Lucy twirled the pen between her fingers and waited for the manager of The Darkest Knights to arrive at the meeting point. Sasha Thorndike had been heading from London up to the Midlands when Lucy had rung her, and they’d arranged to meet at a small hotel at a halfway point, near Banbury, Oxfordshire.

The Walton Arms offered accommodation and food but also had meeting rooms available for hire and were happy for Lucy to talk to Sasha on their premises. The room Lucy had been given contained two tables pushed together and four chairs. A jug of water and four glasses were in the middle of the tables, along with notepaper and pens, each bearing the logo of the hotel. The windows overlooked the car park and she watched the comings and goings of the guests. It wasn’t long before a black Maserati pulled into a space with a throaty roar, and a diminutive woman with a thin face and short bleached-blonde hair, dressed in a brown leather jacket, white blouse and jeans, emerged.

Within minutes, the same woman strode confidently into the room. She held out a hand, cool to the touch, and addressed Lucy. ‘Sasha Thorndike.’

‘Morning. DS Lucy Carmichael from Samford Police. Thank you for stopping off to meet me.’

Sasha dropped onto a chair and, resting an elbow on its arm, spoke first. ‘You said you needed to talk to me about the band, and Jed in particular.’

‘That’s correct. As I explained on the phone, I’m part of a team investigating a murder that took place in Samford and I have a few questions concerning Jed and the band.’

‘Okay.’

‘I was checking the band’s tour schedule and I saw no dates booked for this month.’

‘They’re not touring at the moment, that’s why. They’re writing new material and will be recording in the studio over the coming months.’

‘So, they weren’t performing any gigs last Friday?’

‘No. They won’t tour again until next year. We’re in the process of booking venues.’

‘Do you happen to know where Jed Malloney was last Friday?’

‘Yes, I do. He was doing an interview for a radio show.’ Her dark eyes remained fixed on Lucy.

‘In London?’

‘No. It was for one of the local radio shows. They were doing a special feature on drummers.’

‘Which radio station was it?’

‘BBC Radio Stoke.’

‘What time did it air?’

‘It wasn’t broadcast that afternoon. It was a recorded interview set up for around four thirty or five, I think. He had to be at the studio for four. These things often don’t go to schedule.’

‘Do you happen to know what time he got back to London?’

‘I can’t help you there. I have no idea which train he caught.’

‘He didn’t have a return ticket booked?’

‘Oh yes, he did, but he intended visiting his future in-laws while he was in the area and wasn’t sure of his exact movements, so he had a flexible return ticket, allowing him to catch whichever train he wanted. I don’t know which one he caught so I don’t know when he returned.’

‘But you made the travel arrangements?’

‘The office did. That’s one of our jobs, especially when it’s to do with publicity.’ Sasha pushed the sleeves of her jacket up her arms, revealing tattoos, before leaning across the table and pouring herself a glass of water.

‘Do you know Jed’s fiancée?’ Lucy asked.

Sasha took a swig of the water. ‘Phoebe. Sure. I’m friends with her, and with all the band members’ partners. They sometimes accompany the band on tour or support them at gigs. Phoebe comes along when she’s not flying. I try not to get too involved though. I have to maintain some distance to be professional. Primarily, I’m the band’s manager and can’t get too involved in the guys’ personal lives. Apart from Seth, obviously.’

‘How long have you been their manager?’

‘Since they first started up in July 2016. I wasn’t married to Seth then. We weren’t even an item. We only got hitched a few months ago.’

‘Congratulations. I expect you’ve come to learn a lot about the band members over that time.’

‘What is it you really want to know, Sergeant?’ Sasha’s voice had become more cautious.

‘Do you remember one of their early gigs in Stoke-on Trent the first week in December 2016?’

‘What about it?’

‘Two women managed to get backstage and spent time with the band until you broke it up.’

Sasha nodded. ‘I vaguely remember that. The guys were on a real high after a great gig and were knocking back a few beers in their dressing room. A couple of groupies had sneaked past the security I’d set up and were with them. I’d started using security because the group were beginning to attract quite a following, and girls, women and even men would often throw themselves at them. I wasn’t worried about what the guys got up to but I didn’t want any toxic fallout from a drunken tryst, some kiss-and-tell story that might ruin the band’s image or, worse still, cause a break-up, so I’d sometimes wade in and shoo the fans away myself. They’d pretty much scarper when I arrived on the scene.’

