‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’

Alex unclipped her seat belt and opened the passenger-side door. She was too shaken up from the crash the previous night to drive and had been spared admitting so when Chloe had made the offer. She had planned to tell her colleagues as little as possible, but as soon as she’d mentioned the brake failure she knew she’d made a mistake. She didn’t want to discuss it any further, but Chloe was unlikely to let the matter drop.

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

She wasn’t fine, but sitting at home feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to achieve anything. She kept telling herself that whatever had happened the previous evening had been nothing more than an accident, but the more she tried to convince herself, the more unlikely the scenario seemed. It was very rare that accidents just happened. More often than not, there was someone to blame.

Alex and Chloe waited at the front door before following Mahira Hassan into the house and through to the living room. The woman was clearly house-proud: there was not a single cushion out of place on the sofa and the room was so spotlessly clean and minimalist that Chloe felt as though they had entered a show home. Mahira gestured to the sofa and offered them a cup of tea. Alex declined, but Chloe accepted. Mahira went to call Faadi before making her way to the kitchen. She told the officers he was upstairs in his bedroom and had barely left there since hearing about what had happened to Corey the night before.

‘Bit weird all this, don’t you think?’ Chloe said once Mahira had left the room. She perched on the edge of the sofa, too uneasy to sit back and disturb the arrangement of the cushions. It was a wonder anyone could ever relax when surrounded with such order. The place was so tidy it made Chloe’s own minimalist home seem cluttered in comparison. ‘I was only with them a few days back at the shop, and now this. Seems a bit coincidental.’

She stood and crossed the room to the fireplace, looking at the family photograph that hung in a thick gold frame above it. She guessed it had been taken several years earlier: Faadi, the boy she had met at the shop, looked no more than eight years old, and Mahira seemed much younger than the woman who had just left the room. In the photograph, she was standing next to her husband, whose arm was draped around her shoulder. There were two other boys, older than Faadi, who Chloe assumed were his brothers.

She turned to the door at the sound of voices in the corridor: Mahira Hassan cajoling her youngest son into entering the living room and speaking with the two officers waiting for him there. When he finally did come in, he kept his head lowered and his eyes fixed to the carpet. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms that were a size too small for him and stretched around his middle, and a T-shirt that looked as though it was part of a pyjama set. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, first shoving them into his pockets and then pulling down his T-shirt, awkwardness radiating from him with an intensity that quickly became uncomfortable for everyone else in the room.

‘You’re not in any trouble, Faadi,’ Chloe told him with a smile.

He didn’t respond, but sat down at the end of the sofa, still keeping his focus away from the two officers.

‘We just want to ask you a couple of questions about yesterday evening. Is that okay?’

‘Is Corey all right?’ Faadi asked, his voice barely audible.

‘He’s fine,’ Alex said. ‘He’s back home already.’

The tension in Faadi’s shoulders eased slightly, his body relaxing at the news that his friend was okay. His mother stood at his side, a reassuring hand placed on his back. ‘There we are,’ she said, rubbing her palm up and down his spine. ‘I told you he’d be all right, didn’t I?’

Chloe sat on the sofa, making sure to keep a distance between herself and Faadi. From what she had already seen of him at the shop on Friday, he seemed a shy boy, younger than his thirteen years. It had been impossible to get anything from Corey; perhaps speaking with Faadi was going to prove just as challenging.

‘Have you and Corey been friends long?’

Faadi shook his head. ‘I don’t really know him,’ he mumbled.

‘Faadi,’ Mahira said gently, ‘try to speak up a bit so the officers can hear you.’

The boy looked embarrassed by his mum’s words and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. ‘We talk online, on the Xbox. I don’t really know him, but Mum says I should try to make some friends and Corey’s the person I’ve spoken to the most.’

‘So you invited him over to play computer games with you?’ Chloe asked. ‘Sounds fun.’

‘Not really,’ Faadi said, his brief confidence already lost and his voice lowered to a mutter once again. ‘I mean, it was okay.’

‘I’ll go and make that tea,’ Mahira said. She didn’t look as though she wanted to leave the room and glanced nervously at her son as though doubting he would cope without her there. Chloe felt sorry for the boy: he didn’t know where to look, and she wondered if he went about his life like this, seemingly nervous of his own shadow. He was slightly overweight, and she suspected that along with his nervousness it probably made him an easy target for bullies.

