Catch the Fallen Sparrow by Priscilla Masters Page B

cent sure?’
    Keithy looked up then. ‘I meet a lot of people working in this line of business,’ he said plaintively. ‘I can’t possibly remember absolutely everyone, you know, officer.’ He fingered the photograph. ‘Pretty little thing, isn’t he?’
    â€˜Wasn’t he.’ Farthing found it difficult to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘He was – before someone killed him.’

Chapter Six
    According to their details only six children were housed at 51 Greystoke Road, a large, terraced Victorian house, almost in the centre of the town. PC Cheryl Smith and DC Alan King had been assigned to make the enquiries here, to try and connect the dead boy with a living home, to find a name, friends, someone who cared.
    Cheryl Smith stared up at the tall house with its wide bay windows, and two small gables at the very top and made a wry face. ‘The Nest.’ She read the sign at the side of the door. ‘Hardly seems appropriate, does it?’
    Alan shook his head. ‘Well, I’d hardly call the kids that come from these places little birds,’ he said, ‘but it’s a home.’
    She looked at him. ‘You believe they think of these institutions as a home?’ She queried. ‘I rather think they consider them nearer to a prison.’
    â€˜Maybe that’s more to do with their attitude,’ he said. ‘The places I know do a bloody good job of making them homely. Besides, perhaps a nest might be right for little birds, but these are something else. More like fierce little rats with sharp teeth, erratic tempers, unpredictable and aggressive behaviour. Perhaps a prison is more appropriate.’
    â€˜Now, now,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t do to have these preconceived ideas. They’re just children – like all the others.’
    He made a face. ‘Who are you trying to fool?’ he said. ‘Come on. The trouble is they aren’t anything like the other children, are they? They stick out. From their clothes to their hair to their behaviour. And that’s what makes them even more different.’
    She glared at him as he banged on the door. ‘There’s no need to act the dawn raid, policeman-on-duty bit. Can’t you understand this is half the trouble. You have certain preconceptions about young institutionalized kids and you barge into their home. No wonder they learn to hate us.’
    He turned to her then. ‘Whose side are you on, Constable?’
    â€˜There you go again,’ she said. ‘Get it into your thick skull. There aren’t any sides.’
    Alan King opened his mouth to speak but before he could the door was opened by a thin girl of about thirteen still in her check school summer dress and a navy cardigan which had dropped down off her shoulders. Her hostility was thick from the moment her eyes brushed the black and silver uniforms.
    â€˜Who’ve you come to moan about now?’ she asked, her green eyes flashing. ‘Can’t you lot leave us alone? What is it now? Someone lost a penny in the supermarket?’
    Cheryl stepped forward. ‘Can we speak to the warden, love?’
    Tell me what it’s about first.’ The girl held her ground, blocked the doorway. ‘He’s out anyway.’
    PC Alan King let out a quiet expletive and Cheryl moved in front of him. ‘Who’s in then, love?’
    The girl glowered at them. ‘Don’t call me love,’ she said waspishly. ‘I’m not your love or bleedin’ anybody else’s love. He’s here. I suppose you’ll have to come in, make your trouble.’
    â€˜Just let us have a word with the warden.’ Reluctantly the girl stepped back and opened the door halfway. ‘All right.’
    Cheryl smiled. ‘We haven’t come to get anyone into trouble,’ she said pleasantly.
    The girl shrugged and said nothing.
    She could have been a pretty girl, blessed with