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straight away,' she promised. 'We can find out if there's been any unusual activity in his account, or any change in his takings or spending, although I'll bet a lot of it never reaches the bank.' There was a pause.
      'What are you thinking, ma'am?' he asked.
      'I'm thinking we should pay a visit to Johnny Drew,' she replied. 'And I'm thinking it's time you called me gov.'
      'Right you are, gov,' he grinned again. Geraldine glanced in the mirror as they drove away. The sign on the door had been turned round. It was business as usual at the Bella Café.

 
     
    7
     
     
    Johnny
     
     
     
     
    The flat Angela Waters had shared with her boyfriend was above a shabby parade of shops on the edge of a rundown estate. Dull white paint stained yellowy brown, like nicotine fingers, grimy shop frontages, litter blowing across the pavement: torn newspaper, food cartons, plastic bags like deflated balloons brought urban wildlife in the shape of foxes and rats scavenging the area. Yet the street possessed a vitality lacking in the more expensive areas of town; a community that screamed its commitment to life. However hard it might be, life was precious.
      Geraldine heard the sergeant's feet thud above her on the concrete staircase. It formed a dismal passageway between a derelict printer's and a flower shop from which a dark haired girl in a very short skirt stared curiously at them. The staircase stank. Geraldine reached the top and stepped on to a balcony that ran above the shop fronts. It was draughty and strangely quiet. Geraldine looked over the parapet on to the street where, far below, a group of boys in grey and brown hoods were kicking a can along the gutter. From her elevated viewpoint, she watched a diminutive old woman crawl along the pavement towards them. Geraldine tensed, but the youngsters were intent on their can.
      She knew she mustn't let her judgement be clouded by intuition, but Geraldine had misgivings about Johnny Drew even before she saw him. He made them wait too long and when he finally came to the door, his woebegone expression was too fixed. Although he displayed all the signs of the shocked bereaved, she was convinced he was playing a part. Following him along the gloomy hallway, Geraldine sized him up from behind, noting his narrow shoulders and torso, his body skinny beneath a tight fitting T-shirt. He led them into a back room that smelt of stale beer and cigarettes, where they sat on a worn sofa and chairs that didn't match. Restless eyes in a sharp face flitted over her and away in motion as rapid as the movements of a trapped fly.
      Frowning at her notebook, she struggled to keep up with Drew's pat answers. He had probably been rehearsing this scenario for hours. He must have known they'd be round. He spent his working week selling cars. Now he was selling his innocence. Geraldine hadn't believed his expressions of grief, but nor did she believe he had killed Angela Waters. Once again, she couldn't have said why, but something didn't feel right. His grief might seem insincere, but that didn't make him a murderer.
      Angela had allegedly complained that Johnny wasn't ready to settle down, but that was hardly a motive for murder. His alibi was more interesting. It wasn't watertight, not by a long chalk. He told them he'd been busy arranging test drives on the morning of the 26th September. Details of cars rolled off his tongue, but he couldn't give a satisfactory account of his movements between ten and ten thirty. He said he'd been in the forecourt chatting up a punter. It might be true, but he couldn't recall the customer's name. He thought it might have been a Mr Shah. He'd only met Angela's mother and brother once and admitted he hadn't liked them much. Angela had never mentioned a father. He didn't know if her father was alive, didn't even know if she had one. They'd never talked about their families.
      'Was she seeing anyone else?' Geraldine hazarded. Johnny actually snorted,