When the Music's Over: The 23rd DCI Banks Mystery

by Peter Robinson

  ‘What was the problem? Was Caxton difficult, demanding?’

  ‘I’m sure he was, but there was more to it than that. We never considered such things at the time, of course, so I’m speaking with the benefit of hindsight, but after Savile, Cosby, Rolf Harris, Cyril Smith and the rest, Danny Caxton was up to the same sort of thing. What you’re looking into now. Something terrible happened, and Tony knew about it.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  Ursula stared out to sea. The dogs were busy sniffing gorse. ‘The day before he left,’ she said. ‘He told me all about it, and I wished to God he hadn’t.’

  15

  ‘What am I doing here?’ Paul Warner asked Annie and Gerry. ‘I already told you everything I know the last time we met.’

  He seemed more nervous this time, Annie thought, eyes all over the place. Perhaps it was because he was out of his home environment and in a police interview room. They were not places designed to put people at ease. He was dressed in clean jeans and a crisp white shirt. It looked as if it had been pressed, too, she thought, and almost asked him if he did his own ironing.

  ‘Just a few minor points we need to go over, Paul,’ said Annie. ‘As you might have gathered, there’s been developments.’

  ‘Developments. I’d say there are. The whole estate’s going up.’

  ‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? The local police have it under control. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘No?’

  Annie opened a folder on her desk and lifted a sheet of paper, as if to read from it. ‘First of all, something’s been puzzling me about you ever since we last talked. Maybe you can help. You seem to be a fairly intelligent lad. What is it with these racist views you seem to be espousing and encouraging? Are you involved with the English Defence League or the British National Party?’

  Warner leaned back in his chair and stretched. ‘No matter what you or the Guardian might think, intelligence isn’t the private property of the left wing. And no,’ he went on, with a smile, ‘I’m not affiliated with either of those organisations. I suppose at first glance they may seem to offer swift and positive solutions to a number of problems, but if you look a bit closer you can see they’ll never progress beyond basic thuggery. There are other, more reasoned and less violent routes likely to lead to success.’

  ‘UKIP?’

  ‘One possibility, if they truly had the courage of their convictions.’

  ‘And what are the problems you see?’

  Warner clasped his hands on his lap. ‘It’s as I told you before. Unhindered immigration is bleeding our country dry, membership in Europe is a millstone around our necks and kowtowing to the bloody Scots and Welsh and Irish is sapping our national identity. Sometimes it seems almost a crime to stand up and say you’re English.’

  ‘Well, that just about covers it,’ said Annie. ‘Though some would say immigrants contribute more to the economy than they take from it.’

  ‘That’s what they’d have you believe. You’ve all been brainwashed.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The lefties. And before you get on to it, I’ve got nothing against the NHS or the benefits system, or the welfare state in general. As long as they’re for the benefit of our own.’

  ‘By that you mean white people?’

  ‘It’s not really an issue of colour, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. I mean English people.’

  ‘I take it these views didn’t go over too well when you were studying politics in Warwick?’

  ‘The universities are run by lefties, just like the BBC. You wouldn’t get any of them to listen to a reasonable, balanced argument from the right.’

  ‘These men we’ve brought in,’ Annie went on. ‘The British Pakistanis. Their grandparents came here after Partition, mostly to work in the cotton and woollen mills up north. Their parents were born here, they grew up here. Doesn’t that make them British?’

  ‘It takes a bit more than that.’

  ‘So they need to behave a bit more like us?’

  ‘Basically.’

  ‘Binge-drinking, football hooliganism, casual racism, and the rest?’

  ‘That’s a fringe element. Why am I here? Obviously not to talk politics.’

  ‘Right,’ said Annie. ‘When we talked before, I asked you about last Tuesday, and you said that you and Albert went back to your place after you’d been in the Hope and Anchor. About ten wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And after you’d had a few drinks and watched some DVDs, Albert crashed on your sofa for the night?’

  ‘That’s right. Yes. You already know all this.’

  ‘Bear with us, Paul. You went to sleep, or passed out, in your own bed, at about three in the morning, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Both at the same time?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you both fall asleep at the same time?’

  ‘Probably not. I mean, not precisely. Why?’

  ‘Who fell asleep first?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t you remember letting down the sofa bed?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘And why would you stay up after he fell asleep?’

  ‘I’m not saying I did. What’s this all about?’

  ‘Do you remember hearing Albert snoring or anything?’

  ‘No. I can’t say I do.’

  ‘But you’re certain he was there the whole time? He didn’t go out or anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you have noticed it? If you were asleep and he was awake, say?’

  ‘Well, of course not, if I was asleep. I’m a sound sleeper. The sign of an untroubled conscience.’

  ‘I hear that most serial killers have no problems falling asleep. Or maybe it’s just the booze.’

  Warner just smirked.

  ‘So he could have stayed awake until you passed out, then gone out?’ Annie pressed on.

  ‘He could have, I suppose. But why would he?’

  ‘Did you know that he had the use of a van that night?’

  ‘He did some delivery driving on the side. His boss lived in Stockton. It was a casual arrangement. He parked round the back when he kept the van overnight.’

