When Craig Drew’s father opened up he looked terrified but said at once, “You’ve got some news? What’s happened?”

“Can we come in?” Whiteside barged through the front door as he was asking. The DC with him, Louise Kelly, hesitated, apologetic.

“What’s happened?” Alan Drew asked her.

She shook her head.

“OK, where is he?”

“Craig? Upstairs, I think. What’s happened?”

“Call him down, will you?”

The DS prowled round the living room, looking at a picture, picking up a photograph, turning the corner of the mat over with his toe. Louise stood in the doorway. He was a sergeant, she was in her first six months as a DC but she knew that the way he was behaving was out of order. She wanted to say something but if she did he would take it out on her later. She knew a bully when she met one, knew what you should do with bullies but felt powerless. Whiteside brushed her aside and went to the bottom of the stairs. “Drew! DS Whiteside here. I want a word.”

“What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“What’s he doing up there?”

A lavatory flushed. Craig Drew came running down the stairs, still doing up his belt. “Have you got him?”

“I was hoping you were going to tell me that.”

“Sorry?”

Craig stared.

Poor bloke, Louise thought, poor bloody bloke, he doesn’t know what time of day it is. His wife of two weeks was shot dead, he’s a mess of emotion and dread and questions he can’t answer and we’re here to ask more.

“You’ve got a bike, Craig?”

“Cycle. Bicycle. Yes.” He looked bewildered. His father stood beside him. Protective, Louise thought. Even at his age. Fat chance my dad would protect me like that.

“Been out and about on it, have you?”

“He cycles most days,” Alan Drew said. “He needs to get out of here.”

“Where do you go, Craig?”

“I don’t know c all over. Anywhere.”

“You don’t know. All over. Anywhere.”

“I just go out.”

“Lafferton?”

“Yes. Or—just around. Villages. Nowhere in particular.”

“Dulles Avenue?”

“I went there.”

“What for?”

“We—I live there. I went to my flat.”

“On your bike?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t carry much on a bike, can you?”

“I didn’t have anything to carry.”

“Didn’t go to pick anything up, stuff you needed, clothes and so on?”

“I’d have taken the car.”

“I’d have gone with him as well. What’s this about, Sergeant, what’s with all these bike questions?”

“Know the Seven Acesclub, Craig?”

“No. I mean, I heard about it, those other girls. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Someone just shooting for no reason.”

“How do you know it’s the same?”

“Well, I thought c it’s got to be the same, hasn’t it?”

“Has it? We haven’t said so.”

Craig Drew looked both confused and as if he were about to cry. He glanced desperately at Louise.

“Do you know the Seven Aces, Craig?” she asked gently.

Whiteside shot her a look.

“No.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No. We—I c clubs are not where I go. We don’t. Mel didn’t like that sort of place. It’s new, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never so much as been past it?”

“I don’t think I have but I can’t swear to it. Of course I can’t, can I?”

“Why not? I’d have thought it was perfectly simple. Have you been past the Seven Acesor haven’t you?”

Craig sat down and dropped his head.

Whiteside went on. “Did you read about Bethan Doyle, Craig?”

“Who’s Bethan c Oh, God, her, the one with the baby. Christ.”

“You know about it, then?”

“You’d have to live on the moon not to know about it, wouldn’t you?” Alan Drew. He had crossed the room to stand beside his son, put a hand on his shoulder for a second.

“Craig?”

“Yes.”

“Know where she lived, do you? Where it happened?”

“Yes.”

“Not far from your place.”

Silence.

“You went down there, didn’t you, Craig?”

“No.”

“Really? I heard you did. Biked along the street. Had a good look at the house where it happened. Didn’t you?”

Craig looked up, his eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head, still bewildered.

“I might have. Yes. I did. I was on the bike round there. I was trying to take it in. I can’t take it in, you see. I keep expecting her to walk in the door here and she doesn’t.”

“Melanie?”

“Yes.”

“Why would that make you cycle past Bethan Doyle’s place?”

“It didn’t. I mean, I don’t know why. I wanted to see. I suppose. Maybe it would help me take it in. I just don’t know.”

“So you did cycle past the house where Bethan Doyle was shot in front of her eighteen-month-old baby?”

Craig shrank back into himself as if warding off a blow.

“Craig?”

For one second they were all of them frozen in the small room but to Louise the second went on for hours, became timeless, as if the shutter on a camera had stuck, keeping them all there.

Then Whiteside said, “Get your coat. I’m asking you the rest down at the station.”

Craig Drew looked up. The bewilderment in his eyes had become fear.

“What?”

“You heard. Coat.”

Alan Drew moved. Froze again. Looked from one to the other for an answer. Found none.

“I’m sorry,” Louise said, so quietly they probably didn’t even hear her.

“I don’t have one.”

The DS turned from the doorway.

“A coat. My wax jacket’s at Dulles Avenue. I don’t have a coat. I don’t need a coat.”

Whiteside jerked his head towards the door.

Don’t go, Louise thought, don’t be bullied, you’ve got rights.

But Craig Drew, head down, got up and walked meekly out of the room, Whiteside behind him.

Thirty-three

“Hey, petal, how you doin’?”

“Don’t call me petal.” DC Louise Kelly waited for the machine to pour its coffee sludge into the plastic cup.

“Didn’t think you were one of those feminist birds.”

“I’m not.”

“Right, well, petal is only what my teacher would have called a figure of speech.” Clive Rowley watched while she struggled with the cup which had stuck in the grip of the metal holder. “I’m afraid to offer help, now.”

Louise sighed and stepped back. “Please,” she said.

He snapped open the holder and wriggled the cup of hot liquid out sideways. “There’s a knack, you see.”

“Thanks, Clive. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“What’s up?”

“It’ll pass.”

“No, go on. Better out.”

“Not here.”

The corridor was a busy thoroughfare.

“Come in here then.”

They stood in a lobby beside the stairwell.

“What’s up?”

“Bloody DS Whiteside.”

“Been chatting you up or what?”

“Oh, I can cope with that.”

“I bet. Quite scary, you.”

“Seriously. He’s a bully.”

“So am I. We’re coppers. It’s what we do.”

“Not like this.”

Clive watched her closely as she told him. Pretty. Fair hair. Small features. Small hands and feet. Neat little thing. He looked at her hands. No rings.

Was she his type? Might be. Ask her out? Might do.

She stopped talking and drank the coffee.

“You see my point?” she said, looking round for somewhere to throw the empty cup. “He was bang out of order.”

“What about this Drew guy? He done it?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“All the same. He’s in the frame, isn’t he?”

“No.”

“The DS did right to bring him in.”

“Straws. Clutching. At.”

“Fair point. Where is he now?”

“Interview room, I imagine. Look, what should I do?”

“Nothing.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes. Nothing. Don’t stir it up. Don’t make a complaint, it’ll backfire. Only if he starts on you, tell me. I can deal with the Whitesides of this world.”

She laughed. “It’s not me I’m worried about. But thanks.”

“Stay schtum. OK?”

He winked at her and walked off towards the Armed Response Unit room.