‘Can you recall anything about the women that night?’

‘It was ages ago. All I can remember is one scooted as soon as I told them to go but the other one hung around for a while.’

‘Did you notice if she was with any one particular member of the band?’

‘Like making a play for them?’

‘Yes.’

Sasha shrugged.

‘It would really help me if you could remember.’ Lucy got the sense Sasha was protecting her clients and knew more than she’d so far offered. ‘You must have some idea. It’s your job to keep an eye on them. Come on, Sasha, help me out here.’

‘She was all over Jed. That much I do recall. He was so high he’d no idea what was going on. All the guys were worse for wear, so I got us all back to the hotel. Once there, they went to bed, as far as I know.’

‘You don’t happen to know if that woman followed you to the hotel?’

‘I have no idea at all.’

Lucy opened the file in front of her and pulled out a photograph of Charlotte taken from her Instagram account.

Sasha studied it. ‘Yes. That looks very much like her although I can’t be completely sure.’ She pushed the photograph back across to Lucy and stared at her again. ‘Okay, what’s this really about? Is Jed in trouble? I have a right to know.’

‘We’re pursuing several leads and need to eliminate people from our investigation.’

‘You think he’s guilty of something? Will you be speaking to him about it?’

‘We certainly shall. He’s staying in Samford at the moment with Phoebe.’

‘Is he? He didn’t say anything to me about going away this weekend.’

‘He didn’t tell you it’s Phoebe’s sister, Charlotte, who’s been murdered?’

Sasha’s eyes opened wide. ‘No. He’s said nothing to me. How dreadful. Poor Phoebe. I didn’t even know she had a sister. Neither of them mentioned that fact. I always thought Phoebe was an only child. I should ring her. Talk to her.’

‘I wouldn’t at the moment. Her parents are very upset, as you can imagine, and they have a lot to arrange.’

‘I guess so. I’ll wait until Phoebe and Jed get back to London.’ She poured some more water and drank it quickly. ‘Jed isn’t a suspect, is he?’

‘As I said, we have to eliminate everyone connected to Charlotte from our enquiries.’

Sasha nodded and glanced at her large, plain-faced watch. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but I have an appointment to get to. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘That’s all, thank you for meeting me. I appreciate your help.’

---

If Natalie thought the Crossways Estate looked grim, the Ashmore Estate was far worse, like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. Natalie and Ian pulled up beside a piece of charred land, once a playing field, now home to a burnt-out carcass of a car. Before them stood several grey blocks of flats, interlinked by paths, overgrown with weeds and broken up with time. In parts, it was little more than a fly-tip zone, and as Natalie’s eyes lighted on a filthy, three-piece suite, surrounded by dirty nappies, takeaway boxes and empty beer cans, left on the grass verge outside the block where Hassan Ali lived, she winced at the thought of bringing up children in such a place. A large woman with several rings through her nose and wide eyes stared at them, whispering something to her companion, a twenty-something girl who kept her head lowered.

They walked on, mindful of a trio of teenage boys gathered outside the adjacent block, who watched their movements and spoke in loud voices, making big gestures like animals protecting their turf. Natalie turned quickly and approached them.

‘We’re looking for Hassan Ali and Finn Kennedy. Do you know them?’

One boy hawked up phlegm noisily and gobbed it onto the steps. ‘Maybe.’

‘Have you seen either of them around recently?’

The boy lifted slight shoulders and looked at his mates, who shook their heads and feigned indifference. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘Any of you use Adam’s, the boxing club?’ She aimed her question at one youth, with a tattoo on his neck and wide shoulders, who looked like he worked out.

‘What if we do?’

‘You any idea why Adam threw Finn out of the club?’

‘Finn got involved in a scrap. Adam wasn’t happy about it. Finn gave him some lip back and Adam lost his temper, told Finn to get out.’

In Natalie’s view, it was unlikely Adam would chuck a boy out because he’d been fighting. That was what he was learning to do. It had to be more serious than that. ‘When you say scrap, you mean a fight, don’t you? Did they use weapons?’

