Rustles under the trees, a shake in the hedge. They were everywhere, watching me. A trio on the grass glanced across, chins turning over shoulders, huddled in tight to whisper. Another laugh, this one fired straight at me.

Half an hour, maybe, till someone called time on the interview and I got to hunch in Conway’s passenger seat like a kid caught spray-painting, for the long silent drive home. Spend that half-hour standing here like a spare prick, with teenage girls giving me the sideways once-over and the snide commentary: bollix to that. Do a legger back round to the front of the school like this lot had terrified me off, hang around hoping no one would see me waiting for the big kids to give me my lift home: bollix to that, too.

‘And fuck Conway anyway,’ I said, out loud, not loud enough for any of the glancing girls to hear. If we weren’t working together, then I was flying solo.

I didn’t know where to start looking. I didn’t have to: they called to me. Voices out of the black-and-white dazzle, untwisting themselves from the breeze-rustles and the bats: Detective, Detective Moran! Over here! Silvery, gauzy, everywhere and nowhere. I turned like blind-man’s-buff. Heard giggles whirl like moths among the leaves.

Off in the tree-shadows, across the slope of lawn: pale flutters, hands waving, beckoning. Detective Stephen come here come here! I went, weaving between the watching eyes. Could’ve been anyone, I would’ve gone.

They grew outlines and features out of nothing, like Polaroids. Gemma, Orla, Joanne. Propped on their elbows, legs stretched out, hair hanging to the grass behind them. Smiling.

I smiled back. That I could do, at least. That I was great at. Beat Conway any day.

‘Did you miss us?’ Gemma. Neck arched.

‘Here,’ Joanne said. Shifted closer to Gemma, patted the grass where she’d been. ‘Come talk to us.’

I knew to run. I had better sense than to be in a lit room alone with Holly Mackey, never mind out here with these three. But them looking at me like they actually wanted me around, that made a nice change; that was sweet as cool water on burns.

‘Are we allowed to call you Detective Stephen?’

‘Duh, what’s he going to do, arrest us?’

‘You’d probably enjoy it. Handcuffs—’

‘Can we? Your card said Stephen Moran.’

‘What about Detective Steve?’

‘Ew, please! That’s like a porn name.’

I kept smiling, kept my mouth shut. They were different, out in the wild and the night. Skittery, slanty-glanced, swaying with breezes I couldn’t feel. Powerful. I knew I was outnumbered, back of my neck, the way you know it when three guys with a bad walk roll around the corner and pick up the pace towards you.

‘Come on. We’re bored.’ Joanne, crossed ankles rocking. ‘Keep us company.’