Gallows View by Peter Robinson

made. The bed still smelled of his Old Spice. She pulled the sheets around her shoulders and waved goodbye lazily as he slipped out through the door.
IV
     
    It was six o’clock when Banks pulled up outside number eight Gallows View. He had decided to take on the Sharps himself and leave Wooller to Hatchley.
    “Good evening,” he said politely, introducing himself, as Graham Sharp opened the door, a forkful of sausage in his hand.
    “We’re just having dinner, can’t it wait?”
    “Won’t take long,” Banks said, already inside. “Just carry on eating.”
    The room wasn’t exactly a living-room, it was more of a storage place full of boxes of tinned goods and crisps that could be easily carried into the shop. At the back, though, was a fairly modern kitchen, complete with a microwave oven, and Banks guessed that the real living quarters must be upstairs, spread out over the two adjoined cottages.
    Graham and Trevor sat at the formica-topped table finishing what looked like bangers and mash with baked beans. Big white mugs of tea steamed in front of them.
    “What is it, then?” Graham asked, polite enough not to talk with his mouth full. “We talked to one of your chaps last night. Told him all we knew.”
    “Yes,” Banks said. “That’s why I’m here. I just want to clear up a few things in the statement. Detective Constable Richmond is new tothe job, if you know what I mean. We have to keep a close eye on new chaps, see that they get it right, go by the book.”
    “You mean you’re here because you’re doing some kind of job performance check on the young bloke?” Sharp asked incredulously.
    It wasn’t in the least bit true, but Banks thought it might put the Sharps at ease for as long as he wanted them to let their guards down. After that, of course, there were ways of putting them on the defensive again, a position which often turned out to be much more illuminating.
    “Well, I never!” Sharp went on. “You know, I never really thought about the police force as a job like any other. I suppose you get wages as well and complain about pay-rises and poor canteen food?”
    Banks laughed. “We don’t have a canteen, but, yes, we complain a lot about pay-rises, or the lack of them.” Innocently, he took out his notebook. “Detective Constable Richmond tells me that you heard nothing at around eleven o’clock on Monday night. Is that correct?”
    “It is.”
    “Where were you?”
    “Watching television in the sitting-room.” He pointed towards the upstairs. “Far end of the house. Have a look if you want.”
    “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, thanks all the same. You said you were watching television all evening?”
    “Well, from about eight o’clock to midnight, anyway.”
    “Good,” Banks said, peering into his notebook. “It looks like our man did a good job. You wouldn’t, of course, hear anything from as far away as Cardigan Drive, or even number two Gallows View, if you were in the sitting-room with the television on, would you?”
    “Nothing. You can try it if you want.”
    Banks waved aside his offer, then turned sharply to Trevor. “And where were you?”
    Trevor, taken by surprise halfway through a mouthful of sausage and beans, spoke through the mush of semi-masticated food. “With him,” he mumbled, pointing his fork at his father.
    “Mr Sharp,” Banks said, returning to Graham and frowning, “DC Richmond says that when you first told him you were watching television you made no mention of your son whatsoever. It was all in the first person, as if Trevor wasn’t even home.”
    “What are you getting at?” Sharp said belligerently, putting down his knife and fork.
    “Just checking up on the constable’s statement, sir. Want to see if he got it right. He was a bit curious about this one point. He put a question mark by it.”
    Sharp glared at Banks for a few moments while Trevor went on chewing his food. “If you’re insinuating that my Trevor had