“As far as Winsome could gather. She checked the electoral rolls and DVLA in Swansea. Ursula Pemberton still votes, pays her council tax and has a valid driving license. Think about it, if she was in her twenties in 1967 she’ll be in her seventies now. That’s not so old.”

“The sad thing is,” said Gervaise, “I can remember when it was.” She fingered a paper clip. “It’s still not a lot, is it, and some of it’s a bit of a stretch. There’s not much you can do with any of it in court.”

“I know. It’s all part of a bigger picture we’re building up. We’ve got the CPS onside.”

“I understand that. I just hope the picture turns out to be what you think it will be, and you haven’t forgotten to take the lens cap off, or just pointed the camera at your foot.”

Banks spread his hands. “Well, that’s about where we are. You asked.”

“And Linda Palmer?”

“Linda Palmer will stand up. She’s working on a sort of written memoir of her time in Blackpool. I suggested it. I thought it might bring back a few more details.”

“And has it?”

“Dunno. I haven’t seen it yet. We were busy identifying Monaghan from the photo and finding out who he was.”

“Well, let’s hope it jogs her memory.”

“We’ve got enough to go on already. Especially with the other cases non–executive director Burgess told me about. He wanted to be ‘Special Agent’ so he’s a bit disappointed with his rather dull title.”

Gervaise laughed.

“It’s a bit of a mouthful, I know, but I don’t know what else to call him.”

“From what I hear, ‘Dirty Dick’ will still do nicely.”

Banks smiled. “That all, ma’am?”

“For the moment. Keep at it, Alan. Putting my reservations aside, we’ll be jumping for joy if we can get Caxton on a conspiracy to commit murder charge as well as rape.”

“CAN WE talk to Albert?” Annie asked Sinead Moffat when she opened the door.

“You two again. I didn’t think you’d have the bloody nerve to show your faces around here after what you’ve put us through.”

“Sinead, I’m sorry about the press and the house search and all, but it’s out of my hands. Surely you must understand we have to do these things when something as serious as this happens? And as for them”—she gestured toward the pack of reporters beyond the gate— “it’s their job, too, like it or not.”

A small crowd had gathered across the street, and Annie heard a shrill voice shout, “When are you going to do something about those Pakis instead of harassing poor honest decent folk? When are you going to put a stop to those murdering bastards?” The crowd roared its approval.