When the Music's Over by Peter Robinson Page B

special, and maybe he could get me a start.”
    â€œThen what?” Banks asked.
    â€œI fell for it hook, line and sinker, didn’t I? He’d finished signing autographs, so he went back to his car. Just before I set off to see if I could track down Melanie in the amusement arcade, someone asked me if I’d care to talk to Mr. Caxton now, that he had some free time.”
    â€œWho was this?”
    â€œI don’t know. A sort of aide or assistant or something. Famous people like Danny Caxton had other people to do things for them. He was there later, in the hotel.”
    â€œDid you recognize this assistant from anywhere?”
    â€œNo. I’d never seen him before. He wasn’t someone from television or the live show. I would have recognized him then. We’d been to see the show a few days earlier with our parents, Melanie and me. An evening performance.”
    â€œWhat did he look like?”
    â€œI don’t really remember. Younger than Caxton. He seemed nice enough at first. There was nothing that really stood out about him.”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t think twice about it. I went over with him and hopped in the car. It was really plush. A Rolls-Royce or something.Inside it smelled all of soft leather, and when it moved it was like floating on air.”
    â€œThat’s very brazen,” said Winsome. “Whisking you off in his car in public like that. Did anyone else witness this?”
    â€œI don’t know. Most of the other autograph hunters had drifted away by then, or gone chasing after Jess Conrad. I know I felt special, like a princess, getting in the car.”
    â€œYou weren’t suspicious?”
    â€œWhy would I be? Believe me, I’ve flagellated myself time after time for not being, but how could I be, really? I was fourteen, my head full of dreams of the stage, and here was this nice, funny man from TV who everybody loved saying he could help me. He was in your living room almost every night. It was broad daylight, Blackpool in high season, there were people all around. Would you have been suspicious?”
    â€œProbably not,” Winsome admitted.
    Banks could see by Winsome’s expression that she wouldn’t have been, that she understood exactly where Linda Palmer was coming from. Perhaps the analogy with the pastor in Winsome’s neighboring village, whom everyone had respected, helped make it clear to her. Like the pastor, Danny Caxton was in a position of trust and power.
    Beethoven’s storm broke, starkly contrasting the serenity of the garden and the cloudless blue of the sky.
    â€œI mean, back then we didn’t worry about perverts all the time,” said Linda, “and I don’t think I’d ever heard of a pedophile. We were all warned not to take sweets from strangers, of course, or get into cars with strange men we didn’t know, but Danny Caxton wasn’t strange. He was . . . he was like someone we knew, really, a kindly uncle. He wasn’t the sort of person our parents meant.”
    ANNIE WAS sweating by the time they reached the spot where Stefan’s officer waited. It was about half a mile south from the girl’s body, and despite the light breeze and some shade from the leafy trees, the heat was getting to her. She felt out of shape and realized that, despite the yoga and meditation, she hadn’t got back to working out again yet.She made a mental note to rejoin the small fitness center in Harkside, where she lived, as she was far more likely to use that than go after work—or, god forbid, before —to the larger one in Eastvale, despite its advantage in having more fit males around. She glanced at Gerry, who didn’t seem to be showing any effects whatsoever from the walk. Well, she is in her twenties , Annie thought, a willowy, redheaded thoroughbred, though she herself was just in her early forties, and willowy enough. Plenty of time to shape up. Only