Banks had spent the morning with Winsome going over the itemized lists of stuff the search team had taken from Caxton’s house the previous evening and sending out inquiries for lists of his friends, employees and associates in the late sixties. There was nothing so far from the search, only a bit of mild Internet porn, but there were diaries and appointment calendars that might prove useful in pinning down his movements at critical times, and predigital photographs that might link him with some of his victims. He had left Winsome to continue the task while he drove to Leeds.

“There were always rumors about him,” Blackstone said. “You know he lived not too far from here for a while?”

“Yes. Otley, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Had a nice big house after his first flush of fame in the early sixties. Before my time, of course, but there were rumors of parties. Orgies, I suppose. Quite the ‘A’ guest list, too, if the stories are to be believed. High-ranking coppers, judges, politicians, a bishop or two.”

“Well, he certainly got his immunity from somewhere. What were the rumors?”

“Mostly that he liked them young. I mean, he wasn’t that old then himself.”

“Underage?”

“Never heard that mentioned specifically.”

“Unwilling?”

“I think everyone assumed the girls threw themselves at him.”

“That’s what he told us. One of the accusers who’s come forward lives near Eastvale. I’ve been assigned the investigation.”

“Lucky you. Any hope?”

“Maybe. A glimmer.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“She used to live here. In Leeds. She was on her holidays with her family in Blackpool when the assault took place.”

“What does she say?”

“That Caxton and another man raped her in a hotel room.”

“How did they get her there?”

Banks explained as best he could to Blackstone what Linda Palmer had told him. “She’s not clear on everything,” he added. “It was a long time ago.”

“You’re telling me.”

“She says she reported it when the family got back home. Here. Her mother went to the police station with her.”

“That would’ve been Brotherton House, back then. Top end of the Headrow.”

“I know,” said Banks. “There’s got to be paperwork somewhere, Ken. That’s the first thing we need to track down. Proof that she reported what happened, proof that nothing was followed up.”

“Might be tougher than you think. The paper trail might be somewhere, maybe. But the question is, where?”

Banks sipped some more beer. It tasted good but didn’t do a lot to slake his thirst. Maybe he should have asked for a pint of chilled lager on a day like this. “Computers?”

“I’m not sure anything that far back has been entered. In fact, it most likely hasn’t been. Let me look into it. I know a good archivist. It’ll give me an excuse to ask her out for lunch or something.”

“Always happy to be of help in the romance department.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”