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sure if I wanted to throw up or shit myself. I slithered through Crichlow’s grasp, collapsing on to my knees.
    â€˜Get him up.’
    Crichlow lifted me back up on to my feet and held me up by bracing my arms behind me.
    â€˜Dawn is a long way off and I can keep this up all night, because I am a very angry and upset man. I don’t think you can, so you need to talk. Someone killed my little brother and I want to know why.’
    Gates underlined his point by slamming his fist into my stomach a second time. I dry-retched against the impact and sagged, but Crichlow kept me from collapsing.
    â€˜Did you kill my brother?’
    â€˜No. I tried to save him.’
    â€˜You did a shitty job,’ Gates said and punched me again.
    I anticipated the blow and tightened my stomach, but it didn’t do me any good and I folded. This time, Crichlow released his hold on me and I dropped to the ground.
    My stomach was red hot from the punishment.
    â€˜Talk to me while you still can,’ Gates said.
    He disappeared into the shadows and returned with a toolbox. Panic knifed through me. Tools could be used to build things but, in the right hands, Gates’ hands, they could be used to destroy things.
    He pulled out a five-pound mallet and smashed it against the concrete floor. Concrete chips flew into the air from the impact.
    â€˜Hands are important to a driver, aren’t they?’
    Crichlow pushed me forward and kept me pinned with his knee on my neck. He yanked one of my hands out and pressed it to the ground.
    â€˜Look, I don’t know what you think happened, but I don’t know anything!’ I yelled.
    Gates pressed down on my wrist and raised the mallet. ‘Did you kill my brother?’
    â€˜No!’ I injected every ounce of honesty and truth into that one word.
    Gates froze as he tried to read me and I willed myself to be as transparent as possible so he could see the truth.
    Then he brought the mallet down. It struck the concrete millimetres from my outstretched fingers. The shockwave travelled through my hand and up into my shoulder.
    â€˜I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer truthfully and I won’t hurt you. Lie and I’ll make sure you’re never able to pick up a spoon let alone hold a steering wheel. Am I clear?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Get him up, Dominic.’
    Crichlow helped me to my feet and had to support me. The emotional toll had robbed me of my strength.
    Gates reclaimed the chair Crichlow had thrown aside and I fell into it. He found himself another and sat it down opposite me. Only Crichlow stood, like a hawk ready to take down its prey should it decide to run.
    â€˜How well did you know my brother?’
    â€˜I never met him.’
    â€˜You would have liked him. Everyone did, didn’t they, Dominic?’
    â€˜They did,’ Crichlow said.
    â€˜He was an honest, decent person. Everything I could never be.’ Gates’ eyes shone with tears and pride. This sign of his humanity failed to relax me. His brother’s death had left him wounded. That made him dangerous.
    â€˜Tell me what happened.’
    I replayed it for him the same way I had for the police. That I’d returned to the transporter to see my name. How I’d found his brother, how I’d tried to save his brother’s life and how I’d heard footsteps of someone running away.
    The details of Jason’s death tore into Gates. I watched how my words blew holes in him. I understood the pain of losing a loved one. I’d been lucky in comparison. I was a child when my mum and dad died. I wasn’t able to understand the enormity of that mammoth loss then. My loss was drip-fed to me as I reached the various milestones of my life – they weren’t there at school sports day and PTA meetings, when my first girlfriend dumped me, when I passed my driving test, when I took part in my first race, or today when I stepped on to the stage for my