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By Root 554 0

to work out whodunit. But depending on where Ronnie Trewell had stolen the car from, it did sometimes take a little while for the police to come knocking on the door. During that time Ronnie would drive at breakneck speed across the moors, and when he wasn't actually driving the stolen car, he was modifying, tuning and customizing it in his dad's garage. Given that he didn't steal the cars to sell - and that the cars were always recovered eventually - it was this curious aspect of the crimes, coupled with his youth, which had so far kept nineteen-year-old Ronnie Trewell away from hard-core custodial sentences. Owners who had their cars returned in better condition than when they were stolen were disinclined to press charges. The owner of an old but sporty Honda CRX discovered a rusty wheel-arch had been excised, welded and expertly re-sprayed. A woman in Taunton was delighted to have her Toyota MR2 returned with a new, satisfyingly throaty exhaust fitted, and the owner of an Alfa Romeo GTV was so impressed by his reclaimed car's improved performance that he sent Ronnie a thank-you note.

Clive knew that Ronnie couldn't help himself. He had tried to teach him right from wrong but, when it came to cars, it just hadn't taken. Something in his son needed those cars the way other people needed braces or spectacles. Each car Ronnie stole became part of him; he put his heart, soul and all his meagre spare cash into it. And every time the police sent a tow truck to take away a stolen car, Ronnie stood in the road and cried.

PC Holly had made half a dozen visits to the Trewell home in the past two years, so Clive was prepared.

'Them other police already talked to Ronnie!' he said - and was taken aback when Jonas started to talk not about Ronnie, but about Dougie.

'Did he tell you what happened yesterday?'

Clive's heart sank. Not Dougie too! But then he listened in amazement as Jonas told him about the part his younger son had played in the drama down behind the playing field.

'Didn't say a word!' he said.

When he'd first stood up, Jonas had fully intended to quiz Clive Trewell about Ronnie. Where he was. Where he'd been. What he'd been doing. But when he'd got close to the man and seen the sad, wary look in his eyes as he approached, he'd lost the stomach for it.

Instead he talked up Dougie - told Clive what a good lad he had there - and then brought the surprised man a drink before saying goodnight and heading back out on patrol.

Before he did, he went into the gents' toilets.

There was no message.

The night was clear and bitter and the stars were close overhead. The street had emptied of dog-walkers and was awaiting the early exodus from the Red Lion, after which it would finally rest for the night.

Without thinking why, Jonas walked towards the Trewell home, skidding more than once on the ice that had already formed on the narrow pavement.

He had no great suspicion that Ronnie Trewell was involved in the murders. He knew he was only going to speak to him now because Ronnie was the only person in Shipcott whom anyone could logically accuse of any wrongdoing that went beyond poor parking or leaving the bins out too early. He worked for Alan Marsh, certainly, but Jonas wasn't setting much store by that. Talking to him seemed sensible - that was all. Marvel may have done it already but Marvel wasn't local, so anything anyone told him or his team was necessarily open to improvement.

Jonas turned up Heather View - a name which always made him smile because, unless you stuck your head in a cupboard, there was nowhere in Shipcott that didn't offer a heather view. The short, steep lane ended in a dead end of frozen mud in front of the stile beside the Trewell home, which consisted of a tiny, ugly bungalow and a vast double garage. It seemed that even the buildings of his childhood home had conspired to lure Ronnie into following his calling.

Dougie answered the door and looked concerned to see Jonas.

'All right?' he said carefully.

'All right, Dougie. Warm now?' said Jonas and the boy smiled faintly. 'Can I come in for