‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.
‘Where?’ Rachel said.
‘School.’
‘You’re late, aren’t you?’
He didn’t answer, rubbed his nose.
‘Word has it the warehouse was used for drug-dealing. You know anything about that?’ Rachel said.
‘No.’ Something altered in his eyes.
‘You’ve not been there, buying stuff?’
‘No,’ he scowled.
‘So, if we were to arrange a drugs test, you’d be clear?’
‘You can’t do that without permission, I’m only fourteen,’ he said. ‘Need an appropriate adult with me, too.’
‘Been reading up on your rights, have you?’ she said. ‘Look, I just don’t think you’ve been very honest with me, and that makes me think you might have something to hide. Maybe you do know where your dad is but you’re not saying, maybe you know something about the drug deals but you’re too scared to say.’
‘I’m not scared,’ he sneered.
‘But you are concealing something and that would warrant us cautioning you and holding you for formal questioning. Your mum could be the appropriate adult if you wish.’
He set his jaw, the edges of his lips whitened with tension. ‘I don’t know where he is,’ he said, ‘I swear.’
Rachel didn’t respond, she wanted more.
He cleared his throat. ‘But I seen them about, the blacks.’
‘You know their names?’
He shook his head.
‘Come on, Connor.’
‘It’s the fucking truth!’ His face flushed red. ‘Look, there’s this girl, Shirelle, she used to hang with the bloke. Talk to her.’
‘Shirelle who?’
He shook his head.
‘Where will I find her?’
‘She lives in Hawkins,’ he said.
The high-rise, Hawkins Tower. Over a hundred flats. ‘That really narrows it down,’ Rachel said.
‘That’s all I can tell you.’
‘What’s she look like, this Shirelle?’
‘Half-caste,’ he said.
‘How old?’
‘Twenty?’ he said uncertainly. ‘I didn’t tell you, and I’m no grass.’ For a moment he sounded very young, scared. He bit his lip. How many times had he answered the door to the police already? His father not out five minutes and already looking at a recall. Return to jail, do not pass go.
‘You ever done any boxing?’ Rachel said.
‘What?’ He was thrown by the change of topic.
‘Boxing. The gym in town. They do boxing, self-defence.’
‘I can look after myself.’ He bristled, probably thought she was calling him a weed.
‘Not saying you can’t. Bet you’d be a good bantamweight with the right training.’
‘What’s this? Olympics crap?’
The country was awash with promotional stuff for the London Olympics. ‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘You should give it a go. There’s five-a-side too, table football. What else you going to do? Hang around here and end up getting into trouble?’