“I’ve read through the files and trial transcripts,” said Banks, “and apparently you weren’t worried about her?”

“No. We both knew we might go our separate ways. She knew I was heading off to Paris the next day, and she told me she’d probably stay with friends in Leeds, so I had no cause to worry. The very last thing you expected at a festival back then was a murder. This was before Altamont, remember, coming hot on the heels of successes at Woodstock and the Isle of Wight. Everyone was high on rock festivals. The bigger the better.”

“I appreciate that,” said Banks. “Did you see her talking to anyone in particular?”

“Not really. I mean, we talked to a lot of people. There was a sort of party atmosphere, and I must admit it was a big thrill to be hanging out with the stars.” She gave Banks a coy smile. “I was still an impressionable young girl back then, you know. Anyway, Linda spent a bit of time with the Hatters, but she would, wouldn’t she? I mean it was Vic got us the passes in the first place, and he was her cousin, even if they weren’t especially close.”

“Did anyone show unusual interest in her?”

“No. People chatted her up, if that’s what you mean. Linda was a very attractive girl.”

“But she didn’t go off with anyone?”

“Not that I knew of.” Tania leaned forward and pressed the plunger on the cafetière, then she carefully poured two mugs. She added milk and sugar to her own, then offered them to Banks, who declined. “Linda was in a very spiritual phase then, into yoga and meditation, Tibetan Buddhism. She wasn’t into drugs and I don’t think she was into men all that much.”

“Did you actually see her leave the enclosure?”

“Not as such, no, but she told me she was going for a walk. I was heading to the front to see Led Zeppelin, and she said she needed a bit of space, she’d catch up with me later.”

“So where was Linda when you last saw her?”

“Backstage.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“A group of people.”

“Including?”

“I can’t really remember that far back. Some of the Hatters were there.”

“Vic Greaves?”

“Vic was around, but he took some acid after the show and… who knows where he was? Most people went round the front. It was a real crush in there, I do remember that. People trying to cop a feel in the crowd. I couldn’t say for certain who was there and who wasn’t.”

“So you didn’t see Linda head for the woods?”

“No. Look, you’re not saying Vic might have done this, are you? Because I don’t believe that. Whatever his problems, Vic was always a gentle soul. Still is, only he’s a bit disturbed. They caught the killer fair and square. They found his knife with Linda’s blood on it. I’d seen McGarrity with that knife, myself, at Bayswater Terrace.”

“I know,” said Banks. “But he maintained at the trial that he was framed, that the knife was planted.”

Tania snorted. “He would, wouldn’t he? You of all people should know that.”

Banks had read all about McGarrity’s bumbling efforts at defending himself in court, and he had no doubts that the man had been his own worst enemy. But if Vic Greaves had killed his cousin Linda, it made much more sense of later events, including Nick Barber’s murder. Greaves certainly had a violent streak, as he had made evident at the cottage after Banks’s visit. Perhaps, Banks thought, Greaves wasn’t quite as crazy as he made himself out to be. But he couldn’t tell Tania this. She was partisan; she would stick by her friends. He sipped some coffee. It was strong and full of flavor. “Delicious,” he said.

She inclined her head at the compliment. “Blue Mountain. Jamaica.”

“Did you know that Linda had an illegitimate child?”

“Yes. She told me she gave him up for adoption. She was only sixteen at the time.”

“And that child was Nick Barber?”

“He… what? My God! No, I didn’t know that. How… I mean, that’s an incredible coincidence.”

“Not really,” said Banks. “Plenty of people are adopted. Maybe Nick came by his love of music through Linda’s genes, I don’t know about that, but the knowledge did give him a particular interest in the Mad Hatters when he found out his birth mother was actually related to one of them. Then, when he found out she had been murdered, I should imagine his journalistic curiosity got him sniffing around that, too.”

“You don’t think it was anything to do with what happened to him, do you?”

“Only in that it set him on the course that led to his death. He probably wouldn’t have been writing that story and found out what he did – if, indeed, that’s what happened – if his mother hadn’t been Linda Lofthouse. But there again, maybe he would have done it anyway. He was already a Mad Hatters fan. I just find it a curious detail, that’s all. You were at Swainsview Lodge the night Robin Merchant died, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Tania. Banks couldn’t be certain, but he thought he detected a certain reticence, or tightness, slip into her tone.

“What was he like?”

“Robin? Of all of them, he was probably the brightest and the most intellectual. The weirdest, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“He always seemed remote, unreachable, to me. You couldn’t touch him. You didn’t know where he was, what he was thinking. Yet on the surface he was always friendly and pleasant enough. He was well educated and well read, but musically a bit plodding.”

“What was he like with the girls?”

“Oh, they all fancied Robin. He was so pretty with that mass of dark curls and all, but I’m not sure… I mean, I don’t think he really cared that much for anyone, underneath it all. I didn’t know him long, but he never had any sort of relationship during that time. It was all rather mechanical for him. He took what he was offered, then cast them aside. He was more into metaphysical and occult things.”

“Black magic?”

“Tarot cards, astrology, eastern philosophy, the cabala, that sort of thing. A lot of people were into it back then.”

“As they are again now,” said Banks, thinking of Madonna and all the other stars who had discovered the cabala of late, not to mention Scientology, which had also been a powerful presence in the late sixties. If you just wait, everything comes around again.

“I suppose so,” Tania said. “Anyway, Robin was usually immersed in some book or other. He didn’t say much. As I said, I didn’t really know him. Nobody did. His life outside the band was a mystery to all of us. If he had one.”

“Did Linda like him?”

“She said he was cute, yeah, but like I said, she was into other things at the time. Men weren’t really high on her list of priorities.”

“But she wasn’t off them completely?”

“Oh, no. I’m sure she’d have been interested if the right person had come along. She was just tired of the attitude some of the guys had. Free love. What they thought it meant was that they could screw any woman they wanted.”

“What about relations between Robin and Vic Greaves?”

“Nothing unusual, really. Robin seemed upset sometimes that Vic got more of his songs performed, but Vic was the better songwriter. Robin’s lyrics were too arcane, too dark.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, as far as I know. It was nothing more serious. Mostly they got along just fine.”

“And the rest of the band?”

“Same. There were disagreements, of course, as there always are when groups of people spend too much time cooped up together, but they weren’t at each other’s throats all the time, if that’s what you mean. I’d say, as things go in this business, as a group they were a pretty well-behaved bunch of kids, and I’ve seen some bad behavior in my time.”

“And after you joined?”

“Everyone treated me with respect. They still do.”

“What were the other members like as individuals?”

“Well, Vic was the sensitive poet, and Robin, as I said, the intellectual and the mystic. Reg was the angry one. The working-class boy made good with a bloody great chip on his shoulder. He’s over it now, more or less – I think a few million quid might have had a bit to do with that – but it was what drove him back then. Terry was the quiet one. He’d had a rough background. Apparently his father died when he was just a kid and his mother was really weird; I think she ended up in an institution eventually. He was troubled, but he never really talked about it. He seems to be a bit better adjusted these days. At least he manages to smile and speak a civil word now and then. And Adrian, well, he was the joker, the fun-lover. Still is. Laugh a minute, Adrian.”