“To be your assistant,” Havers repeated.

“That’s correct.”

Lynley leaned forward, shaking his head. He said, “I’m concluding this interview…” He glanced at his watch and gave the time. He switched off the recorder and stood, saying, “Havers, we’ve wasted our time. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Havers looked surprised, but she got up as well. She said, “Right then,” and followed him towards the door.

Minshall said, “Wait. I haven’t-”

Lynley swung round. “You wait, Mr. Minshall. You listen as well. Possession and transmission of child pornography. Child molestation. Paedophilia. Murder.”

“I didn’t-”

“I’m not about to sit here and listen to you claim you were operating a training school for child magicians. You were seen with that boy. In the market. At your home. God knows where else, because we’re just beginning. Traces of him will be everywhere associated with you, and traces of you will be all over him.”

“You’re not going to find-”

“We bloody well will. And the barrister who’s even willing to take your case will have the devil of a time explaining it all away to a jury hungry to send you down for putting your filthy hands on a little boy.”

“They weren’t little…” Minshall stopped himself. He fell back in his chair.

Lynley said nothing. Neither did Havers. The room was suddenly as silent as a crypt in a country church.

James Barty said, “Would you like a moment, Barry?”

Minshall shook his head. Lynley and Havers remained where they were. Two more steps and they’d be out of the room. The ball was sailing into Minshall’s court, and he was no fool. Lynley knew he had to see it.

“It meant nothing,” he said. “That word. Weren’t. It isn’t the slip you think it is. Those boys who’ve died-the others, not Davey-you won’t find a thing that connects me to them. I swear to God I didn’t know them.”

“Are we talking biblically?” Havers asked.

Minshall threw her a look. Even from behind his glasses, he transmitted the message: As if you’d understand. Next to him, Lynley felt her bristle. He touched her arm lightly, directing her back to the table. He said, “What have you got to tell us?”

“Turn on the recorder,” Minshall replied.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“IT ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK,” WERE BARRY MINSHALL’S first words when Lynley had the tape recorder going. “Your sort have an idea fixed in the head, and then you mould the facts to make sure your idea plays out. But how you think it was…? You’re wrong. And how Davey Benton was…? You’re wrong about that as well. But I’ll tell you straightaway, you won’t be able to face what I have to say, because if you do, it topples the way you’ve probably always seen the world. I want some water. I’m parched and this will take a while.”

Lynley hated to give the man anything, but he nodded to Havers and she disappeared to fetch Minshall his drink. She was back in less than a minute with a single plastic cup of water that looked as if she’d taken it directly from the ladies’ toilet, which she probably had. She placed it in front of Minshall and he gazed from her to it as if checking to see if she’d spat in it. Finding it passable, he took a sip.

“I can help you,” he said. “But I want a deal.”

Lynley reached towards the recorder another time, preparatory to switching it off and ending the interview once again.

Minshall said, “I wouldn’t do that. You need me just as much as I need you. I knew Davey Benton. I taught him some elementary magic tricks. I dressed him up as my assistant. He rode in my van, and he visited me in my flat. But that’s the end of it. I never put a hand on him in the way you’re thinking, no matter what he wanted.”

Lynley felt his mouth going dry. “What the hell are you implying?”

“Not implying, saying. Telling. Informing. Whatever you want to call it, it comes out the same. That boy was bent. At least, he thought he was bent, and he was looking for proof. A first time to show him what it was like. Male to male.”

“You can’t intend us to believe-”

“I don’t care what you believe. I’m telling you the truth. I doubt I was the first bloke he tried because he was damned direct in his approach. Hands on my crotch the instant we were out of public view. He saw me as a loner-which I am, let’s face it-and to his way of thinking, it was safe to try things out with me. That’s what he wanted to do, and I set him straight. I do not have underage kids, I told him. Come back on your sixteenth birthday.”

“You’re a liar, Barry,” Barbara Havers said. “Your computer’s filled with child pornography. You were carrying it in your van, for God’s sake. You’re shagging your fist in front of your computer screen every night, and you want us to believe Davey Benton was after you and not the reverse?”

“You can think what you want. You obviously do. Why not, when I’m such a flipping freak? And that’s running through your head as well, isn’t it? He looks like a ghoul, so he must be one.”

“Use that move often?” Havers asked. “I expect it works wonders out there in the world. Turn people’s aversion in on themselves. That must work specially well on kids. You’re a sodding genius, you are, boy-o. High marks for sorting out a way to play your appearance to your advantage, mate.”

Lynley said, “You don’t appear to understand your position, Mr. Minshall. Has Mr. Barty”-with a nod at the solicitor-“explained what happens when you’re charged with murder? Magistrates’ court, remand, coming to trial at the Old Bailey-”

“All those lags and screws just waiting to welcome you into Wormwood Scrubs with open arms,” Havers added. “They have a special greeting for child molesters. Did you know that, Bar? It requires you to bend over, of course.”

“I am not-”

Lynley switched off the recorder. “Apparently,” he said to James Barty, “your client needs more time to think. Meanwhile, the evidence mounts up against you, Mr. Minshall. And the moment we confirm that you were the last person to see Davey Benton alive, you can feel free to consider your fate well sealed.”

“I did not-”

“You might try to convince the CPS about that. We collect the evidence. We turn it over to them. At that point, things are out of our hands.”

“I can help you.”

“Think about helping yourself.”

“I can give you information. But the only way you’re going to get that from me is through a deal because if I give you anything, I’m not going to be a particularly popular man.”

“If you don’t give us something, you’re being sent down as Davey Benton’s,” Barbara Havers pointed out. “And that’s not going to do much for your popularity, Barry.”

“What I suggest,” Lynley said, “is that you tell us what you know and pray to God we’re more interested in that than in anything else. But make no mistake about it, Barry, you’re facing at least one murder charge currently. Any other charge you might come to face in the future as a result of what you tell us now about Davey Benton isn’t going to carry the same stretch in prison. Unless it’s another count of murder, of course.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Minshall said, but his voice was altered now, and for the first time it seemed to Lynley that they might be getting through to the man.

“Convince us,” Barbara Havers said.

Minshall thought for a moment and finally said, “Turn the recorder on. I saw him the night he died.”

“Where?”

“I took him to a…” He hesitated, then went for more water. “It’s called the Canterbury Hotel. I had a client there and we went to perform.”

“What d’you mean, ‘perform’?” Havers asked. “What kind of client?” In addition to the tape that Lynley was making, she was taking notes, and she looked up from her writing.

“Magic. We were doing a private show for a single client. At the end of it, I left Davey there. With him.”