‘Mrs Perry,’ said Janet, ‘DC Janet Scott.’ She showed her warrant card. ‘I am here to arrest Noel and Neil Perry and I have a warrant to search the property.’
‘Looking for what?’ Noreen Perry said. She had thin, greasy brown hair. She was overweight and her complexion was pale, doughy.
‘As you’ll see from the warrant,’ Janet said, ‘we are pursuing evidence connected to the murder of Richard Kavanagh at the Old Chapel on Wednesday.’
‘Murder?’ Mrs Perry said. ‘You’re off your fucking trolley.’
‘Any objects removed will be itemized and listed,’ Janet said.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Mrs Perry said, ‘they’ve done nothing wrong. This is harassment.’
‘If you wish to make a complaint, please do feel free.’ Janet was tired of the woman’s knee-jerk loyalty, the blanket defence, the rabid hostility.
Neither of the twins spoke at all.
‘Get them some disposable suits to wear and take them down,’ Janet told the officers escorting the suspects.
Once they had left, Mrs Perry shook her head, a bitter expression on her face, then eased herself into an armchair.
‘Perhaps you could tell me where Noel and Neil were on Wednesday evening?’ Janet said.
‘Perhaps you could fuck off.’
‘Hey,’ Rachel said, ‘watch the language.’
Janet nearly laughed, Rachel swore like a trooper.
‘You can’t say where they were?’ Janet said.
‘Here.’
‘All evening?’
‘Yes.’
Rachel gave Janet a knowing look.
‘They never went out?’ Janet said.
‘They were here all night,’ said Noreen Perry.
‘You do any washing since?’ Rachel said.
‘Machine’s broken,’ Noreen Perry said.
‘We’ll check that,’ Rachel said.
‘Launderette then?’ This from Janet.
Noreen Perry shook her head. ‘We’re going to execute the search warrant now,’ Janet said.
Assisted by four other officers, the search was thorough. Janet and Rachel began in the bedroom that the twins shared. The space was dominated by a large flat-screen TV and games console in front of the window, the floor a tangle of wires and controllers. The lighting was dim, the curtains closed. Janet drew them back to let in some natural light. Cobwebs and dead flies littered the window sill.
Six floors up and the view was extensive, out over the estate. Janet could see the ruins of the Old Chapel down below, the canal a glinting line between the buildings, the traffic streaming along Shuttling Way, the roundabout, the parade of shops, the roofs of the houses. Another damp day, the sky bruised and mottled.
Twin beds, each with a headboard and side table, were positioned to face the TV. High-energy snacks and power drinks littered the tables, and there was a mobile phone on each. A laptop lay on one bed. A set of dumbbells sat in the corner. The walls were decorated with posters, a naked woman draped over a Sherman tank, a bulldog wrapped in a Union Jack. A large St George’s Cross flag had been pinned up, and close by hung a pair of ceremonial swords in fancy sheaths. Janet shuddered to think of the twins wielding them.