The Balance of Guilt by Simon Hall

the interview. One of the police officers began walking along the line of protesters. He tried asking a couple how long the group planned to stay, but got only monosyllabic answers.
    ‘Enjoy the media training course, did you?’ Dan asked, as Nigel switched off the camera.
    Kindle shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
    ‘Come off it. The BPP aren’t going to allow just anyone on air. And your clothes could have come out of the TV-friendly catalogue. It’s hammered into you that the most important factor in how the audience perceives you is appearance.’
    Another shrug.
    ‘And as for your answers – short, sharp, and resolutely “on message”,’ Dan went on. ‘Designed to appeal to your supporters and any others who may have a sympathetic ear. And for future reference – asking what the first question is, that’s a dead giveaway.’
    Kindle didn’t look flustered at all. ‘I’ll take that little rant as your way of saying I did pretty well in the interview, then. And anyway, what’s the matter with wanting to do your best? When it’s something you believe in? Well, whatever, no hard feelings.’
    He stretched out his hand. Dan hesitated once more.
    ‘Come on, I bet you shook hands with that lot in the mosque.’
    Dan reached out slowly and made a brief contact. Nigel turned away and busied himself polishing the camera’s lens. A car roared past, the man in the passenger seat screaming abuse at the demonstration. Several banners waved in reply.
    Kindle waited for Nigel to take the camera off the tripod and put the lens cap on, then said quietly, ‘I knew John Tanton, you know.’
    Dan was about to head for his car, but stopped. ‘Really?’
    The BPP man leaned back on a wall. Now the business of the interview was done, he had become chatty, almost friendly.
    ‘I didn’t want to say in the interview, too much danger of mixed messages, but I help run the local kids’ football clubs. John used to come along and play. He was a good goalkeeper. A nice lad too. But he was always a bit of a loner, never had too many friends or that much confidence. I reckon if someone came along and pretended to be his mate, indoctrinated him, gave him a mission, he would have been vulnerable to being radicalised.’
    ‘Any chance of saying that on camera?’
    Kindle shook his head knowingly. ‘No thanks. I’ve done my bit.’
    Dan thanked Kindle and picked up his mobile to call Adam when he remembered another question he should ask. But as with the Imam, it would have to be done surreptitiously.
    ‘I guess this is one of those stories we’ll all remember where we were when we heard the news of the bombing,’ Dan said in as relaxed a way as he could manage. ‘Where were you?’
    Kindle didn’t show any hint of suspicion. ‘I was on a day off. Funnily enough, I was over in Exeter, doing some shopping.’
    Dan watched thoughtfully as he walked back to the demonstration. Kindle was a long shot. Why would someone from the BPP be interested in radicalising a young man to commit a bombing outrage in the name of Islam? Surely only in an attempt to spread racial disharmony and stir anger and resentment.
    It was far-fetched, but not impossible. In the years working with Adam, he’d seen stranger.
    It wasn’t bad for an hour’s journalism and unofficial police work. They now had film and interviews sufficient for a story, and three more suspects ripe for investigation.
    Dan drove back to the studios, Nigel following. It was only a quarter past ten. He could sit down for quarter of an hour, read a newspaper and have a cup of coffee and some toast before editing the report. He would also call Alison Tanton. That would be the interview to get.
    Dan yawned hard and rubbed at his aching eyes. The car mirror suggested they were sporting an unattractive hint of bloodshot and were supported by dark crescents. A break would be very welcome.
    He should have known better. Empathy and sympathy were a delightful couple who not