Dead Beat by Patricia Hall

watch Liverpool and he said he got set on by supporters from the other team. I can’t remember who it was now. Manchester United probably. There’s no love lost there. But I suppose there could have been some other reason, apart from the football, I mean.’
    â€˜Do you know if Tom had friends in London when he came down here?’
    â€˜We never really knew where he’d gone. We just guessed it must be London because he used to say how much he’d like to work in one of the big shops in Oxford Street. It was his ambition, like all the boys in the bands want to come down here to make their name now. But I never heard Tom mention anyone he knew in London.’
    â€˜But he could have known someone in the music business maybe?’ Barnard persisted. ‘Someone else who’s come down from Liverpool, just like you and your brother?’
    â€˜I suppose so,’ Kate said doubtfully. ‘Though I never heard him mention anyone in a band. But every other lad was playing in some group or other the last few years, so it’s quite possible some of his mates did.’
    â€˜So we need to talk to his mates in Liverpool, see what they can remember? See if they might have any idea where he could have gone? Or even if he’s been in touch.’
    Kate nodded gloomily. ‘I suppose so. We asked around when he went but no one seemed to know anything. And what about the family? Will you have to talk to my mam?’
    â€˜We already have,’ Barnard said. ‘We asked the Liverpool police to call round as soon as you told us who our missing flatmate was. Then they’ll chase up any friends they can trace.’
    Kate felt sick and numb. She should have expected that, she thought, but she still could not get her head round the idea of Tom on the run, living hand to mouth maybe, afraid of his own shadow. In spite of being the younger, she had always tended to look out for Tom, protect him, even at times from their father, whose explosive temper had frightened all his children.
    She looked at the man on the other side of the table, well-dressed, good-looking but with a bleakness in his eyes which she supposed came with the job, seeking a hint of sympathy which was not there. Her mouth felt dry, the room was airless and she desperately wanted to leave, but she needed the answer to one last question.
    â€˜Do you really suspect him of killing this man in the flat? What’s his name?’
    â€˜Jonathon Mason,’ Barnard said.
    â€˜How . . . ? How did he die?’
    â€˜His throat was cut,’ Barnard said bluntly, knowing the answer would shake her.
    Kate went pale and swallowed hard. ‘Tom couldn’t have done that,’ she whispered.
    â€˜In my experience, people involved in sex can do pretty well anything,’ Barnard said flatly, leaving no space for contradiction.
    Kate sighed. ‘I don’t see how I can help you,’ she said, struggling to hold back tears.
    â€˜You can’t, unless he gets in touch,’ Barnard said. ‘If he does, I want to know about it. No excuses, no family loyalty, no messing me about at all. I want you to phone me. And if I hear nothing from you, believe me, I’ll be in touch with you myself. If he knows you’re in London, you’re the obvious person he’ll get in contact with. Do you understand, Miss O’Donnell?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Kate said. ‘I understand.’ But she knew with absolute certainty that if Tom got in touch, she would do no such thing.
    Hamish and the boy walked slowly up Farringdon Road, turned left into Rosebery Avenue and then, just beyond the sorting office, alive with postmen and delivery vans, dodged into a warren of derelict bombed sites and the vestiges of former streets until they came out into Gray’s Inn Road.
    â€˜Are ye sure ye know where ye’re going?’ Hamish asked anxiously as he stood on the edge of the pavement opposite a pub, waiting