Dead Like You

thing.
    He followed the young man out into the corridor, his stomach really churning now. His brain was racing. Wondering which of the things he had done in the past few days they had come to get him for.
    It felt more like a church out here. A long corridor with a pointed arch at the end. The reception office was next to it, glassed in. Outside it stood two men. From the way they were suited and booted, they could only be coppers.
    One of them was thin and tall as a beanpole, with short, spiky hair that was a mess; he looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in many months. The other was black, with his head shaven as bald as a meteorite. Spicer vaguely recognized him.
    ‘Darren Spicer?’ the black one said.
    ‘Yeah.’
    The man held up a warrant card, which Spicer barely bothered to glance at.
    ‘DS Branson, Sussex CID, and this is my colleague, DC Nicholl. Wonder if we could have a chat.’
    ‘I got a pretty busy schedule,’ Spicer said. ‘But s’pose I could fit you in.’
    ‘Very accommodating of you.’
    ‘Yeah, well, I like to be accommodating, with the police and all that.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He sniffed.
    The volunteer worker opened a door and indicated for them to walk through.
    Spicer entered a small meeting room containing a table and six chairs, with a large stained-glass window on the far wall. He sat down and the two detectives sat opposite him.
    ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we, Darren?’ DS Branson said.
    Spicer frowned. ‘Yeah, maybe. You look familiar. Trying to think where.’
    ‘I interviewed you about three years ago, when you were in custody – about some house break-ins. You’d just been arrested for burglary and indecent assault. Remember now?’
    ‘Oh yeah, rings a bell.’
    He grinned at each of the detectives, but neither of them smiled back. The mobile phone of the one with ragged hair rang suddenly. He checked the number, then answered it quietly.
    ‘I’m tied up. I’ll call you back,’ he murmured, before sticking the phone back into his pocket.
    Branson pulled out a notebook and flipped it open. He studied it for a moment.
    ‘You were released from prison on 28 December, correct?’
    ‘Yeah, that’s right.’
    ‘We’d like to talk to you about your movements since then.’
    Spicer sniffed. ‘Well, the thing is, I don’t keep a diary, you see. Got no secretary.’
    ‘That’s all right,’ the spiky-haired one said, pulling out a small black book. ‘I’ve got one here. This one is for last year and I’ve got another for this year. We can help you on dates.’
    ‘Very obliging of you,’ Spicer replied.
    ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Nick Nicholl said. ‘To be obliging.’
    ‘Let’s start with Christmas Eve,’ Branson said. ‘I understand you were on day release at Ford Open Prison, working in the maintenance department of the Metropole Hotel up until your release on licence. Is that correct?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘When was the last time you were at the hotel?’
    Spicer thought for a moment. ‘Christmas Eve,’ he said.
    ‘What about New Year’s Eve, Darren?’ Glenn Branson went on. ‘Where were you then?’
    Spicer scratched his nose, then sniffed again.
    ‘Well, I had been invited to spend it up at Sandringham with the royals, but then I thought, nah, can’t be spending all my time with toffs—’
    ‘Cut it out,’ Branson said sharply. ‘Remember you’re out on licence. We can do this chat the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is here, now. Or we can bang you back up and do it there. It’s no sweat to us either way.’
    ‘We’ll do it here,’ Spicer said hastily, sniffing again.
    ‘Got a cold, have you?’ Nick Nicholl asked.
    He shook his head.
    The two detectives caught each other’s eye, then Branson said, ‘Right, New Year’s Eve. Where were you?’
    Spicer laid his hands on the table and stared down at his fingers. All his nails were badly bitten, as was the skin around them.
    ‘Drinking up at the Neville.’
    ‘The Neville pub?’ Nick Nicholl asked. ‘The one near the greyhound stadium?’
    ‘Yeah, that’s right, by the dogs.’
    ‘Can anyone vouch for you?’ Branson queried.
    ‘I was with a few – you know – acquaintances – yeah. Can give you some names.’
    Nick Nicholl turned to his colleague. ‘Might be able to verify that on CCTV if they’ve got it in there. I seem to remember they have, from a past inquiry.’
    Branson made a note. ‘If they haven’t wiped it – a lot