The food came and they paused for a while to eat in silence. The pastry on Banks’s pie was soggy and the meat more gristle than steak. One of the other young children at the next table threw some cutlery on the grass and let out a piercing scream. Banks winced. The young woman picked up the spoon and smiled at him again.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get much from the archive,” Blackstone said.

“That’s OK. I didn’t expect anything more. There is one interesting piece of information, though.”

“Oh?”

“‘Chiller’ Chadwick. I’ve come across him before on another old case. Always had my suspicions he was bent, but I could never prove it.”

“I don’t suppose he’s still around?” said Blackstone.

“Died of a heart attack in March 1973, if I remember rightly.”

“I think I know the case you mean,” Blackstone said. “Wasn’t that the rock journalist connected with the murder at that Brimleigh rock festival in 1969? Chadwick would have been the SIO back then, right?”

“That’s right,” said Banks. “Linda Lofthouse, the Mad Hatters, Vic Greaves, all that lot. Seems a lifetime ago.”

“1969?”

“Our case. The journalist. 2006, wasn’t it? 1969 seems several lifetimes ago, and as for 1967 . . .”

“The Summer of Love.”

“That’s right. Not for Linda Palmer, though. You know, Ken, there are a few leads in this that might not be too cold. I remember from the other case, we located Chadwick’s oppo, a DS Enderby, and he also had a DC called Bradley. I talked to Chadwick’s daughter Yvonne as well. There’s a chance he might have mentioned Linda Palmer or Danny Caxton to one of them. From what I heard about him, he struck me as a hard man, and not beyond a verbal or a physical beating, but I don’t think he was the kind of person who’d have liked being anyone’s fool, or in anyone’s pocket. Even Caxton’s.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” said Blackstone. “Tracking them down. His daughter. This DC Bradley.”

“Definitely. I’ve got their addresses back on the old case records in Eastvale. At least from 2006. But first I’ve got something I’d like you to do for me, if you can spare a couple of lads for a few hours.”

“My team is at your command,” said Blackstone.

Banks explained about the photo Linda Palmer remembered seeing and suggested starting with the Yorkshire Evening Post for October 1967.

“Those old newspaper morgues are more complicated than you’d think,” said Blackstone. “I suppose you know the old YEP building’s been knocked down and they’ve moved to Whitehall Road?”

“Yes.”

“The thing is, they always stored their photos by theme, not date, and I expect they still do.”