‘And he hasn’t come home since? You didn’t see anything?’

‘No. But I heard something …’

‘Go on.’

By now Colin Beck was keen to pass on the information, seeing a way to be useful, to gain points.

‘It wasn’t him. I mean … someone was banging on his door.’

‘Who was it?’

‘I didn’t know. But they called out for him.’

‘A woman?’

‘No. A man. But …’

‘How many?’

‘Sorry?’

‘How many people?’

‘Just the one. One voice.’

‘What day was this?’

‘It was the day before signing-on day.’

‘Which is?’

‘I was brassic, skint, like, so—’

‘The day!’

‘Thursday.’

So, three days before Nicholas was killed. It might not mean anything …

‘Thank you. And what did he say?’

Beck looked confused. ‘Who?’

‘This man, the visitor, when he called out, what did he say, precisely? Come on!’

‘Wait. Let me remember …’

He came fully out of his flat, but he kept his door pulled to behind him.

‘Did you see him, this visitor?’ Hobbes asked.

‘No, I didn’t come out, not that time. And he left after a minute or so, getting no answer.’

‘Have you remembered yet?’

‘What?’

Hobbes sighed. ‘What was said?’

‘Oh, yeah, yeah. He called out for Nicholas. That was it.’

‘Not Mr Graves?’

‘No, I’m certain of it. Nicholas.’

That didn’t make it any easier, Hobbes thought. Maybe a relative, or a friend. But Nicholas, not Nick …

Hobbes softened his voice: ‘Colin, what is Mr Graves like? Do you get on with him?’ Still keeping to the present tense.

‘He keeps to himself. Old people can get like that, I think.’

‘You think he was old?’

‘Course he was. Getting on, getting on. And you know how it is, when they end up alone in life? Right? But he’s friendly enough, when we meet in the kitchen, or on the way to the bathroom. We share the facilities …’

‘I see. So all the flats are bedsits?’

Beck nodded. ‘Sure, that’s right. But I was never invited inside. Not once. Like I said, Nick was the private type.’

‘How many other people live here?’

‘There’s Josie, upstairs, that’s the top flat. And Mavis and Tom downstairs. They’re a couple, boyfriend, girlfriend. And, erm … the other downstairs flat is empty. Apart from Mavis, we’re all on the dole … This government, eh?’

‘You’re saying that Graves didn’t have a job?’

‘That’s right. He stayed in, mostly. Except for signing-on day.’

Hobbes mused on this. So Nicholas’s talk of being a journalist for the Telegraph had been a lie? One thing was certain: he’d come down in the world since the glory days of Bridlemere. ‘Any other visitors? Regular ones?’

Beck shook his head.

‘Come on, there must’ve been someone. Didn’t he have any friends, relatives? Lady friends, overnight guests?’

‘What? Nick? No, no, nothing like that. Not that I saw, anyway. That’s why, see … that’s why it was unusual, when that man came calling, banging on the door. And you, today. That’s why I came out, to see …’