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“Perhaps I could have a word with Dylan inside?” Charlie asked. “Only for a minute, because I think it’s after his bedtime.”
Charlie was shown into the front room. It had a three-piece brown leather suite, and a big TV on the wall, but everything else was child centred. There was a low plastic table with four matching chairs. The table was piled with drawing and painting materials, and there were shelves of toys and children’s books around the walls.
“Sorry about the toy library,” Dylan’s mother said, “I’m a childminder. Dylan’s at school though, aren’t you, lovey?” She ruffled the boy’s hair. By now Dylan was yawning, but the set of his chin said he wasn’t going back to bed without a fight.
“Can I see your gun?” Dylan asked Charlie.
“Welsh policemen don’t carry guns,” he said. The boy looked disappointed. “We have pepper sprays and batons though. Sorry, but I didn’t bring mine with me.” An even more disappointed look was the result. “But,” Charlie said, “I am a detective, and detectives need people’s help. I need your help. Can you be a detective and help me?”
“Mummy says I can’t have a gun,” Dylan said sadly.
“Mummy says it’s bedtime for little boys,” his mother said, with a significant look towards Charlie.
“I can be a detective, Mummy,” Dylan said, and Charlie thought that when you were six, anything was a better alternative to going to bed.
“OK then, Dylan,” Charlie said. “You told me that you saw the robber. Where were you when you saw him? Could you show me?”
“My room. Can we show him?”
Dylan’s mother stood up. “Come on then.” She took Dylan by the hand and the three of them processed up the stairs and into the little room over the front door. There was only room for a single bed (with dinosaur bedding) and a built-in cupboard. The window overlooked the exact spot where Mags had been attacked. The little boy climbed up onto his bed so that he could point.
“That’s where I saw the robber. Where that lady is.” That lady was Patsy, fixing the blue tape around the crime scene.
“How did you know it was a robber?” Charlie asked.
“He had a robber’s hat. With little holes.” Dylan pointed to his eyes.
“That’s great,” Charlie said. “Did you see him before he put the hat on?”
Dylan nodded solemnly. “I was looking for dinosaurs,” he said.
“He does that a lot,” his mother said. “Though not always in the middle of the night.”
“Was the robber bigger than me?” Charlie asked.
Dylan nodded. “Big as Daddy,” he said. “But he had lots of hair like me and grandad.”
Dylan’s mother giggled softly. Charlie envisioned her husband, whom he'd met outside and who had a head as polished as a bowling ball. Under the streetlight it had shone.
“Same colour as your hair?” Charlie asked and Dylan nodded.
“Yellow hair,” he said, and yawned.
“One more question, Charlie said. “What did the robber do before he put his hat on?”
“Stood still, like when we play statues. Then Aunty Mags came, and he put the hat on, and he tried to rob her. Is Aunty Mags alright? Are you going to catch the robber?” Excitement had been replaced by worry, and possibly fear.
Charlie crouched down in front of the little boy and looked him in the eyes.
“The police always catch robbers,” he said, wishing it were true, but determined that Dylan wasn’t going to be in any doubt and have nightmares about it. “Aunty Mags has gone to the hospital, and they will make her better. She’ll be home tomorrow, and you can see her. You know Aunty Mags is a police officer too? So that means we’ll catch the robber in double quick time. Won’t we Mummy?”
Dylan’s mother nodded. “We’ll see Aunty Mags as soon as she gets home, lovey.”
“Would you like a ride in a police car, Dylan?” Charlie asked, and all thoughts of robbers were banished in a huge grin.
“Can I, Mummy?”
“We’ll see. If you go straight to sleep.”
