Make Believe by Cath Staincliffe

needed to do a bit more digging with Luke Stafford.
    Butchers head ed for the door then stopped. ‘Maybe we should postpone the party – everyone’s flat out.’
    ‘ No way, mate,’ said Shap, ‘after the last few days we need a chance to get totally hammered.’
    Which was n ot what Butchers wanted to hear.
     
    The Staffords’ place was still a tip.  Didn’t look like anyone had picked up anything since Butchers’ last visit.  Ken Stafford simmered with resentment, if Luke Stafford had a temper, lost control and got into bother, Butchers could tell where he’d got that from.  While the father sat in an armchair, sitting forward rather than relaxing back, the lad stood leaning against the door jamb.  Butchers had invited him to sit down but the kid had replied, ‘Rather stand.’
    Butchers started with the Saturday of the abduction.  They had already answered questions about that day, he’d lull them into thinking he was just going over the same old ground then chuck something new into the mix.  See what it threw up.
    ‘A week last Saturday you were working?’ Butchers said to Ken Stafford.
    ‘ I told you that,’ he said.
    ‘ You work nights, so Luke’s here on his own?’
    ‘That’s right,’ Ken Stafford said.
    ‘Then what?’
    ‘ We’ve been over this,’ he said.
    ‘ I’d like to go over it again,’ Butchers said stolidly. 
    Ken Stafford shifted in his seat, ‘Shift finishes at four am,’ he said tightly, ‘I get in at half past.  Slept till five-ish that evening.’
    ‘ Long sleep.’
    ‘ I needed it,’ Ken Stafford retorted.  ‘I’d only just got off when the bloody builders roll up.’
    ‘ You remember this, Luke?’ said Butchers
    ‘ I was asleep but he told me, later.  You never shut up about it,’ he complained to his father.
    ‘ What time did you get up?’ Butchers asked the lad.
    ‘ Dunno,’ he gave a quick shrug.
    ‘ Rest of that day.  Where were you?’
    ‘ Here, probably,’ Luke said.
    ‘ You can’t remember?’
    ‘ Here.’
    ‘And you didn’t see Luke for the best part of  twenty odd hours?’ Butchers said to Ken Stafford.
    ‘That’s right,’ he said.
    ‘You’ve been in a bit of bother,’ Butchers said to Luke, ‘assault, anti-social behaviour.  Make you feel big, does it, knocking people about?’
    Luke set his jaw, sullen, didn’t answer.
    Ken Stafford glanced sharply at Butchers.
    ‘You get a buzz out of hurting people?’ Butchers said.
    ‘ Pack it in,’ Ken Stafford threatened Butchers, ‘don’t talk to him like that.’
    ‘ You know Phoebe Wray well?’ Butchers asked Luke.
    S urprise flashed across the boy’s face and he blushed.  ‘We’re mates,’ he stammered, ‘that’s all.’
    ‘ Mates,’ Butchers echoed.  ‘She said anything to you about her half-brother’s abduction?’
    ‘ No,’ Luke said.
    ‘ Nothing?  Odd that.’
    ‘ Said you lot went round there.’
    ‘ That all?’ Butchers said.
    ‘ Yeah,’ he said.  But Butchers had the sense there was more, that Luke was hiding something.  He turned to Ken Stafford, ‘Have you any objection to me taking a look round?’
    ‘ Yes, I have,’ Ken Stafford said baldly. 
    ‘ I could get a warrant,’ Butchers said.
    ‘ You best do that, then.’
    ‘ We normally expect a degree of co-operation in a case involving a child.’
    ‘ You get a warrant and we’ll co-operate,’ the man said.  ‘And don’t come back without one.’
    Charm personified.
     
    Donny McEvoy was having a tea break when Shap caught up with him, mug balanced on a pile of breeze block, rolling tobacco on his knee.  ‘Mr McEvoy?’
    He looked up eagerly, ‘You from the papers?’  McEvoy’s eyes gleamed, the bloke was practically slavering.
    Shap flashe d his warrant card.  McEvoy didn’t look quite so keen then.
    ‘ My boss,’ Shap said, ‘she’s not very happy.  You shooting your mouth off.  That could compromise our investigation.’
    ‘ I’m only giving my side of the