"No, 'course not," he said, turning and running his palm over her damp stomach. He loved Andrea's body; it was so different from Maureen's. She had had smooth skin, smooth as marble and sometimes as cold. He had hardly dared touch it, fearing it would be some kind of violation. But Andrea's skin had grain to it, a certain friction you could feel when you ran your hand over her buttocks or shoulders, even when they were moist as they were now.

"What did they want to know?" he asked her.

"Just if I heard anything the night before last."

"And did you?"

"After you'd gone, yes. I heard someone running along Cardigan Drive, then someone knocking at a door."

"The same person?"

"Could have been."

"There was a woman peeped on in Cardigan Drive Monday evening," Graham told her. "I read about it in the paper."

"Another of those Peeping Tom things?"

"Yes."

Andrea shivered and nestled closer. "So they think it might be the same person?"

"I guess they must," Graham said.

"What did they ask you?"

"Same thing. If I heard anything. And they asked Trevor where he was."

"They're always picking on kids, Gray, you know that. It doesn't mean anything. Since all that unemployment they automatically think kids are delinquents these days."

"True enough."

"What did you tell them?"

"That he was home with me, of course."

"Oh, Gray, should you have? I mean what if someone saw him somewhere else? It could make things really bad."

"He didn't do it, Andrea, he's not that kind of a lad, and I'm damned if I'm going to let the police get their hooks into him. Once they latch on they never let go. It was bad enough last time; it's not going to happen again."

"If you think it's best, Gray."

Graham frowned at her. "I know you don't think he's worth it," he said, "but he's a good lad, he'll turn out well in the end, you'll see."

Andrea put her arms around him. "I don't think ill of him, really I don't. It's just that you seem to dote on him so much. He can't do any wrong in your eyes."

"I'm his father, aren't I? I'm all he's got." He smiled and kissed her. "I know what I'm doing, love. Don't worry." He looked at his watch on the bedside table. "Bloody hell, I'd better be going. Trevor’ll be home from school any minute."

Andrea moved away from him sadly. "You know I hate it when you leave, Gray," she said. "It's so lonely and boring being here all by myself in the evenings."

Graham kissed her lightly on the lips. "I know. I'll try and get back later if I can. I don't know what Trevor's got planned for tonight."

Graham slipped into his trousers, as Andrea watched from the bed.

"I'm getting a bit worried about Wooller, Gray," she said, just before he left.

"What about him?"

"I don't know if I'm being paranoid or feeling guilty or what, but it's just the way he looks at me, as if he knows. And worse, it's as if he's thinking about what to do with what he knows. Do you know what I mean? I feel like he's seen all of me, all of us."

"Don't worry about it," Graham said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking her hand. "You're probably overreacting. We've been discreet. The walls are very thick-I'm sure he wouldn't be able to hear a thing. And I'm always careful when I call. Really, love, don't worry about it. Must rush." He patted her hand and kissed her on the forehead. Andrea yawned and stretched, then turned over and lay in the impression his body had made. The bed still smelled of his Old Spice. She pulled the sheets around her shoulders and waved goodbye lazily as he slipped out through the door.

It was six o'clock when Banks pulled up outside number eight Gallows View. He had decided to take on the Sharps himself and leave Wooller to Hatchley.

"Good evening," he said politely, introducing himself, as Graham Sharp opened the door, a forkful of sausage in his hand.

"We're just having dinner, can't it wait?"

"Won't take long," Banks said, already inside. "Just carry on eating."

The room wasn't exactly a living room, it was more of a storage place full of boxes of tinned goods and crisps that could be easily carried into the shop. At the back, though, was a fairly modern kitchen, complete with a microwave oven, and Banks guessed that the real living quarters must be upstairs, spread out over the two adjoined cottages.

Graham and Trevor sat at the formica-topped table finishing what looked like bangers and mash with baked beans. Big white mugs of tea steamed in front of them.

"What is it, then?" Graham asked, polite enough not to talk with his mouth full. "We talked to one of your chaps last night. Told him all we knew."

"Yes," Banks said. "That's why I'm here. I just want to clear up a few things in the statement. Detective Constable Richmond is new to the job, if you know what I mean. We have to keep a close eye on new chaps, see that they get it right, go by the book."

"You mean you're here because you're doing some kind of job performance check on the young bloke?" Sharp asked incredulously.

It wasn't in the least bit true, but Banks thought it might put the Sharps at ease for as long as he wanted them to let their guards down. After that, of course, there were ways of putting them on the defensive again, a position which often turned out to be much more illuminating.

"Well, I never!" Sharp went on. "You know, I never really thought about the police force as a job like any other. I suppose you get wages as well and complain about pay-rises and poor canteen food?"

Banks laughed. "We don't have a canteen, but, yes, we complain a lot about pay-rises, or the lack of them." Innocently, he took out his notebook. "Detective Constable Richmond tells me that you heard nothing at around eleven o'clock on Monday night. Is that correct?"

"It is."

"Where were you?"

"Watching television in the sitting room." He pointed toward the upstairs. "Far end of the house. Have a look if you want."

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, thanks all the same. You said you were watching television all evening?"

"Well, from about eight o'clock to midnight, anyway."

"Good," Banks said, peering into his notebook. "It looks like our man did a good job. You wouldn't, of course, hear anything from as far away as Cardigan Drive, or even number two Gallows View, if you were in the sitting room with the television on, would you?"

"Nothing. You can try it if you want."

Banks waved aside his offer, then turned sharply to Trevor. "And where were you?"

Trevor, taken by surprise halfway through a mouthful of sausage and beans, spoke through the mush of semi-masticated food. "With him," he mumbled, pointing his fork at his father.

"Mr. Sharp," Banks said, returning to Graham and frowning, "DC Richmond says that when you first told him you were watching television you made no mention of your son whatsoever. It was all in the first person, as if Trevor wasn't even home."

"What are you getting at?" Sharp said belligerently, putting down his knife and fork.

"Just checking up on the constable's statement, sir. Want to see if he got it right. He was a bit curious about this one point. He put a question mark by it."

Sharp glared at Banks for a few moments while Trevor went on chewing his food. "If you're insinuating that my Trevor had anything to do with this, you're barking up the wrong tree. He's straight as a die, always has been. Ask anyone."

"I'm not insinuating anything, Mr. Sharp. I'd just like to know why the constable should mention this."

"It was a way of speaking, I suppose," Sharp said. "You don't always think you're going to have to account for the person who was with you, do you? I mean if someone asked you what you did last night and you stayed home watching telly, you probably wouldn't say 'My wife and I… blah-blah-blah…' would you?"