God, God, God, she thought. If she had been the one to bring a killer into their midst…

But if she knew what the e-fit of the possible killer looked like because she’d seen it in the Evening Standard and on Crimewatch as well, didn’t it stand to reason that Robbie Kilfoyle also knew? And if he knew and was the killer, why in God’s name would he show up here, wearing that EuroDisney hat? Unless, of course, he was wearing it because he knew how odd it would appear if he stopped wearing it immediately after Crimewatch was broadcast. Or perhaps he truly was the killer and so cocky about not getting caught that he’d decided to be in her face and everyone else’s with the EuroDisney cap on his head, like a red rag waving in front of a bull…Or even still, perhaps he was incredibly stupid…or didn’t watch television or read the newspapers or…God…God…

“Something wrong, Ulrike?”

His question forced her to bring herself round. The ache in her teeth had moved to her chest. Her heart again. She needed a thorough checkup, stem to stern or whatever.

She said, “Sorry. Was I staring?”

“Well…yeah.” He placed mixing bowls on the work top, spacing them out to accommodate the kids in the class. “They’re doing Yorkshire pud,” he told her, with a nod to the list he’d posted for himself on a corkboard right above the sink. “My mum used to make it every Sunday. What about you?”

Ulrike took the opening. “I never had it till we got to England. Mum didn’t make it in South Africa. I don’t know why.”

“No roast beef?”

“I can’t recall, actually. Probably not. Can I help you there?”

He looked round. He seemed wary of her offer. She could well understand, as she’d never made it before. She’d never even talked to him-really talked to him-aside from at the beginning when she’d taken him on at Colossus. She made a mental note to talk to everyone at least once every day henceforth.

He said, “There’s not much to do, but I guess I could cope with some conversation.”

She went to the corkboard and looked at his list. Eggs and flour. Oil. Pans. Salt. Yorkshire pudding certainly did not require genius to put together. She made a second mental note to talk to the instructor about challenging the kids a bit more.

She riffled through her mind to think of something she knew about Robbie, other than the fact he was a former prowler. “How’s the job going?” she asked him.

He gave her a sardonic look. “Sandwich deliveries, you mean? It’s a living. Well”-with a smile then-“it’s nearly a living. I could do with something a bit better, frankly.”

Ulrike took this as a hint. He was angling for permanent employment at Colossus. For paid employment. She couldn’t blame him for that.

Robbie seemed to read her mind. He paused in the act of pouring flour from a bag into a large plastic bowl. “I can be a real team player, Ulrike,” he said. “If you’d give me half a chance.”

“Yes. I know that’s what you want. It’s under consideration. When we open the branch across the river, you’re tops on the list to do assessment.”

“You’re not having me on, are you?”

“Why would I?”

He set the bag of flour on the work top. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know what’s going on round here. The cops talked to me.”

“They talked to everyone.”

“Yeah, okay. But they’ve talked to my neighbours as well. I’ve lived there forever, so the neighbours told me when the cops came round. I expect they’re one step away from surveillance.”

“Surveillance?” Ulrike tried to make it sound casual. “On you? Surely not. Where do you go that they’d want to watch you?”

“Exactly nowhere. Oh, there’s a hotel nearby, and they’ve got a bar. It’s where I go when I need a break from my dad. You’d think it was a crime or something.”

“Parents,” she said. “Sometimes you need to get away from them, eh?”

He frowned. He stopped what he was doing. He was silent for a moment before he said, “‘Get away’? What’s this really about?”

“Nothing. It’s just that Mum and I row, so I guess I thought…well, the same-sex thing, I suppose. Two adults of the same sex, in the same house? You start to get on each other’s nerves.”

“As long as we just watch the telly, Dad and I are fine,” he informed her.

“Oh. Lucky you. Do that a lot? Watch telly, that is.”

“Yeah. The reality shows. We’re hooked on those. The other night, in fact, we-”

“Which night was this?” She saw she’d asked the question too quickly. His face took on a sudden sharpness she’d not seen before. He fetched eggs from the fridge, counting them out carefully, as if intent upon displaying his diligence. She waited to see if he would answer.

“The night before that boy was found in the woods,” he finally said. He was terribly polite about it. “We watched the show with the yacht. Sail Away. Do you know it? It’s on cable. We bet each other about who was going to get voted off. Have you got cable, Ulrike?”

She had to grudgingly admire the way he had put away affront in order to cooperate. She owed him something. She said, “Sorry, Rob.”

He took a moment before he shrugged, relenting. “It’s all right, I guess. But I did wonder why you stopped to chat.”

“You are on the list for a paying job.”

“Whatever,” he said. “I’d better finish up here.”

She let him go back to what he’d been doing. She felt ill at ease but concluded that people’s feelings couldn’t be allowed to matter, even her own. Later, when things were back to normal, she’d make more complete amends. Now, there were far more pressing concerns.

So she decided to abjure the circuitous approach. She found Neil Greenham and went directly for the jugular.

He was alone in the computer room, working on one of the kids’ Web pages. Typical of the Colossus client, the page was black and featured Gothic graphics.

She said, “Neil, what were you doing on the eighth?”

He made a note on the yellow pad next to the mouse. She saw a muscle work in his fleshy jaw. He said, “Let me see, Ulrike. You must want to know was I murdering some poor kid in the woods.”

She didn’t say anything. Let him think what he would.

“Have you checked with the others?” he asked her. “Or am I the only favoured one?”

“Can you just answer the question, Neil?”

“Can, of course. But will is another matter.”

“Neil, this is nothing personal,” she told him. “I’ve already spoken to Robbie Kilfoyle. I’m intending to speak to Jack as well.”

“What about Griff? Or doesn’t he come onto your radar screen for murder? Now that you’re playing at copper’s nark, I’d think you’d want to start practising objectivity.”

She felt herself colour. Humiliation, not anger. Oh, she’d thought they’d been so circumspect. No one can know, she’d told Griff. But in the end it hadn’t mattered. When one allowed the besotted to overcome the cautious, a billboard wasn’t exactly necessary. She said, “Do you plan to answer my question?”

“Sure,” he said, “when I’m asked by the cops. And I expect I will be. You’ll make certain of that, won’t you?”

“This isn’t about me,” she told him. “It isn’t about anyone. It’s about-”

“Colossus,” he finished for her. “Right, Ulrike. It’s always about Colossus, isn’t it? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do. But if you want a shortcut, phone my mum. She’ll alibi me. ’F course I’m her darling blue-eyed boy, so I may have told her to lie when someone comes snooping round to ask questions. But that’s the chance you’ll be taking with all of us, anyway. Have a nice day.”

He went back to the computer. His ruddy face was ruddier. She could see a pulse pounding in his temple. Outraged innocence under scrutiny? she wondered. Or something else? Fine, Neil. Have it your way.

Jack Veness was easier. He said, “Miller and Grindstone. Shit, Ulrike, it’s where I always am. Why the hell are you doing this, anyway? Don’t we have enough aggro around here?”