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‘Dopey wasn’t all there before ’e got beat up,’ said Reaney, but he looked as though he regretted these words as soon as they’d escaped him and added forcefully, ‘You can’t pin Draper on me. There was a ton of people kicking and punching him. Wha’re you after, anyway?’
‘So you weren’t friendly with anyone except Draper, at Chapman Farm?’ asked Strike, ignoring Reaney’s question.
‘No,’ said Reaney.
‘Did you know Cherie Gittins?’
‘Knew ’er a bit.’
Strike detected unease in Reaney’s tone.
‘Would you happen to know where she went, after she left Chapman Farm?’
‘No idea.’
‘What about Abigail Wace, did you know her?’
‘A bit,’ repeated Reaney, still looking uneasy.
‘What about Kevin Pirbright?’
‘No.’
‘He’d have been a kid when you were there.’
‘I didn’t ’ave nuffing to do with the kids.’
‘Has Kevin Pirbright contacted you lately?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, I’m fucking sure. I know ’oo’s contacted me an’ ’oo ’asn’t.’
‘He was writing a book about the UHC. I’d have expected him to try and find you. He remembered you.’
‘So wha’? ’E never found me.’
‘Pirbright was shot and killed in his flat, last August.’
‘I was in ’ere last August. ’Ow’m I s’posed to ’ave fuckin’ shot ’im?’
‘There was a two-month period when Kevin was alive and writing his book, and you were still at liberty.’
‘So?’ said Reaney again, blinking furiously.
‘Kevin’s laptop was stolen by his killer.’
‘I’ve just told you, I was in ’ere when ’e was shot, so ’ow’m I s’posed to ’ave nicked ’is fucking laptop?’
‘I’m not suggesting you stole it. I’m telling you that whoever’s got that laptop probably knows whether or not you spoke to Pirbright. It’s not difficult to get a password out of someone, if you’re pointing a gun at them.’
‘I dunno what you’re fuckin’ talkin’ about,’ said Reaney. ‘I never spoke to ’im.’
But there was sweat on Reaney’s upper lip.
‘Can you imagine the Waces killing in defence of the church?’
