“He was going to confront Caxton. Apparently there were some Polaroids—another of Tony’s jobs—and not just the official ones. Tony had taken pictures of Caxton with girls. Some while they were having sex, he hinted.”

“Did Caxton know about these?”

“I don’t know. If he did, they obviously hadn’t bothered him. Men like Caxton think they’re above the law.”

“Why would the Polaroids be a problem for him?”

“Tony said he was certain some of the girls were too young.”

“Did he tell you why he joined in the fun that time?”

“He just said it was the atmosphere, the moment, the sense of excitement.” She sighed. “Something new. You know, there’s a thin line between experiment and sin.”

Well, Tony had certainly found out about it the hard way, Banks thought, and so had Linda Palmer. It wasn’t his place to tell Ursula Pemberton that the girl had been a fourteen-year-old virgin, that there had been no party, no drugs and very little to drink. It had no doubt cost Monaghan a great deal to tell his wife what he had told her, and his state when he got back from the Blackpool job spoke volumes about the internal struggles he’d been going through. He thought he’d come to the right decision. Confront Danny Caxton, even though he’d be damning himself at the same time. That took guts, Banks thought. But none of it expunged the thought of what they had done to Linda Palmer.

“How did you react?”

“We argued. I’m afraid I told him not to do anything,” she said. “I was frightened.”

“Of Caxton?”

“Partly. But more of the police. He talked about going to the police.”

“Even though he’d been involved in the rape.”

“Must you call it that? Yes. I was frightened he would go to jail.”

“You didn’t think he deserved to?”

She gave Banks a sharp glance. “He was my husband,” she said.

Banks decided to let it go. No sense in making an enemy of Ursula Pemberton. “What happened next?”

“We parted on bad terms. The next thing I knew he was dead.”