‘Right,’ said Jazz. ‘She knew them. Maybe they knew where she lived. Again, to our advantage. Now, in addition to having good-enough samples to match with any suspects we might find, there are one or two things I can tell you about the three men already, using an ethnic inference test. It’s not infallible, and it can only be used as an estimation. It won’t stand up in court. In fact, I don’t think the information should leave this room. However, it might help you with your investigation. A comparison of Y-DNA markers to those in a database indicate the three men were all of Asian heritage, from the Indian sub-continent, most likely Pakistan. I can study other databases and haplogroups, but I’m not sure that will help you any further at this point.’
‘Pakistan?’ said Adrian Moss in disbelief.
‘Of Pakistani descent, yes, but they may never have actually been there. They could be as English as you and me. I’m simply talking about ethnic origins.’
‘But living here?’ Moss asked.
‘The DNA doesn’t tell us where they’re living, but I suppose we can assume that they are here, as their semen was found in the victim at the crime scene. I doubt they sent it via airmail. I’ve started a familial search, but that’s yielded nothing so far. No criminal brothers, mothers or fathers. I can dig further and uncover genetic disorders or high risk of developing certain medical conditions in future, if you want, but it becomes expensive and time-consuming, and I don’t see what good it does us.’
Adrian Moss looked at Jazz. ‘Are you sure about the ethnic origin?’
‘Yes. Why? Doesn’t it help?’
‘It’s a fucking media nightmare is what it is,’ he said. ‘Excuse my language.’
‘I’m not too sure about that,’ said Annie. ‘I think it’s a terrific lead, Jazz. Well done. For a start, it points us in a specific direction. We could be dealing with a grooming situation gone wrong, for example. Wasn’t it the case in Rotherham, Rochdale, Aylesbury and all the other places that those involved in grooming were men of Pakistani heritage exploiting white girls?’
‘Yes,’ said Banks. ‘But I still think we ought to keep an open mind. Don’t jump to conclusions. It wasn’t necessarily a grooming gang that did this. They could have been friends of hers, for example, or people pretending to be friends. Or students. Kids today hang around with all kinds of ethnic groups. They’re not racist, most of them, except your BNP types. And Pakistanis aren’t genetically predisposed to grooming young girls for sex. After all, it’s not something we haven’t been doing for years already – and by we I mean ethnic Brits and other Europeans. It’s not a specifically race-related issue.’
‘It becomes one when most people caught at it these days are of Pakistani origin,’ Annie argued. ‘And they weren’t caught before because everyone – including us – turned a blind eye because we were scared of upsetting the Muslim community. And nobody believed the victims. Remember that buried report from West Midlands in the news not long ago?’
‘Can’t you all hear what you’re saying?’ Adrian Moss cut in. ‘This is dynamite. Any one of those words or theories. As soon as the media get anywhere near this, they’re . . . we’re . . . we’re . . . I mean, for Christ’s sake: Rotherham, Rochester, Pakistanis, grooming. It’s a public relations nightmare waiting to happen. We’ll be accused of racism. Worse, of Islamophobia.’
‘You’re here to prevent that, aren’t you?’ said Annie, smiling sweetly at him. ‘And take heart, Adrian, we’re hardly dealing with devout Muslims, are we? Think about it. Alcohol, ketamine and possible gang-rape were involved, and the last I heard they’re a big no-no as far as Islam is concerned. Whoever gang-raped the girl or beat her to death don’t believe in any deity I’d care to know about. They rape underage girls, sell them for sex.’
Moss groaned and put his head in his hands. Annie wasn’t sure whether it was ‘gang-rape’ or ‘sell them for sex’ that caused such a reaction. ‘Whatever you do,’ he pleaded, ‘just don’t mention grooming to the media. At least not yet, not until you have absolute proof and I’ve had a chance to smooth the way. Even then, please clear it with me first.’
‘Don’t worry, Adrian,’ said Banks. ‘We’ll be keeping as much as we can back. We’ll keep both you and the CPS in the loop. We don’t even know the victim’s identity yet. And there’s something else we should keep in mind.’
‘What?’ asked Annie.
‘They may have groomed her and even raped her, but they didn’t kill her.’
‘We can’t be certain about that,’ Annie said.
‘Possibly not. But from what you’ve told me, and Jazz’s analysis bears this out, all we really know is that the victim had rough sex with three men of Pakistani descent, and it seems they tossed her naked out of a moving van in the middle of nowhere. The murder took place after that. Beyond that, it’s all speculation.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jazz. ‘But we got nothing from the murder scene, nothing from the killer except scuffs in the grass and the shoe or boot impressions Stefan’s working on.’
‘But they still threw her out of a moving vehicle,’ Annie insisted. ‘That’s attempted murder, for a start. And I happen to think our speculations are very reasonable given the circumstances.’
