“Is there a way to find out after all this time?”

“I think so. Linda Palmer remembers seeing a photograph of the same man some time after her ordeal, maybe in October 1967, though she can’t remember where she saw it. She says she’s certain he wasn’t famous, so I’m just wondering if she saw it in the local newspaper or something. At least that’s a place to start.”

“But the rape took place in Blackpool.”

“That’s because Caxton was in a summer show there. He actually lived near Otley at the time, just outside Leeds, and according to our records he appeared in panto at the Bradford Alhambra that Christmas. Puss in Boots.”

“Christ, I used to hate pantos,” said Annie.

“I wouldn’t have imagined you got to very many, living in the artists’ colony and all.”

“It was my uncle and aunt. They always worried about me not having a normal childhood, and that was one of the ways they remedied it, by taking me to the panto in Newquay every Christmas. Normal. Panto. I ask you.”

Banks laughed.

“Maybe she saw him on telly or in a pop music magazine?”

“I don’t think so,” Banks said. “She seemed adamant that she didn’t know him and hadn’t seen him before. I don’t believe he was a public figure. I think he may have been some sort of aide to Caxton. I would imagine panto would provide just as good a hunting ground as summer season, so we’ll be trying to track down any incidents there, too. If I could find the photo she saw, maybe she’d recognize him, then we’d have an ID, at least.”

“How would you do that?”

“I’d get an idea of what newspapers or magazines a fourteen-year-old might have seen in 1967 and come up with a pile of photocopies for her to sort through. Something like that.”

“Talk about a long shot.”

“Or maybe I’ll just start with the local paper and get lucky. Who knows? That’s the sort of thing that happens with these cold cases. Everything’s a long shot. Sometimes it seems as much about understanding the times as the characters involved.”

“1967? You ought to be good at that. One of your best years, wasn’t it?”

Banks smiled. “It was a very good year, but I was still just a kid, a bit too young to enjoy all the new freedoms people were talking about. Not that they ever reached Peterborough. But musically, it was great. The Summer of Love. The Doors, Jefferson Airplane, Pink Floyd, Love, Cream, Hendrix. Sergeant Pepper. Magnificent.”

“Well, you can listen to all your old records and relive it.”

“Not a bad idea, at that,” said Banks. “There was a dark side to it all, though, and I have a feeling that’s where I’ll be finding myself.”

“Don’t we always?” said Annie. “Don’t we always?”