Gerry walked over and stood beside them. “Did you catch that?” Annie said. “A naked girl gets tossed in a ditch from a moving vehicle. She gets out, makes her way back up the road, maybe hoping for a Good Samaritan or at least a working telephone box, then someone else comes along and either runs her down or kicks the living daylights out of her.”

“That’s about the way I see it,” Stefan said. “And judging from the skid marks and pattern on the verge up there, I’d say that when he’d finished with her, he turned around and headed back the way he came.”

“You’re saying ‘he,’ Stefan. Is it just a figure of speech or do you really think it was a man?”

“Sorry,” said Stefan. “It’s mostly just a habit. Easier than saying ‘he or she.’ But now that you mention it, I find it harder to see a woman than a man doing what was done to her.”

“And what are the odds of some stranger just happening along this road, seeing a naked woman walking and turning out to be a passing psychopath, deciding to beat her to death?”

“That’s just the problem, isn’t it?” Stefan said. “Probably close to zero.”

“DID ANYTHING happen in the car?” Banks asked.

“No. Caxton went on being the perfect gentleman, chatting, solicitous of my comfort, anxious to help me with my dreams. Giving advice about how to behave onstage, how to deal with stage fright. Stuff like that. He even gave me a cigarette and a glass of champagne. It was the first time I’d ever tasted it.”

“In the car? Was there a driver?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And was the other man with you?”

“Yes, but he was in the front with the driver. He didn’t say anything the whole way.”

“Was either of them ever questioned?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone was.”

“And the hotel staff saw you when you arrived?”

“No. We went into a sort of underground car park at the back and got straight in a lift. I don’t remember going through reception or anything, or seeing anyone else. Not then. I suppose maybe because he was a celebrity he had a discreet way in. To be honest, I didn’t really notice. I was on cloud nine. I was with Danny Caxton and he was going to help me get into show business. I could already see my name in lights.”

“Did the driver and the other man go in with you?”

“Not the driver. Just the other man . . . he . . . yes.”

“OK. Then what happened?”

“We went up in a tiny lift to the fourth floor, a big suite of rooms, all wood paneling and old-world elegance. Gilt-framed pictures on the walls. Constable prints, Turner, stuff like that. I remember one of a horse standing by a tree. A Stubbs, maybe. It was a sad horse.”

“What happened?”