Little Face by Sophie Hannah Page B

insignificant, had to be recorded, along with details of the weather and
the conditions on the roads. Simon had his in his inside jacket pocket.
    Charlie threw the book into his lap. It was brown, seven inches by
five, and, like all pocket books, had an issue number on the cover next
to a sergeant's signature, in this case Charlie's.
    `Are you saying what I think you're saying?'
    `It's your only option, isn't it? Make your unofficial meetings with
Alice Fancourt official. Your chance to rewrite history.'
    `You shouldn't have to lie for me.' He was pissed off that she'd had
the book ready and waiting. She'd known he'd come running to her for
help sooner or later. Embarrassingly predictable.
    `Yeah, well.' Charlie grimaced. `It's still a risk. If anyone looks too
closely at the serial numbers ... It goes without saying that if you get
rumbled, you didn't get that book from me.'
    `I'll have to write everything out again.' Simon closed his eyes,
tired by the mere thought of the effort involved.
    `You're not the first and you won't be the last. Look, I'm not
thrilled about this, but I can't bear to stand back and watch you fuck
up your entire life. I'm too much of a control freak. And ... you're the
cleverest, most inspired and inspiring person I've ever worked withand don't agree with me or I'll bloody strangle you-and it'd be a
tragedy if this one fuck-up ruined everything. If anyone asks, I'll say
I knew about the meetings and gave you the go-ahead.'

    Her careful deliberate compliments made Simon feel belittled. She
was incapable of treating him as an equal, and he was pretty sure it
wasn't just because she was a sergeant. He wondered what precisely it
would take to satisfy him. `That won't work, will it? Doesn't everyone
know you were all for cuffing the swapped baby allegation? Why
would you authorise me to conduct further interviews?'
    Charlie shrugged. `I pride myself on my thorough approach,' she
said drily.
    They sat in silence for a while, watching people enter and leave the
pub.
    `I'm sorry,' said Simon eventually. `I shouldn't have lied to you. I
hated it. But you never believed Alice's story. You thought she was
wasting our time. That's why I didn't tell you. I was worried about her
and ... look, I'm not saying I believed her about the baby, but ... well,
I felt I couldn't just abandon her.'
    Charlie's face twitched, tightened. Simon regretted his use of the
word `abandon'. They were talking about work, a clash of his professional judgement and hers, but that didn't change the fact that
he'd lied to Charlie, that his lie had involved another woman.
    `I take it that, in your eyes at least, I'm not a suspect.'
    `A fool, yes. A suspect, no. They say it's blind, though, don't they?'
Charlie looked out of the car window so that he couldn't see her face.
`We'd better shift our arses, much as I'm enjoying this romantic interlude,' she said. Again, Simon pushed the image of himself and Charlie at Sellers' fortieth birthday party out of his mind. He closed his eyes,
craving unconsciousness. Today was proving to be more than he
could handle. He tried to banish all thoughts from his head.
    Immediately, something clicked inside his brain. He had it. He
knew what it was that had been stuck like a piece of grit in his mind's
eye. `The night Laura Cryer was killed,' he began. `When Beer tried to
mug her ... ?'
    `Not that again.'
    `She was alone, right? You said she went back to the car alone.'

    Charlie turned to face him. `Yes.' She frowned. `Why?'
    `She didn't have her son Felix with her?'
    `No.'
    `He was at The Elms that night with his grandmother, because
Cryer was working late,' Simon persisted.
    `Yeah? So?' Impatience crept into Charlie's voice.
    `Why didn't she pick up her son and take him home? He lived with
her, presumably?'
    A flicker of uncertainty passed across Charlie's face. `Well, because
... because he was staying over at his gran's house, maybe.'
    `In that case,' said Simon,