They knew I’d taken the tablets. Homelea had complained about me. I took the police officers into the kitchen. Ray made himself scarce and went to join the children in the lounge. There were two of them, plainclothes. A thick-set man with blue-black hair and very white skin, and a younger woman with a dark brown ponytail and a horsy face. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Crawshaw,’ said the man, ‘and this is Detective Sergeant Bell.’ She flipped open her notepad. He established my name, address and occupation. Not a twitch when I said I was a private investigator. ‘What’s it all about?’ I asked. ‘We’re investigating a serious crime and we think you may be able to help us with our enquiries. We’d like to ask you a few questions.’ He’d obviously done the public relations training. Lots of eye contact, a direct approach yet still managing to ignore my question. ‘Do you know a Mr James Achebe?’ Oh, no. My guts clenched. Something was terribly wrong. A serious crime, they’d said.
