the fluorescent lights as usual, as it did twenty-four hours a day. Only a copper would sense that end-ofthe-night- shift feel as constables changed back into civvies to go home and the day shift came in bright-eyed and bushy- tailed, shaved faces shining, or make-up freshly applied.
Upstairs, where the CID had their offices, was quieter. They hardly had a need for shift work, and their hours varied depending on what was going on. This past week, with a murder and a missing child, long hours had been taking their toll on everyone. Richmond was there, looking red-eyed from too much staring at the computer screen, and Susan Gay had dark blue smears under her eyes.
“What happened?” Banks asked her.
“I’d just come in,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep so I came in at six and thought I’d have another look at the forensic reports, then they brought him in. Found him sleeping in a ditch a mile or so down the Helmthorpe Road.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Banks. “It must have been cold. Where is he?”
“Interview room. PC Evans is with him.”
“Sergeant Hatchley?”
“Got here just before you. He’s in position.”
Banks nodded. “Let’s wait for the super.”
Gristhorpe arrived fifteen minutes later, looking brighter than the rest of them. His hair was a mess, as usual, but his innocent blue eyes shone every bit as alert and probing as ever.
“Let’s have at him, then,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Alan, would you like to lead, seeing as you know him so well? Let me play monster in reserve.”
“All right.”
They headed for the small interview room. Before they went in, Banks asked Richmond if he would get them a large pot of tea.
The drab room seemed overcrowded with four of them, and the heat was turned too high. PC Evans went and sat in the corner by the window, ready to take notes, Banks sat opposite Poole, and Gristhorpe at right angles.
Poole licked his lips and looked around the room.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, Les,” Banks said. “What happened?”
“Sleeping rough. Nowhere to go, had I?”
He was unshaven, his leather jacket was scuffed and stained with mud, his greasy hair bedraggled and matted. He also had a black eye and a split lip. The tea arrived. Banks played mother and passed a large steaming mug over to Les. “Here, have a cuppa,” he said. “You don’t look like you’ve had your breakfast yet.”
“Thanks.” Poole grasped the mug with both hands.
“How’d you get the war wounds?”
“Bloody mob, wasn’t it? I need protection, I do.”
“From your neighbours?”
“Bloody right.” He pointed to his face. “They did this to me before I managed to run off. I’m a victim. I should press charges.” Poole slurped some tea.
“Be our guest,” said Banks. “But later. There’s a few other things to deal with first.”
Poole frowned. “Oh? Like what?”
“Like why did you run?”
“That’s a daft question. You’d bloody run if you had a mob like that after you.”
“Where were you heading?”
“Dunno. Anywhere. I’d got no money so I could hardly stay in a bleeding hotel, could I?”
“What about your mate at the shop?”
“Wasn’t in.”
“What did the mob want with you, Les?”
“It was all that silly bitch Brenda’s fault. Put on a right show, she did, chucking my stuff at me like that. And that’s another thing. I’ll bloody sue her for damage to property.”
“You do that, Les. She’d probably have to sell the telly and that nice little stereo system to pay her costs. Why did they turn on you?”
Les glanced nervously at Gristhorpe, then said to Banks, “Is he going to stay here all the time?”
Banks nodded. “If I can’t get the truth out of you, he takes over. Believe me, you’ll be a lot happier if that never happens. We were talking about your neighbours. Look at me.”
Poole turned back. “Yeah, well, Brenda yelled some stupid things out the window. It was her fault. She could have got me killed.”
“What did she yell?”
Banks could see Poole weighing him up, gauging what he knew already. Finally, he said, “Seeing as she’s probably already told you, it doesn’t matter, does it?” He kept glancing at Gristhorpe out of the corner of his eye.
“It matters a lot,” Banks said. “It’s a very serious allegation, that is, saying you were mixed up with Gemma’s disappearance. They don’t take kindly to child-molesters in prison, Les. This time it won’t be as easy as your other stretches inside. Why don’t you tell us what you know?”
