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hand.
    Interesting , Deans thought.
    ‘I dropped her home after uni,’ Groves said, finally.
    ‘Any arrangements?’
    ‘Um.’ He blinked rapidly. ‘She said to meet up at uni on Monday.’
    ‘Any contact since then?’
    ‘No. I haven’t had any contact since then.’
    Groves’ response was robotic.
    ‘What did Amy say she would be doing over the weekend?’
    Groves dropped his head once more and imperceptibly rocked left and right in his chair.
    ‘She didn’t,’ he replied, quietly.
    ‘Did Amy say who she would be meeting up with in Devon apart from her parents?’
    ‘No.’
    Deans leant back in his chair, slid his daybook onto his lap and took his time to write something inside. He stared at the page.
    ‘Tell me, Carl, what have you done to find out where Amy is?’
    ‘Well, I’m here, aren’t I?’ Groves snarled, displaying a previously restrained hostility.
    Deans grinned and then looked up. ‘You are indeed.’
    Groves turned away.
    ‘Does Amy have a car?’ Deans asked. He of course already knew the answer but he needed a soft way in to his next real question.
    ‘Yeah – course,’ Groves hissed, screwing up his face.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Beetle.’
    ‘Cool. What colour?’
    Groves curled his upper lip. ‘Yellow.’
    ‘Thank you, Carl. Ever been in it?’
    ‘Course.’
    ‘Where is it now?’
    Groves turned sideways and scratched the back of his neck.
    ‘I guess it’s where she left it.’
    ‘Any ideas where?’ Deans was watching him closely.
    ‘I guess it’s at her parents’.’
    There was so much Groves was not saying, but was it enough to think there was anything sinister about him? Deans pondered it a while, creating another uncomfortable silence. Intrigued by a couple of the answers, he doodled in his daybook.
    The repeated use of ‘I guess’ was a nothing answer. Flippant, juvenile even. Not ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I can’t answer that because I haven’t seen it since Friday’, but ‘I guess’. Then there was the repeat to the question, ‘Any contact since then?’ Groves’ answer: ‘No, I haven’t had any contact since then.’ Not simply ‘No’, which would have been the easiest and quickest way to answer. Instead, he chose to repeat the question. Was that because responding parrot-fashion saved him from admitting to the truth? Whatever truth that might be?
    Deans mulled it over, his pen tapping his book as if he was tattooing the page. Was Groves’ slippery disposition enough to have him nicked? Moreover, for what offence? After all, this was only a MISPER enquiry.
    ‘I’m almost finished, Carl, for now. Jess – you know Jess don’t you?’
    Groves nodded, looked Deans up and Down.
    ‘Well, Jess mentioned that she thought you’d given Amy a lift home from uni.’
    ‘Yeah, I already said that,’ Groves said cuttingly.
    ‘Ah, yes,’ Deans said, looking into his book. ‘My mistake. What car do you have?’
    Groves backed up, just a fraction, but enough to display that he was growing increasingly wary.
    ‘Saxo.’
    ‘What colour?’
    ‘Orange.’
    ‘Standard-looking orange Citroen Saxo?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Groves said, his beady eyes giving away his own questioning mind.
    ‘Good,’ Deans said, closing his daybook with a dull thud. ‘Well, thank you, Carl. Unless you’ve any questions for me, I think we’re done here today.’
    Deans did not ask for the registration number of the Saxo. He did not need to, he had already seen a vehicle report on the intelligence database. He could get all the information he needed from that.
    Groves did not have any questions, stood up, and made for the door handle when Deans dropped in the all-important question.
    ‘So, Carl. Where do you think Amy is?’
    It stopped Groves in his tracks. He turned and neatly placed his chair tightly under the desk.
    ‘Beats me.’
    ‘Just before you go then,’ Deans said, ‘I think to be thorough, as neither of us knows where Amy is, I’ll complete a statement from my notes.