Sharon McGilvrey cried quietly for her brother. The two younger boys had been fetched from school. Only afterwards did Chris learn that this job had been delegated to Sharon, that her mother had rung the bakery in Hesse Street and told her to get them. Shaw had instructed Chris to pick Anthea up on their way to the bakery, then return with Sharon to the house.
Anthea held out her hand in comfort to the girl, and kept hold of it while Shaw asked when Bobby had come home the night before.
‘About nine,’ Sharon said.
‘When did he go out again?’
‘I — I don’t know.’
‘But you knew he’d gone out?’
‘I was asleep,’ Sharon said in a whisper.
She admitted that Bobby sometimes left the house again after Mr Parkinson had walked him home, but he never told her where he went, and she’d never asked him.
Chris, who was once more taking notes, looked up sharply at this denial. If Bobby had told anyone about his hiding place, it would have been his sister. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then shut it again. Shaw would only jump on him. His suspicions about Shaw’s lack of sympathy hardened all at once into dislike.
‘Why didn’t you tell your parents when your brother didn’t come home last night?’
Sharon’s expression said: what difference would it have made?
‘You weren’t worried about him?’
Of course she was, Chris thought, noting Anthea’s quick frown.
‘Did Bobby often stay out all night?’
Sharon shook her head.
‘Answer the question. Yes or no.’
‘No! Bobby was usually — he went to school, see. He’d started back at school.’
‘But your brother could have been gone till two or three in the morning and you wouldn’t know.’
‘I have to get up early. And Bobby’s very quiet.’
‘You must have some idea what he was up to. Stealing, was it?’
‘Sir,’ Anthea said.
‘Constable Merritt? Stealing,’ Shaw repeated, before she had a chance to speak again.
Chris wondered why Sharon should be the target of his sarcasm. Surely the sergeant realised that the only way to get the girl to talk was to win her trust, and that even with the best efforts that might not be possible.
‘My brother wasn’t stealing,’ Sharon said firmly and with dignity. ‘He did jobs for people.’
‘What kind of jobs?’
‘Messages.’
Shaw smiled as though he’d achieved or proved something. Chris thought of Inspector Ferguson and how there wasn’t much to choose between this man and his superior.
‘What about your brothers? Surely they would have noticed when Bobby wasn’t there?’
‘They didn’t — they —’
‘Wouldn’t dob him in. I see. And meanwhile he’s lying in the railway yard with a dog lead round his throat.’
‘Sir.’ This time it was Chris. ‘Is that necessary?’
‘I’ll decide what’s necessary, constable.’
Sharon began to shake. Anthea put an arm around her. Shaw’s phone rang and he turned away to answer it.
Chris was sure that Sharon’s shock was genuine. If the sergeant thought she’d had anything to do with Bobby’s murder, or knew someone who did, then watching her now Chris put the idea firmly out of his mind. He caught Anthea’s eye and they exchanged a silent agreement that the best place for Sharon at that moment would probably be the bakery. Her parents would harass her if they left her at the house.
Phil and Avis were arguing in the kitchen where they were supposed to be comforting their sons. They hadn’t asked to be present while Sharon was interviewed. Rodney and David, Bobby’s brothers, made a pair; it was as though they’d been born twins. They offered Sergeant Shaw blank stares.
The news had been broken to them suddenly, and they’d not had time to take it in. Even the simple confirmation that they shared a room with Bobby seemed beyond them.
When Shaw asked if Bobby had told them where he was going last night, they had no answer. Belatedly, they shook their heads.
Shaw looked from one to the other. ‘What time did Bobby go out?’
Avis was sitting with her back to the window, smoking, watching the police officers through narrowed eyes. Sunlight picked up dust on the shoulders of her mourning dress. Sharon sat between her brothers, with an arm around each one.
Shaw took David and Rodney through their morning routine. They confirmed that their father had left early, while their mother stayed in bed. Bobby didn’t like to be woken up, Rodney said. They’d got dressed quickly and gone out to the kitchen.
It had been light enough at six-thirty for them to tell at a glance whether or not their brother’s bed was occupied. This meant Rodney was lying. Chris guessed the boy was used to lying where his older brother was concerned, and that it still hadn’t hit him that Bobby was dead.
David began to cry. Sharon grasped his hand and squeezed it tight.
Shaw kept up his questions: where did Bobby go at night?
Avis said, blowing smoke towards the ceiling, ‘The pub.’
‘Which one?’
‘Search me.’
David’s crying grew louder. Sharon moved so that he could sit on her knee. Rodney looked stony-faced and angry.
Avis spoke again. ‘We’re all sound sleepers in this family.’
Chris realised that they would get no more out of the children while she was there.