  ‘You say that Albert could have gone out, if you were the one who bit the dust first, so to speak?’

  ‘I said it’s possible. Yes. But he was pissed. He wouldn’t have been able to drive.’

  ‘What if he wasn’t as pissed as you thought he was?’

  ‘You mean he might have been putting it on?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Then I don’t know. I didn’t think so. I mean, we both had a fair bit to drink, and I certainly wouldn’t have thought of driving.’

  ‘We’d like to examine your van, Paul. Is that OK?’

  ‘But why? It can’t have been on your CCTV, or whatever you’ve got.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Well, I . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘How do you know that Albert didn’t drive it after you passed out? He wouldn’t use Jim Nuttall’s van, would he, surely? I mean he’d know we’d connect him to that eventually. But why not use your Citroën?’

  ‘Albert’s not that bright. Besides, if you could connect him to this Nuttall character, you could certainly connect him to me.’

  ‘Maybe so. But one way or another that van you’ve both told us was parked in the lane at the back of your flat did show up on CCTV near Bradham Lane that night. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe Nuttall did it?’

  ‘Not very plausible, Paul. He’d have to take a taxi all the way from Stockton, which he didn’t. We checked.’

  ‘Maybe he got a mate to drop him off. I don’t know. There must be some mistake.’

  ‘I agree. Let’s move on. Last time we talked, you told us you said you had only a passing acquainta
nce with Mimosa. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you like her?’

  ‘Well enough, I suppose. I mean, I didn’t know her well enough to really say that. She was so much younger than me.’

  ‘Not that much. You’re what, twenty-three? Mimsy was fifteen? Very attractive, too, from what I hear. Sexy.’

  ‘She was still too young for me. I prefer women my own age.’

  ‘Got a girlfriend at the moment, Paul?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no.’

  ‘Did you know that Mimosa and her best friend Carol were among a group of local underage girls who’d been groomed by a gang of Asians from the Strip? That they’d been coerced, persuaded or forced into prostitution?’

  ‘God, no! How . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘Nobody told you?’

  ‘Well, obviously not. I mean, you asked me about grooming last time you talked to me, said it was something you suspected, but I never thought . . . Mimsy . . . no.’

  ‘Some people behave recklessly, especially if they get fired up with an idea. Was Albert fired up with an idea that night?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s say you’d been talking about Mimosa and her Pakistani groomers, for example. Might Albert have got riled up? Got a bee in his bonnet? She was his sister, after all. And they were Pakistanis.’

  ‘But that didn’t happen. We never talked about that.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t believe me?’

  ‘We know that Albert most certainly did know. And he mentioned it in conversation with Mimosa the day before she disappeared. They ended up on bad terms.’

  ‘Well that proves it, doesn’t it,’ said Paul, leaning forward. ‘Don’t you see. They must be involved. The Pakis. They must have done it. Have you brought them in yet?’

  ‘We’re just looking for some answers here,’ said Annie. ‘There’s no need to get your underpants in a knot.’

  ‘I’m not. I just don’t like being called a liar. Maybe Albert did know, like you say, but he didn’t tell me. I can’t tell you anything. This is all a shock to me. Like I said, I thought she was on our side. They must have made her do it. Is this something to do with why Mimsy got killed?’

  ‘We think so. We’re just not sure exactly how everything ties together yet.’

  ‘And you think Albert might have killed her?’

  ‘We’re just checking his alibi, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve told you time and time again. He was at my place. We got a bit drunk, watched some DVDs between about half ten and two or three in the morning, then we fell asleep. Albert slept on the couch and he didn’t wake up until eleven the next morning.’

  ‘But you weren’t in the same room as Albert all night?’

  ‘Hell no. We didn’t sleep in the same room, but we were together there watching movies.’ Paul folded his arms. ‘I’ve had enough of these insinuations and innuendos. You’re simply playing tricks on me, using semantics to try to get me to admit something.’

  ‘Admit to what?’

  ‘Christ. I mean, you surely can’t think that Albert killed his own sister.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘But she was his little sister. This is unbelievable.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘You’ve got all those bloody Pakis out there guilty as hell of grooming and raping and doing God knows what else to poor Mimsy, and you’re trying to pin the blame on Albert. Shame on you.’

  Annie stood up and Gerry followed suit more slowly, again using her good hand to push herself up from the chair. ‘Thanks, Paul. You’ve been very helpful,’ Annie said.

  Warner just shook his head in disbelief and exasperation, then he got to his feet and walked towards the door. As he left the interview room, he gave them a backwards glance and muttered, ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘Like they say in the movies,’ Annie called after him. ‘Don’t leave town, we might want to talk to you again.’ And when he had left, she took out her mobile.

  ‘What did he say?’ Banks asked Ursula Pemberton.

  ‘He told me it happened at a party in the hotel suite in Blackpool. They were celebrating something or other. It was a large suite and there were several rooms. At one point, Tony told me, Caxton asked him to accompany him, and they went to a darkened bedroom. There was a woman already in there, on the bed. She seemed surprised to see them and made to leave, but Caxton wouldn’t let her.’

