‘I’ve told you before. Your being one of the fathers is the closest we’ll come to getting people talking. Find out if Crombie and Kennington know something.’

Bish flushed the toilet anyway because he no longer cared if Grazier thought he was taking a dump while talking to him.

‘What else do you do, Grazier, apart from ordering people around?’

‘The fun stuff, Ortley. I get to hang out with Eddie Conlon’s father and reassure him that his son’s not going to turn up dead. And next week I get to watch two families bury their teenage children, and a town say farewell to its favourite teacher. Make the comparison. Who would you rather be at the moment?’

Bish knew he was going down to Surrey whether he wanted to or not.

Grazier must have taken his silence as acquiescence. ‘Any theories about why Crombie targeted Kennington?’ he asked.

‘Kennington’s apparently a bit of a squealer,’ Bish told him. ‘I suppose he could have something on Crombie, who may have tried to keep him quiet.’

‘And the story with Crombie? By the sounds of it, he’s quite the little cunt.’

‘Quite,’ Bish agreed. ‘He was at the back of that bus. He was asked to help a kid sitting in the seat close to where the bomb went off, but refused. Could have known it was there.’

‘Too far-fetched. If you’re a murdering little bastard who knows there’s a bomb, you’re not going to stay on board. Plus he doesn’t have a motive.’

‘And Violette does?’

‘Have we ever implied Violette’s a suspect?’ Grazier asked.

Bish still hadn’t worked out where Grazier stood when it came to the missing pair.

‘Did you get that phone call between her and the grandparents translated?’

Grazier’s telltale sigh sounded in Bish’s ear, and he didn’t know whether it was his pissed-off sigh or exhaustion.

‘Let’s not talk about the translation. Let’s just find her and Eddie and bring them in. They’re our number-one priority and anything Crombie or Kennington can tell us may help.’

Bish wondered what was in the conversation between the LeBracs that made Violette Grazier’s number-one priority.

‘Just get over there before Crombie’s parents arrive,’ Grazier said. ‘They’re travelling from Margate, so you’ve got about an hour on them. If we’re lucky, the kid doesn’t know his rights and he’ll talk.’

Charlie Crombie did know his rights and he was talking to no one. His sour-faced expression shifted slightly when Bish entered the holding cell in Guildford. A pathetic attempt at summer facial hair made him look even more pale and puny.

‘I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you apologised to Kennington,’ Bish said. It was the best advice he could give. ‘I’ll talk to his parents, persuade them to drop the charges, and this won’t go on your record.’

‘And I think it would be in everyone’s best interest,’ Charlie mimicked, ‘if you were out there looking for my missus.’

‘Violette’s your missus, is she? A bit derogatory.’