Where had Banks heard that before? Linda Palmer. Perhaps it was a line Caxton used with all the girls. Suddenly, Banks remembered what he had been racking his brains over since they had arrived. The Tri-Lites. Carol Canning had been one of the original Tri-Lites, so named before the term had been hijacked for lights of three different wattages. They were a girl group popular in the early sixties. He wouldn’t have known that to look at her now, of course, and he had been a bit too young back then to appreciate their obvious charms, but her mention had jogged his memory. They had enjoyed a period of chart success from about 1961 until 1965 when their sort of music started falling out of fashion. They wore knee-length dresses and had bouffant hairdos, all trying to copy Helen Shapiro, Kathy Kirby or Susan Maughan. Banks remembered seeing them once or twice on Top of the Pops. In the mid-sixties they tried to imitate the American sound popular at the time, but they were no match for Tamla Motown. Banks remembered that Carol had tried to go solo in the late sixties, jump on the hippie bandwagon, but her career had quickly foundered.

“The Tri-Lites,” he said.

“Oh, don’t. Please. For my sins. They were wigs, you know. The big hair.”

“Fooled me.”

“And awfully hot onstage, or under the studio lights. I don’t think people ever noticed how much we sweated doing a show. We were all pretty ripe when we got off. Stripped right down and jumped in a lukewarm bath soon as possible. As often as not with some randy young lad from one of the bands.” She winked. “You know what they say. When the music’s over, it’s time to have fun.”

“Never heard that one,” said Banks. “I thought it was ‘turn out the lights.’”

“Don’t you turn out the lights when you want to have fun, Superintendent?”

“And after the solo album?” Banks asked. “What then?”

Carol Canning stared into space again for a while. At first Banks thought she was miffed at his lack of response to her flirting, but he realized that she was mired in difficult memories. “Oh, those were the lost years, ducky. Next thing I knew I was married to Kenny, and it was 1975. All Hot Chocolate and Bay City Rollers. Our day was over. Though I still think we could have given ABBA a run for their money.” She got to her feet, still remarkably steady, Banks thought, sang a few bars of “Dancing Girl” and lit another cigarette. “God, this is so depressing. Let’s all have a big drink, and I’ll put some real music on, shall I? Aretha or Dionne or something. Definitely not the fucking Tri-Lites.”

Winsome gave Banks an anxious look, and he glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid we’d better be off now,” he said.