On Laughton Moor by Lisa Hartley Page B

left who remember Craig Pollard, much less all his mates?’
    Knight settled in the seat next to Bishop.
      ‘Maybe, maybe not, but we have to try it. This case is a bloody nightmare. Every report we write might as well just say “we don’t have a clue”.’
    They both turned to look at the door as Kendrick’s unmistakeable voice was heard in the distance, followed by him guffawing. Bishop and Knight stared at each other, and Bishop made the gesture with her index finger screwed into her temple to indicate ‘He’s mad’. It wasn’t something she’d done since school, but it made her and Knight smile. They heard footsteps outside the door.
      ‘Brace yourself.’ Knight murmured.
      ‘Fee fi fo fum.’ whispered Bishop.
    There was something about Keith Kendrick that meant everyone sat up straight when he entered a room, and Bishop and Knight were no exceptions. Bishop felt the urge to chant ‘Good afternoon DCI Kendrick’, as if she was at primary school.
    Kendrick yanked a chair from under the conference table and settled his considerable bulk in it.
      ‘In case you’re wondering,’ he said ‘the probably only momentary lifting of my bad mood is due to DI Hawkins bringing in two members of the gang we think are responsible for all the four by four thefts we’ve had recently. The other two men involved are being collected from their respective nasty little day jobs as we speak. So. Let’s keep this elation of mine going. What have you two got for me?’
    Knight handed him a new copy of the image of the mystery caller.
      ‘His name’s Steve.’ Bishop added helpfully. Kendrick stared at the paper, his huge hands turning the page around to look at it from every angle as if that would make it clearer, just as Bishop had.
      ‘Have we found him? Had a little chat about why it’s extremely rude to refuse to leave your name and  number when you call your friendly local police station for a cosy chat about a murder victim?’
    Bishop shifted in her chair. Knight said,
      ‘Not exactly, we only know his first name so far. DC Varcoe is off at Pollard’s old school now, trying to find out if anyone there can help.’
    Kendrick was drawing himself up, no doubt in preparation for another rant, so Bishop interjected quickly:
      ‘And we’re compiling the details of every Steve in the area who’s around Craig Bishop’s age to see if any of their surnames ring any bells with Craig Pollard’s brother or parents. It was Mike Pollard that gave us the name Steve in the first place.’
    Kendrick had settled back down.
      ‘And he’s sure about the name?’
      ‘He seemed sure, sir. He did say another name at first, Nick I think it was, but then changed his mind.’
      ‘Steve, Nick . . . why couldn’t Pollard pal around with people called Archibald or Horatio? It’d make our job a bit easier. Should we be looking at anyone called Nick or Nicholas too?’
    Bishop glanced at Knight.
      ‘We could do, sir. I’m not sure how long it would take . . .’ she said.
    Kendrick stood up.
      ‘It’ll take as long as it needs to, Sergeant, but I don’t want to miss something and have to start again later. Have Pollard’s parent’s seen this?’
      ‘Yes, sir, but they don’t recognise him.’
      ‘Show them again, dangle the names Steve and Nick in front of them, see if it gives them a nudge in the right direction. I want this charmer interviewed as soon as we can. Right now, it seems he’s the only lead we have. Or am I wrong? Do you have any other little titbits for me?’
    They shook their heads.
      ‘Didn’t think so. Keep me informed.’
    Kendrick strode out, and Bishop and Knight breathed sighs of relief.
      ‘Could have been worse.’ commented Bishop.
      ‘Much worse.’ Knight agreed.
    Bishop’s mobile rang and she dragged it from her jacket pocket.
    ‘Anna?’
    Anna Varcoe’s voice was crackly, but audible enough.
      ‘Hello, Sarge. Not having much luck I’m afraid, the