

“Damn right. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. That’s what I say.”

He went inside to get himself another pint and an orange juice for Annie, who was at least willing to stick with him for a while longer, even if she wasn’t drinking. It was that time of evening when the place was almost deserted inside. Pat, the Australian barmaid, clearly had the night off, and Cyril had one of his playlists on: Marianne Faithfull singing “Summer Nights.” Very appropriate. Banks got the drinks and went back outside. The square was starting to fill up a bit now, young couples, families, some groups back from long walks, ready for the evening meal and a few pints. Other pubs had tables outside, and he could hear conversations and laughter from all sides. Music. It was Friday night. The weekend starts here.