  ‘You mean he physically stopped her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember it exactly. Just that Caxton wouldn’t let her leave. Persuaded her to stay. One thing led to another and they ended up having sex, first Caxton and the woman, then . . .’ She swallowed. ‘Then Tony.’

  ‘He told you this?’

  ‘I told you he was honest, even at his own cost.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. Tony told you that he and Caxton raped a woman in a hotel room in Blackpool.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose that’s what it amounted to. Though he never mentioned rape. I assumed I was supposed to think the woman succumbed to Caxton’s charm and Tony just happened to be a beneficiary of his largesse. None of that helped.’

  ‘But if she wasn’t willing, it was rape.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. Tony told me Caxton said she was the kind of girl who liked it rough, but Tony thought maybe her fear was genuine.’

  ‘Yet he raped her anyway?’

  ‘They’d been drinking. Perhaps drugs. I don’t know. All three of them. Look, Superintendent, this isn’t easy for me. It wasn’t easy for him, either. He wasn’t proud of it. He was disgusted with himself. He was in tears when he told me.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I held him and told him it would be all right. That was when he told me he was going to do something about it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was going to confront Caxton. Apparently there were some Polaroids – another of Tony’s jobs – and not just the official ones. Tony had taken pictures of Caxton with girls. Some while they were having sex, he hinted.’

  ‘Did Caxton know about these?’

  ‘I don’t know. If he did, they obviously hadn’t bothered him. Men like Caxton think they’re above the law.’

  ‘Why would the Polaroids be a problem for him?’

  ‘Tony said he was certain some of the girls were too young.’

  ‘Did he tell you why he joined in the fun that time?’

  ‘He just said it was the atmosphere, the moment, the sense of excitement.’ She sighed. ‘Something new. You know, there’s a thin line between experiment and sin.’

  Well, Tony had certainly found out about it the hard way, Banks thought, and so had Linda Palmer. It wasn’t his place to tell Ursula Pemberton that the girl had been a fourteen-year-old virgin, that there had been no party, no drugs and very little to drink. It had no doubt cost Monaghan a great deal to tell his wife what he had told her, and his state when he got back from the Blackpool job spoke volumes about the internal struggles he’d been going through. He thought he’d come to the right decision. Confront Danny Caxton, even though he’d be damning himself at the same time. That took guts, Banks thought. But none of it expunged the thought of what they had done to Linda Palmer.

  ‘How did you react?’

  ‘We argued. I’m afraid I told him not to do anything,’ she said. ‘I was afraid.’

  ‘Of Caxton?’

  ‘Partly. But more of the police. He talked about going to the police.’

  ‘Even though he’d been involved in the rape.’

  ‘Must you call it that? Yes. I was frightened he would go to jail.’

  ‘You didn’t think he deserved to?’

  She gave Banks a sharp glance. ‘He was my husband,’ she said.

  Banks decided to let it go. No sense in making an enemy of Ursula Pemberton. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘We parted on bad terms. The next thing I knew he was dead.’

>   Christ, thought Banks. Monaghan had gone to Leeds and confronted Caxton with his decision, perhaps evidence in the form of the Polaroids, and threatened him with the police. But it had to be more than that. Caxton knew he had the police in his pocket, that they wouldn’t listen to Monaghan. They must have turned a blind eye to Caxton’s transgressions before then, as they certainly had later. It was more likely than not Tony’s betrayal that angered him more than fear of exposure. Caxton was a man used to having his own way, demanding loyalty, and here was his loyal servant, his chosen one, come to threaten him with exposure. Caxton no doubt knew enough people capable of doing the job. Banks had even heard of a few ex-coppers hiring themselves out for strong-arm work, even the occasional murder. It wouldn’t have been difficult to arrange. And along came the Stott brothers, bouncers in his disco, old mates from the boxing club.

  Ursula remained silent for so long that Banks felt she was looking to him for exoneration, both for her and her husband. Banks didn’t feel that was something he had the right to give. As if she were reading his thoughts, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I know your main concern is the poor victim. I didn’t know her. Tony never mentioned any names. I don’t even think he knew.’

  Banks was about to tell her: Linda Palmer. But he didn’t.

  ‘After Tony had been killed,’ he went on, ‘did you say anything about this? Did you talk to the police?’

  ‘Yes. When I had to go up to Leeds to identify Tony’s body.’

  ‘Who did you talk to?’

  ‘Now, I know I remember,’ she said. ‘He was high up. A chief superintendent, I think. I remember being impressed at the time.’

  ‘It wasn’t an inspector, then? Detective Inspector Chadwick?’

  ‘No. I’d remember that. It was a Scottish name. Smoked a pipe. McCullen. That’s who it was. Detective Chief Superintendent McCullen.’

  Chadwick’s boss, Banks thought. ‘Did anyone takes notes?’

  ‘No. There were just the two of us, after the identification. He had a big office. I never met with anyone else on the case, if there was anyone.’

  ‘Oh, there was,’ said Banks. ‘Was the interview recorded?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Were you asked to turn in a written statement?’