THE WHOLE Bartlett family was sitting around the television watching Emmerdale when Banks arrived that evening after teatime, having spent most of the afternoon reading over the article Jason had written and talking with various contacts about some of the racist ideas he had expressed. The family was clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but Gus turned the volume down and seemed resigned to answering a few questions.

“Mostly it’s Jason I’d like to talk to,” said Banks.

“What have I done?” said Jason. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Nobody’s saying you have,” said Banks. “I just want a word, that’s all.”

“We’re all staying,” said Gus.

Banks nodded. “Very well. Suit yourselves.” So they all settled back in their chairs and waited. Emmerdale went on with the sound turned down.

Jason looked both furtive and distracted. “I’ve got an exam tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “So please hurry up. I’ve got revision to do.”

“What is it?” Banks asked.

“Media Studies.”

“Ah. Watching television.”

“Shows how much you know.”

“Jason!” said his mother. “Manners.”

“Well, he was making fun of me.”

“It was a joke,” said Banks. “Obviously in poor taste. I’m sorry.”

Jason said nothing.

Banks turned to Gus Bartlett. “I understand you work with Granville Myers on the Neighborhood Watch?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“I was wondering if any of you out there noticed anything odd on the Sunday night before last, when the Syrian boy, Samir, was killed. Do you have written records, reports and so on?”

“We do,” said Bartlett. “But Sally Villiers keeps those. She’s a secretary at the town hall, for the council, like, and she’s skilled at that sort of thing.”

“Do you submit incident reports?” Banks smiled. “If it’s anything like us, you’d have to write even the slightest detail up in triplicate.”

Bartlett laughed. “No. It’s not that bureaucratic. But we do keep records. Incident reports, as you say. I mean, a good deal of our job is intelligence. Not so much catching criminals in the act as keeping an eye on neighborhood trends, suspicious strangers hanging about, that sort of thing.”

“Do you photograph them?”

“Sometimes. Some of our members do, yes.”

“Get a lot of strangers?”

“Not many. No.”

“What about recently? Before the Sunday in question. Just from memory.”

“None I can think of, no.”

“And that evening?”

“I’d have to check, but I don’t think there was anyone from the Watch out that night. Sundays are usually pretty quiet.”

“Burglars’ night off?”

Bartlett laughed. “I see what you mean. But it’s true. We’ve rarely had any kind of incident on a Sunday evening.”

“So nobody was out on patrol that night?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you weren’t in the park with Granville Myers?”

“I . . . no. As I said, we didn’t go out Sunday night.”

“Ever had any incidents down in the park?”