You can’t argue with that, he thought, scanning the place for evidence of the missing son, and finding none. No photos, no games console, no men’s magazines, in fact nothing to read at all. There were the two sofas, the TV, and a boarded-up hearth with a gas fire, shelves on either side stacked with DVDs. There were a few odds and ends, a pile of opened envelopes, a decorative mug from somewhere he couldn’t make out, a huge red glass ashtray that looked like it’d been stolen from a pub several decades ago.

‘This your house, is it?’

‘Yeah, right! I rent it from Mr Azrim. He’s all right. Been here a while.’

‘How long’s a while?’

‘Four, five year.’

‘Do you work, Jane? Can I call you Jane?’

‘You can call me what you want, love. And no. I mean, yes and no.’

Joe sighed.

‘I’m not here about your benefit claims. Could I have a straight answer?’

‘I’m on the social. I do a bit of cleaning. Cash in hand. Haven’t done it for a while. It’s not regular.’

He nodded, considered Ms Shaw’s lot. Housing benefit for the rent. The cleaning money for cheap cider. Over the last twelve months he’d thought about doing something similar himself. Downsizing.

‘Craig’s dad? Is he worried?’

She looked for her cigarettes, then took an age getting one to her lips and lighting it.

‘Never been a dad,’ she said, staring at the tip of her cigarette as it smouldered in her hand.

‘No one at all? Anyone Craig might have gone to, or contacted?’

She shook her head.

‘Doesn’t know who his dad is. Was.’

‘Dead?’

She raised her head, keeping it as steady as she could.

‘Dunno. I never knew.’

‘And there’s no one else he might have gone to stay with? Family? Friends? Have there been any arguments recently, with you or anyone else?’

She shook her head.

He sat back, took a few breaths. The stink was getting bearable, and the sofa was pretty comfortable. Leather’s definitely the way to go. Pricey, though. You can’t afford it the moment, Joe…

‘Have you lived in Wortley long?’

She took a long draw on her cigarette. He watched as she sucked the smoke in. There was something unnatural about it. Her shoulders actually lifted to expand her lungs, as if to get more smoke into them.

‘Leeds. Here and there.’

He didn’t press the point. He sensed that Jane Shaw would be on file back at Elland Road.

‘I’m from round here as well,’ he said. ‘My grandma lived across from the Brick ’til the day she died. And my Uncle Frank started out as a clerk at Leeds Fireclay, just after the war.’

He thought about his uncle for a second. Francesco Romano. Dead now. Didn’t stay a clerk for long. The Romanos? We’re not clerks.