‘Maybe they did it for a laugh,’ Banks argued. ‘Kids can be irresponsible. And cruel. And that wasn’t what killed her. Or the sex. She walked for about ten minutes back along the road before someone stopped and did the killing.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Annie. ‘You’re the boss. So what exactly does this new information tell us?’ She went to the whiteboard and took up a red marker, noting down the points as she talked. ‘I know it’s mere speculation, but we have assumed the van was travelling from the north-east. Most likely it was heading for West Yorkshire, or maybe Greater Manchester. We might look more closely at communities with a large Asian population. There are bound to be a few in Teesside or Tyneside, not to mention West Yorkshire and Greater Manchester.’
‘I agree that’s it’s a useful lead,’ said Banks, ‘and we have to work with it. We also need to keep quiet about it until we have more to go on. The three men probably lived in an area with a high Asian population. If you tie that in with the kebab and pizza takeaway, or tattoo parlour, for example, you might be able to narrow it down even further. But we still need to find out who the victim is. That’s what’s most likely to lead us to our suspects.’
Annie sat down dejectedly. ‘The drawing’s in the papers and on TV. It’ll be shown again tonight and over the weekend. I don’t know what more we can do. Someone has to recognise her.’
‘Maybe that’s the problem,’ Banks said.
‘What?’
‘Somebody does recognise her, and that’s why they’re not talking.’
‘Scared?’
‘Look how badly she was beaten,’ Banks said. ‘It sends a message. Anyone who does know who she is very likely knows who did it, and why. If she’s got any sense, she’s got to be scared to death of him, or them.’
‘Then we need to find this person as fast as we can,’ said Annie.
‘Well, this is nice,’ said Annie, raising her glass. ‘Cheers.’
In the early evening, Banks and Annie were sitting outside at the Queen’s Arms, in the market square, food on order and pints of Timothy Taylor’s in front of them. Luckily for them, Adrian Moss had done his Pied Piper act and spirited the media away from the market square into the press room for a spot of disinformation. The evening light was soft and warm, the shadows slowly lengthening, and the limestone was almost the colour of Cotswold stone. The square was quiet. Most people were at home having dinner with the family, Banks thought, or getting ready for a night on the town.
‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘You do realise that what Jazz just told us makes your job rather . . . delicate?’
‘ “Delicate”? Is that what promotion does for you, makes you use words like “delicate”?’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry.
It just slipped out. It just doesn’t sound like the old you, that’s all. It sounds more like Adrian Moss.’
‘I almost feel sorry for poor Adrian,’ said Banks. ‘He’s certainly copped for it, hasn’t he? Two major media bombshells in a week. I’m actually relieved that your latest bit of news will keep him occupied more than anything I might do next.’
‘Charming. Maybe I’d feel sorry for him, too, if he wasn’t such a wanker.’
‘Adrian has his own agenda, and it’s my guess that right at the top of it is Adrian Moss.’ Banks smiled. ‘See. I’m not so different from who I was before. I’ve just got more responsibility.’
‘And power.’
‘That’s a laugh.’
‘Didn’t you read that report where they said not to let misguided fears about offending cultural sensitivities get in the way of nailing the bastards who exploit children? Or something along those lines.’
‘I read it,’ said Banks. ‘And I agree. But that doesn’t mean you have to go charging in like a bull in a china shop with all guns blazing. Softly, softly.’
‘Softly, softly, my arse,’ Annie replied. ‘And don’t mix your metaphors. Though the image of a bull with an AK 47 is most amusing. I don’t give a damn whether they’re brown, blue or yellow with green spots. If they drugged and raped that girl we’re going to get the bastards for it.’
‘I’m with you on that, Annie,’ said Banks. ‘It just makes things more . . . delicate. That’s all I said. I can tell you exactly what’s going to happen. Soon, the chief constable will give us all the lecture about not rocking the boat and respecting community values, Islam in particular.’
‘Oh? So it’s all about the chief constable’s comfort levels, is it?’
‘You know it isn’t.’ Banks paused. ‘You’re going to have to act as SIO on this investigation, you know. Not officially. I mean, not as a DI.’
‘Promote me to DCI then. Your old office is still empty, isn’t it?’
Banks smiled. ‘I would if I could. Believe me, whenever I get a chance I put a word in the right ears. But you’ve got to improve your chances by setting an example. As I said, even though I’m SIO on paper, you’ll be doing the job yourself if this Caxton thing goes as it should. It’s “delicate”, therefore a little tact with your success would go a long way to convincing the brass you’re worth promoting, that you can handle the big time.’
A young girl delivered their meals. She couldn’t have been much older than the victim, Banks thought. They thanked her and made a start before getting back to their conversation. ‘How’s the veggie lasagne?’ Banks asked.
‘Probably a lot better than your curry of the day.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Tastes all right to me.’
‘What is it?’
‘Dunno, really. Curry. Of the day. Anonymous.’