‘Maybe. I dunno. I wasn’t there. Why don’t you ask Adam?’

Natalie wasn’t going to waste any more time on these three. They either didn’t know much or weren’t going to be helpful. ‘You haven’t seen Finn then for a while?’

The boy with tattoos stared at her. ‘No.’

‘Either of you two seen him?’

She received the same blank stares. ‘Okay, if you do, get in touch with Samford Police.’ She knew her instruction was futile but it didn’t hurt to say it. Occasionally somebody would turn informant. Dismissed, the youths sloped off into the dark bowels of the building.

‘I have a feeling Hassan is not going to be home,’ said Ian as they climbed their second staircase of the morning.

‘He might be lying low. We’ll try regardless.’

Natalie took the lead and knocked on the door and was surprised to find it answered by a petite woman. Natalie showed her ID card and explained the purpose of her visit. ‘Could we talk to Hassan?’

‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’

‘We want to ask him about one of his friends, Finn Kennedy.’

‘You’d better come in, then.’ She ushered them inside, peering out behind her to ensure no neighbours had witnessed the exchange. The flat was poky but clean, and the distinctive aroma of cinnamon and coriander suggested the woman was in the process of cooking.

‘This way,’ said the woman, leading them down a narrow corridor, past a galley kitchen and to a room that served as a family room. Furnished simply with wooden banquettes against walls and Moroccan leather pouffes placed around a gleaming round copper table that stood in the middle of the room, it appeared larger than its actual size. Ian studied the gilt-framed artwork on the wall. There was a sense of culture and pride in the place.

‘I’ll fetch Hassan.’

She was gone only a minute and reappeared with a spindly youth with dark eyes, jet-black hair and the beginnings of a moustache above his lip. His arms hung limply by his side.

‘Hassan Ali?’ Natalie asked.

He nodded dumbly. His mother stood protectively by his side.

‘Where were you on Friday night?’

‘Chilling,’ he said. ‘There’s not much else to do here.’ His voice was surprisingly deep.

‘Who were you chilling with?’

‘Mates.’

‘I need names, Hassan.’

‘There was a group of us. There’s usually a group of us. Most of them live in Hounslow House. Why are you asking me this?’

‘We’re investigating the murder of Charlotte Brannon. I believe you know her husband, Adam?’

‘I go to the boxing club sometimes. Got to be able to look after yourself around here.’

‘Was Finn Kennedy with you on Friday?’

The quick flutter of his heavy lids was all the affirmation she needed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Surely you’d remember if Finn was there. He’s one of your mates, isn’t he?’

‘Not really.’

‘That’s not true, Hassan. His brother told us you’re friends.’

‘He’s wrong.’

‘Hassan, this is very important. A woman has been murdered. Finn has disappeared. Now, we’re not saying Finn was involved but he might have seen somebody who was near the Brannons’ house, and we must talk to him.’ Natalie glanced at his mother in the hope she would help persuade her son. It worked. She said something in Arabic. Hassan replied, a volley of incomprehensible barks. He looked back at Natalie.

‘I don’t know where he is. He’s not been round for a few days and he’s not answering his phone.’

‘Can you give me the names of the boys you were with on Friday night?’ She knew it didn’t mean much. Everyone they asked would say Hassan was with them. That was how it worked here. They stuck up for each other. She had no idea if he was the other youth they’d seen near the Brannons’ house, but she noted he was about the same height and build as the second person in the photograph.

His mother said something else. He nodded. ‘Abe, Leon and Mustafa. They live in Hounslow House. They go to the boxing club.’

Natalie suspected they were the same three youths they’d already spoken to. ‘Thanks. Any idea why Finn was booted out of the boxing club?’ she asked lightly.

Hassan shook his head. The eyelids gave it away again. He wasn’t telling the truth. She ended the interview and she and Ian marched back towards the car.

‘I think he’s lying. He knows where Finn is and he might even have been there on Friday night. I might bring him in for questioning. Being off his home turf will make him less confident.’ She slammed the car door as she got in.

‘Inge’s at college today. I checked with her mother before we left. She should be free in the next half hour. We’ll meet her there.’