“That’s right. And coffee’s fine, thank you,” said Gerry. The kitchen was a bright, airy room, all clean pine surfaces and gleaming white appliances, with four matching stools around a central island. Myers pointed to one and Gerry sat, resting her feet on the lower bar. The top of the island had a slight overhang, which formed a perfect recess under which her knees fitted snugly. Very nice, indeed. The hill wasn’t an area of town she knew well at all, and she could see why the locals might like it to remain a well-kept secret. She wondered what the house prices were like. More than she could afford, no doubt; she would be stuck in her one-bedroom flat on the edge of the student area for some time yet, she thought. Still, she had it all to herself, which was more than could be said for many young women away from home for the first time.

When he had poured them both coffee and put out the milk and sugar, Myers sat opposite Gerry and smiled. “At your service,” he said.

“You may have heard,” she began, “that there’s been a death on Hollyfield Lane.”

“Yes. A drug addict, wasn’t he?”

“That’s right. A man in his sixties called Howard Stokes. We don’t think there’s anything suspicious about his death, but we still have to ask a few questions.”

“Overdose, was what I heard.”

“Pardon?”

“A drug overdose. That’s what he died of.”

“I can’t really comment on that.”

“Most likely self-administered.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Oh, come, come, DC Masterson. Remember Lisa Bartlett?”

“Yes, of course, she’s—”

“Then you might also remember that Lisa is the daughter of a very good friend of mine, Gus Bartlett, a fellow founding member of the Watch, and she was sexually assaulted hardly a quarter of a mile from here on her way home from Eastvale Comprehensive just a month ago. The poor girl is still traumatized, absolutely traumatized.”

“I investigated the case, as you know,” said Gerry, “and it’s terrible, but you have to—”

“Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve had a regular police presence in this area? An occasional car passing through, let alone an officer walking the beat?”

“Our resources just don’t—”

“Then what are you here for? It’s not as if your solution rate is that high. I mean, you haven’t found out who assaulted poor Lisa yet, have you?”

“Believe me, Mr. Myers, it’s not for want of trying. She wasn’t able to give us a very accurate description of her attacker. But I want you to know we’re still working on it.”