Annie poked his arm. ‘OK, I take your point about tact. But isn’t it exactly because of that attitude you’re expressing that this grooming business got out of hand to start with? Being “delicate”? Treating everyone except the victims with kid gloves? Coppers and social workers so frightened of offending any ethnic or cultural group that they can’t do their jobs properly? Victims so convinced they won’t be believed that they don’t even bother to report crimes?’
‘That’s a part of it,’ Banks said. ‘Along with the breakdown of the family unit, overcrowded housing, immigration policy, Margaret Thatcher, the death of God, Cameron, the drug culture and the sexual revolution. Might as well throw UKIP in there, too.’
‘Well, we have to throw them somewhere. But aren’t we going down the same path? Not the UKIP path, but like the others, too touchy-feely and inclusive and diverse to do anything?’
‘Not if we can help it. I’m just saying we’re going to have to tread carefully. We can’t go shouting out to all and sundry that three British Pakistanis are responsible for everything that happened to that girl. The rape, yes, but we can’t be sure about the murder. I’m not saying what they did is minor, or that they should get off lightly, but don’t lose sight of the fact that we’re after three rapists and one killer, here, whatever their colour, and though I’d guess the killer knows who the rapists are, they don’t necessarily know who he is. And we don’t know what ethnic group he belongs to. You’re right. It shouldn’t matter. Only that we know he’s a killer.’
‘You don’t really think the girl went along with the three men willingly?’
‘I don’t know. She might have done, if she knew them. If your theory is right, she might have gone with them because they’d groomed her. She might have thought that she had nothing to fear, that they were just going to have a bit of fun. Then things got out of hand, perhaps because of the ketamine. But from what I read in the post-mortem report about her injuries, and I mean the sexual injuries, I doubt that she went along with what they did. On the other hand, as Jazz said, if she was off her face on ketamine, who knows what was going through her mind? If Gerry’s on the right track, you might get a lead from the CCTV.’
‘Maybe,’ said Annie. She picked up a forkful of lasagne. ‘Eventually. What about your case? Danny Caxton. Do you believe the accuser after all this time?’
‘I think so,’ Banks said. ‘You know, she was about the same age as the Bradham Lane victim when it happened. And she was raped, too. In her case, by two men. She also lived to tell the tale. She went willingly to the hotel with Caxton, drank a glass or two of champagne, then things turned ugly. That’s what I mean. Maybe your victim got willingly into the van for the drugs, booze, music, party time, whatever, and then things turned nasty. There’s no evidence that she was abducted or anything like that.’
‘Quite the opposite,’ said Annie. ‘She was ejected. On the other hand, the three men could have abducted her from the street somewhere first. I just wish we knew more.’
‘It’ll come,’ said Banks. ‘Danny Caxton is a nasty piece of work, I can tell you that much.’ He finished his pint. ‘Bugger it,’ he said. ‘That went down well. I’m going to have another.’
‘Drinking and driving?’
‘I’ll get one of the PCs to drive me home.’
‘Ooh, flexing our superintendent’s muscles are we? Remember what I said about power?’
‘Damn right. If you’ve got it, flaunt it. That’s what I say.’
He went inside to get himself another pint and an orange juice for Annie, who was at least willing to stick with him for a while longer, even if she wasn’t drinking. It was that time of evening when the place was almost deserted inside. Pat, the Australian barmaid, clearly had the night off, and Cyril had one of his playlists on: Marianne Faithfull singing ‘Summer Nights’. Very appropriate. Banks got the drinks and went back outside. The square was starting to fill up a bit now, young couples, families, some groups back from long walks, ready for the evening meal and few pints. Other pubs had tables outside, and he could hear conversations and laughter from all sides. Music. It was Friday night. The weekend starts here.
Annie smiled when he handed her the drink. ‘I’ll give you a lift home,’ she said. ‘How’s that for an offer?’
‘Best I’ve had all day. But it’s out of your way.’
‘That’s just the kind of person I am. Now, tell me about Danny Caxton. He seemed so nice on telly. I mean, in an avuncular sort of way. I didn’t fancy him or anything.’
‘Yeah, he’s everybody’s dirty uncle. He’s arrogant, foul-mouthed and he has no sense of remorse. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he’s raped dozens of young girls over his career.’
‘Well, there’s an open mind for you.’
‘Oh, I’ll keep an open mind, all right. And he’ll get a fair trial, if it ever comes to court. The odds are probably in his favour. It’s the other bloke that interests me at the moment.’
‘What other bloke?’
‘I told you there were two rapists. According to Linda, the other was a bit younger than Caxton, and Caxton seemed happy to share the spoils with him. I’d
like to know why. And who he was, of course. And what’s happened to him.’
‘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 recognise 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 well as the characters involved.’
When the Music's Over: The 23rd DCI Banks Mystery Page 15
