“With whom?” Lynley asked.

“With the client. That was the last I saw of him.”

“And what was this client’s name?”

Minshall’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.” And as if he expected them to walk out of the interview room, he went on hastily. “I knew him only by numbers. Two-one-six-oh. He never told me his name. And he didn’t know mine. He knew me only as Snow.” He gestured at his hair. “It seemed appropriate.”

“How did you meet this individual?” Lynley asked.

Minshall took another sip of water. His solicitor asked him if he wanted a conference. The magician shook his head. “Through MABIL,” he said.

“Mabel who?” Havers asked.

“M-A-B-I-L,” he corrected. “It’s not a person. It’s an organisation.”

“An acronym standing for…?” Lynley waited for the answer.

Minshall gave it in a tired voice. “Men and Boys in Love.”

“Bloody hell,” Havers muttered as she wrote in her notebook. She gave the acronym a vicious underscoring that sounded like the scrape of rough sandpaper on wood. “Let us guess what that’s all about.”

“Where does this organisation meet?” Lynley asked.

“In a church basement. Twice a month. It’s a deconsecrated place called St. Lucy’s, off the Cromwell Road. Down the street from Gloucester Road station. I don’t know the exact address, but it’s not hard to find.”

“The scent of sulphur’s no doubt a big hint when you get in the area,” Havers pointed out.

Lynley shot her a look. He felt the same aversion to the man and his story, but now that Minshall was finally talking, he wanted him to continue talking. He said, “Tell us about MABIL.”

Minshall said, “It’s a support group. It offers a safe haven for…” He seemed to search for a word that would elucidate the purpose of the organisation at the same time as it depicted its members in a positive light. An impossible task, Lynley thought, although he let the man attempt it anyway. “It offers a place where like-minded individuals can meet, talk, and learn they’re not alone. It’s for men who believe there is no sin and should be no social condemnation in loving young boys and wanting to introduce them to male-male sexuality in a safe environment.”

“In a church?” Havers sounded as if she couldn’t restrain herself. “Like some sort of human sacrifice? On the altar, I expect?”

Minshall took off his glasses and shot her a withering look as he polished them on the leg of his trousers. He said, “Why don’t you put a cork in it, Constable? It’s people like you who head witch-hunts.”

“You listen to me, you piece of-”

“That’ll do, Havers,” Lynley said. And to Minshall, “Go on.”

The magician gave Havers another look, then shifted his body as if to dismiss her. He said, “There are no young boys who are members of the association. MABIL does nothing but provide support.”

“For…?” Lynley prompted.

He returned his dark glasses to his nose. “For men who’re…conflicted about their desires. Those who’ve already made the leap help along those who want to make it. This help is offered in a loving environment, with tolerance for all and judgement of none.”

Lynley could see Havers getting ready to make another remark. He cut her off with, “And two-one-six-oh?”

“I saw him straightaway, the first time he showed up. He was new to it all. He could barely look anyone in the eye. I felt sorry for the bloke and offered to help him. It’s what I do.”

“Meaning?”

And here Minshall stalled. He was silent for a moment and then asked for time with his solicitor. For his part, James Barty had been sitting there sucking on his lower teeth so hard that it looked as if he’d swallowed his lip. He burst out with, “Yes. Yes. Yes,” and Lynley switched the recorder off. He nodded Havers towards the door, and they stepped out into the corridor of the Holmes Street station.

Havers said, “He’s had all bloody night to cook this up, sir.”

“MABIL?”

“That and the two-one-six-oh rubbish. D’you think for a moment there’s going to be a MABIL at this St. Lucy’s when we send Vice over there to sit in on their next ‘meeting’? Not bloody likely, sir. And Bar will have the perfect comeback for that, won’t he? Let me give it to you in advance: ‘MABIL has members who’re cops, you know. The Met’s grapevine must’ve put those blokes in the picture, and they passed the word along. You know how it works: telephone, telegraph, tell-a-cop. They’ve gone to ground now. Too bad you can’t find them…’ And arrest their arses from here to Sunday,” she added. “Sodding paedophiles.”

Lynley observed her, righteous indignation personified. He felt it as well, but he also knew they had to keep the information flowing from the magician. The only way to sort out the truth from his lies was through encouraging him to talk for a length of time and listening for the snares he would ultimately set himself, which was the fate of all liars.

He said, “You know the drill, Havers. We need to give him the rope.”

“I know, I know.” She looked towards the door and the man behind it. “But he makes my skin crawl. He’s in there with Barty coming up with a way to justify the seduction of thirteen-year-old boys, and you and I know it. What are we supposed to do about that? Sit there and seethe?”

“Yes,” Lynley said. “Because Mr. Minshall’s about to discover he can’t have it both ways. He can’t claim he rejected Davey Benton as too young to experience the love that dare not et cetera, while at the same time he provided the boy to a killer. I expect he’s sorting out that little difficulty with Mr. Barty as we speak.”

“So you believe there’s a MABIL? That Minshall himself didn’t murder that kid and all the others?”

Like Havers, Lynley looked towards the door of the interview room. “I think it’s very likely,” he said. “And there’s part of it all that makes sense, Barbara.”

“Which part is that?”

“The part that explains why we’ve now got a dead boy with no connection to Colossus.”

She was with him, as usual, making the leap with, “Because the killer had to find new ground once we showed up in Elephant and Castle?”

“From everything we know, he’s not stupid,” Lynley said. “Once we got on to Colossus, he had to find a new source of victims, didn’t he. And MABIL exactly fills the bill, Havers, because no one would even suspect him there, especially not Minshall, who’s just waiting to take him under his wing, eager and ready to hand over the victims, apparently believing-or at least telling himself that he believes-in the sanctity of the whole damned project.”

“We need a description of two-one-six-oh,” Havers said, with a nod at the interview room.

“And more,” Lynley told her as the door opened and James Barty bade them enter once again.

Minshall had finished his water and was setting to the destruction of the plastic cup that had held it. He said he wanted to clarify things. Lynley told him that they were ready to listen to whatever the magician wished to tell them, and he activated the tape recorder as Havers sat and scraped her chair noisily against the lino.

“My first time was at the hands of my paediatrician,” Minshall said quietly, his head lowered to direct his gaze-ostensibly, since he was wearing his dark glasses-on his hands as they tore apart his plastic cup. “He called it ‘seeing to’ my condition. I was a kid, so what did I know? Groping round between the legs to make sure my ‘condition’ didn’t cause sexual problems in the future, like impotence or premature ejaculation. He eventually raped me right there in his surgery, but I kept quiet. I was that scared.” Minshall looked up. “I never wanted other boys’ first time to be like that. Do you understand? I wanted it to come out of a loving and trusting relationship so that when it happened to them, they’d be ready for it. They’d want it as well. They’d understand what was happening and what it meant. I wanted it to be a positive experience, so I empowered them.”