‘Faadi,’ Alex said, ‘did Corey say anything to you about meeting anyone on Saturday?’

‘No. He just said he was going home. Mum doesn’t drive and Dad wasn’t here, but he said he was fine to walk. It isn’t far.’

There was a sound out in the hallway, the closing of the front door, and moments later the living room door was opened and a young man appeared, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket and his sullen face set in a scowl. He had chiselled features and thick black hair that fell over his face. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, looking from Chloe to Alex. The question had the tone of a challenge.

Chloe recognised the young man from the photograph she’d been looking at above the fireplace: the oldest of the three Hassan brothers.

‘DC Chloe Lane,’ she said, standing from the sofa. ‘This is DI Alex King.’

Syed glanced down at his brother before putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘Fatty,’ he said, dragging the word out in a drawl. ‘You been in trouble with the police again, eh?’ He laughed at his own joke, and Chloe noticed the fingers he held clasped on Faadi’s shoulder tightening. By the looks of things, the boy didn’t need to go to school to get bullied.

‘I expect you’ve heard about the attack on Corey Davies that took place last night,’ Alex said, having also noted the way in which Syed Hassan manhandled his brother. ‘We’re just here to ask Faadi a few questions.’

‘Why?’ Syed snapped. ‘It’s nothing to do with him.’

Mahira appeared in the doorway behind him, a mug of tea in her hand. ‘Syed … now isn’t a good time. You’re not supposed to be here.’

He glanced back at her. ‘Who’s the tea for? They’re not stopping.’

‘Actually,’ Chloe said, accepting the drink, ‘we’re in the middle of speaking with Faadi, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving us to it …’ She held his gaze, unprovoked by his attempts to unsettle her. It was clear Syed Hassan had little respect for the police, and it seemed he had even less for women.

‘Found out who torched our shop yet?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow and turning his attention to Alex.

‘The investigation is ongoing.’

Syed laughed. ‘So no, then. But, you know,’ he said, turning back to his mother, ‘let them do their job, isn’t it, Mother?’

Mahira moved past him, avoiding any physical contact. ‘Please go, Syed,’ she said, her voice fraught with exhaustion. ‘I’ll call you later.’

He opened his mouth to speak, but finding himself outnumbered thought better of it and left, slamming the front door behind him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mahira said quietly.

‘No need,’ Chloe said, sipping her tea as she moved to the sofa. ‘Okay, Faadi, we’re almost done. You were telling us about Corey leaving here yesterday. What time was that?’

‘About eight o’clock. He texted his mum to say he was leaving.’

‘These games you play on the Xbox,’ Alex said. ‘Do they involve you speaking to other people online? People you don’t know?’

Although the incident involving Corey Davies appeared at first to be random, they had to consider the possibility that the boy might have known his attacker. He was vulnerable – more so than most boys of his age – and it was this that made him an easy target. Had his attacker chosen him, he had done so knowing that Corey would be unlikely to fight back.

Mahira shook her head and looked at her son, concern etched on her tired face. ‘We don’t allow him to do any of that,’ she told Alex. ‘He’s too young. It’s not safe.’

‘Faadi,’ Chloe said, knowing that even the most attentive of parents couldn’t possibly be aware of their child’s every movement. ‘You’re not going to be in any trouble, okay?’ She looked to Mahira and gave her a nod. It was difficult for parents to hear that their child might have been involved in something they had known nothing about, particularly in cases that involved potential danger. ‘Did you or Corey speak to anyone online yesterday?’

Faadi’s head remained lowered, but Chloe could see a tear escape the corner of his left eye. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘We didn’t speak to anyone.’

Chloe stood. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hassan, that’ll be all for now. Thank you, Faadi.’ She paused for a moment, wondering whether the boy might offer anything else. When he didn’t, they left.

---

‘What do you think?’ Chloe asked when they were back at the car.

‘Which part?’

‘Faadi. Poor kid seems scared of his own shadow.’

‘That might well be,’ said Alex, doing up her seat belt, ‘but he’s probably a lot more scared of that brother of his.’

Chloe started the engine and pulled away from the kerb, casting a parting glance at the Hassan house. For whatever reason, Faadi was withholding something, and she was determined to find out what and why.