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lash out at Derwent. Despite my very real desire to see the inspector knocked into the middle of next week, I didn’t want to have to arrest Vera’s husband for assault on a police officer the day her brother’s murder was discovered. I stepped forward smartly.
    ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Gordon. Sir, you wanted to visit that other location before our next interview. I don’t think we’ll have time unless we go now.’
    I sounded apologetic and looked meek, and Derwent had the sense to take the opportunity to leave with his face intact. Graham Gordon followed us out of the kitchen but headed upstairs instead of coming to the front door. I could hear voices as I reached in to close the front door behind us: a brief question from his wife that received an even briefer answer. I didn’t have to wonder if he would tell her what had happened in the kitchen. He would protect her from it, just as he’d allowed her to think that he didn’t mind her brother being around the children. Because part of his problem with Derwent’s questions was that they had hit a nerve. He had been relieved that Barry had refused to come and live with them. Maybe he hadn’t pressed the point with him. Maybe he’d backed him up against Vera, drowning out her objections. Anything for a quiet life. And now he had to be regretting it.
    Grief was hard to bear. Grief overlaid with shame was harder still.
    I waited until we were in the car before I tackled Derwent. ‘What was the point in that?
    ‘What – pissing him off? Nothing, really. Just wondering what made him tick.’
    ‘Why? He’s not a suspect.’
    ‘You never know.’
    ‘Well, we do in this case. Vera Gordon said they didn’t know Ivan Tremlett. They’d have no reason to want him dead, even if they wanted to get rid of Barry – and it doesn’t actually sound like they had much to do with him anyway. He didn’t come around; he didn’t bother them.’
    ‘Mm.’ Derwent sounded distracted as he moved off, still poking at the sat nav mounted on the dashboard. ‘Don’t discount the fact that they’ve got the house now. Clean it up, sell it off – nice little lump sum for them. Bit of financial stability never hurt anyone.’
    ‘You can’t think that they killed Barry so they could get their hands on the house.’
    ‘As it happens, I don’t.’ He jammed his hand on the horn, blaring a warning to a Renault that was thinking about pulling out in front of us. ‘But you never know what you might shake loose by being a bit firm with people. That softly-softly-pretty-please approach might work for you now, but it won’t when you get a bit older and lose your looks.’
    ‘I’ll try to remember that.’
    ‘You’re not angry?’ He sounded surprised – maybe a shade disappointed too.
    ‘Should I be?’ The truthful answer to that was yes. Having tasted blood in his encounter with Graham Gordon he seemed to be determined to provoke me and I was equally determined not to let him.
    ‘I don’t suppose so. I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humour, anyway. Godley didn’t mention that when he told me about you.’
    I wanted more than anything to ask what the boss had said – if he’d mentioned that I’d nearly got myself killed the previous year, or if he’d concentrated on whether I was a good police officer. I looked out of the window, saying nothing.
    ‘Don’t you want to know the details?’
    And if I had asked, Derwent would have taken pleasure in telling me the conversation was confidential. I shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine he had much to say. I haven’t worked for him for very long.’
    ‘Long enough for a guy like Godley to draw some fairly sharp conclusions about you.’
    ‘That sounds positive.’ I spoke lightly, but I was shrinking in my seat. There was a lot to criticise, after all. The most he’d had to do with me was on a case where I had ended up in hospital by blundering into the wrong place at the wrong time. Then I had been completely