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one when a response vehicle on the forecourt lit up the room with blue strobe light and blazed away with howling sirens. Groves damn near jumped out of his skin and stared wildly out of the window as more vehicles came to life with equal urgency.
    Deans would usually turn up the volume on his Airwave radio and monitor the action, but right at that moment, Groves’ responses fascinated him far more. Unluckily for Groves, nothing was evading Deans’ attention.
    He had only just met him but a number of factors already niggled Deans about Groves. Why had he been so hard to contact? Why did not he report his own girlfriend missing, and why was he being so edgy?
    To start the interview with anything too heavy would undoubtedly make Groves unreceptive and that would do no good for either of them. Deans needed to earn some trust. He needed common ground, and he found it in the shape of rugby.
    Deans was a life-long Bath rugby fan and had played rugby himself for many years, before too many injuries swung the balance towards common sense and the need to acknowledge that he was getting older. Groves was a physically imposing lad and happened to be wearing a Minerva University rugby-training top.
    ‘So, I see you’re wearing a drill top. What are you, Centre, fullback?’
    For the first time Groves looked at Deans for more than a second or two, and after a short delay replied, ‘Fullback.’
    ‘I guess you’re either good with the boot, in defence or a pretty handy runner?’
    Groves squinted and tilted his head. ‘All of the above, I guess.’ This time he did not look away.
    Deans grasped the connection.
    ‘I bet you’re the last person the oppo want to see hurtling towards them. You’re a pretty big unit.’
    Groves nodded, looked Deans up and down. ‘I look after the boys.’
    He was now not only facing Deans square on, but had also leant very slightly towards him, engaging in the conversation.
    ‘So how many tries have you scored over the past few seasons?’ Deans asked.
    Groves’ eyes almost smiled as they darted up to his left.
    He did not answer immediately but Deans was not about to say anything else until Groves next spoke.
    ‘This season’s only just got started, so none, yet. Last season I had… fifteen, and the season before twelve or thirteen, I think.’ He stared directly at Deans for the longest time in their brief contact. He was seeking approval and recognition.
    Deans indulged him. ‘Good stuff, mate. That’s pretty impressive.’
    ‘Plus, something around three hundred points with the boot.’
    Groves’ head was now tilting slightly backwards, exposing more of his throat. He was clearly feeling increasingly confident.
    Test over.
    ‘Tell me about last Friday with Amy.’
    Groves immediately lowered his head and looked anywhere but at Deans, who waited until the next eye contact.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘How about how things were left with Amy?’
    ‘We were fine. She was off to see her family.’
    Groves had placed a gentle emphasis on the word ‘family’, which did not evade Deans’ attention.
    ‘Family?’ he mirrored.
    ‘In Devon.’
    As Groves spoke, he looked down at the table and simultaneously scratched the side of his neck.
    Deans made a mental note, some kind of issue with the family. Alternatively, with Devon, or with Amy going away to Devon. He scribbled Devon in his daybook and circled it.
    ‘Ever been there yourself?’
    Groves rubbed his nose, partially covering his mouth as he gave his answer. ‘No.’
    Deans allowed a pregnant pause do some work for him, covering his own mouth with the back of his hand, not once breaking his focus away from Groves.
    Groves sneaked eye contact once again and stirred in his seat. The silence was getting to him. Deans counted to seven slowly in his head.
    ‘Tell me about the last time you saw Amy.’
    Groves’ eyes darted around the tabletop, and Deans noticed his right hand was squeezing the fingers of his other