Unless our girl was thick, the book wasn’t in her room. But a soft tip like this one – could be nothing, could be everything – it’s a rock and a hard place. Call in a full team, swarm the school grounds with searchers, come out with nothing or with some kid’s messing: you’re the squad joke and the gaffer’s budget-waster headache, can’t be trusted to make the judgement calls. Stick to whatever you and one tagalong can get done, miss the clue stuffed behind a classroom rad, miss the witness who could steer you home: you’re the fool who had it handed to you on a plate and threw it away, who didn’t think a dead boy was important, can’t be trusted to make the judgement calls.

Conway was playing it tight, playing it careful. Not that she’d care, but I agreed with that. If our girl was smart, and the odds said she was, we wouldn’t find the book either way. Stuffed in a bush a mile away by now, into a city-centre bin. If she was extra smart she’d made the card weeks ago, ditched the book then, waited till it was well gone before she set things moving.

We set out the food on the wall between us. Conway ripped the clingfilm open and went for her sandwich. Ate like it was fast fuel, no taste. Mine was better than I’d been expecting. Nice mayo and all.

‘You’re good,’ she said, through a mouthful. Not like it was a compliment. ‘Give them what they want. Tailor it special for each one. Cute.’

I said, ‘Thought that was my job. Get them comfy.’

‘They were that, all right. Next time maybe you can give them a pedicure and a foot massage, how’s that?’

I reminded myself: Just a few days, make your mark with the gaffer, wave bye-bye. Said, ‘I thought you were gonna come in, maybe. Push them a little.’

Conway flashed me a stare that said, You questioning me? I thought that was my answer, but after a moment she said, out to the playing field, ‘I interviewed the shite out of them. Last time.’

‘Those eight?’

‘All the kids. Those eight. All their year. All Chris’s year. All of them who could’ve known anything. A week in, the tabloids were getting their kacks in a knot, “Cops are going easy on the little rich kids, there’s strings being pulled, that’s why there’s been no arrest” – a couple of them said right out, practically, there was a cover-up. But there was nothing like that. I went at these kids same as I’d have gone at a bunch of knackers out of the flats. Exactly the same.’

‘I believe you.’

Her head came round fast, chin out. Looking for snide. I stayed steady.