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in the eye. ‘I was definitely at home.’
    ‘That’s pretty impressive.’ Burrowes stretched, leaned back on his chair and put his hands behind his head. ‘I’m trained to remember things, but even I would probably have to take a minute or two to think about where I was eleven days ago.’ He smiled at Ralf and let the silence build.
    Burrowes’ shirt was gaping open at the waist to reveal a triangle of white flesh, gingery hair and belly button fluff. The cheesy butter sat uneasily in Ralf’s stomach and he quickly looked away.
    ‘I know I was at home because I’m always at home in the evenings.’
    ‘And if I was to ask your little gang out there, they’d say the same thing, would they?’
    Now Ralf was really confused. ‘Gang?’
    Burrowes nodded towards the window. Ralf looked out into the busy police station. Lined up against the back wall on plastic chairs were four kids.
    This was the moment. This was the exact second Ralf should have understood. His eyes flickered. There was a shadow of a frown. But then it passed.
    He did not remember their faces.
    He did not remember his promise.
    He didn’t remember anything.
    ‘Gang?’
    He almost laughed. This was great, it really was. The police thought he was in a gang and these losers were supposed to be it. Typical.
    The tallest boy in the row was shuffling a pack of cards, his face a mask of concentration as they flew through his nimble fingers. Ralf ought to have been impressed but he was too distracted by the boy’s appearance. He had cornrow plaits and his dark skin was contrasted by the oddest assortment of clothing Ralf had ever seen – patchwork dungarees and a clashing, tie-dyed shirt. Next to him was a very small pasty-faced boy, wearing expensive trainers and baggy jeans. Despite the hot weather, he was sporting a woolly hat complete with earflaps and a fluffy pom-pom. These two must have been arrested for crimes against fashion, Ralf thought, something the other two kids in the row might also be accused of. The last boy, who Ralf took to be about his own age, was wearing a suit and tie – oh, dear. He was thin and pale, with a mop of curly brown hair, glasses and dark shadows under his eyes. The girl on the end had caramel skin and short, spiky, black hair and would have been quite nice looking except that she was wearing one of those white pyjama-type Karate suits, a pair of old trainers and a face like thunder. The face, combined with the black belt round her waist, made Ralf want to laugh.
    How could Burrowes possibly think he had anything to do with these four?
    ‘I don’t know those people.’ He turned to face Burrowes again. ‘Look, I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but honestly, there’s been a mistake. I’ve never seen any of them before.’
    ‘Now, listen here!’ Burrowes growled suddenly. ‘We can do this two ways. Either you can tell me what you lot were up to last Wednesday or I can start making your life pretty miserable.’
    Here we go, the Hard-Man-Harry policeman chat. Ralf had heard it before, from beat Bobbies who regularly escorted him back to school and twice from the Education Welfare Officer. It didn’t get any better.
    ‘It’s your choice,’ said Burrowes flatly.
    ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Ralf said speaking very slowly to make Burrowes understand. ‘I was at home on that Wednesday. All night. Reading.’
    ‘Oh, cut the choir boy act, will you!’ Burrowes slammed the flat of his palm on the folder in front of him. ‘You’re obviously bright, but you’ve got a file here as long as my arm – we both know you’re no angel.’
    ‘That stuff before was a mistake. I told the other officers that.’
    Burrowes seemed not to have heard. ‘Let’s take a look at this file shall we?’
    Ralf walked back to the table and sat down, resigned. ‘Fine.’
    ‘So, then – s chool. The Educational Welfare Officer has been round to your house four times in the past six months. You’ve