“Let’s hope not, because I’d like you to come down to the police station every day and sign your name for us.”
“I know how to sign my name, don’t need to come here to do it.”
“You do if you don’t want to come back for a much longer stay, especially if we have to come and find you.”
“Are you joking?”
The pair remained silent.
“Here you go again,” shouted Robbie Carter, throwing his pen down on the desk. “You’re treating me like I’m the criminal. You’re fucking priceless, you lot.”
“There will also be an evening curfew. A house arrest if you like.”
“Brilliant. And how am I supposed to do my job?”
“We’ll be speaking to your agent, Mr Carter.”
“I have bookings for Christ’s sake, clubs relying on me. You can’t cancel gigs at this late date.”
“Are you the only artist on his books, then?” asked Reilly.
Robbie Carter sighed loudly. “What do you think?”
“Then I’m sure he can rearrange your bookings.”
“I might never get any again when you lot have finished.” Robbie Carter clenched and unclenched his fists, as if ready to strike. “I do have rights, you know.”
“So you keep telling us, sunshine,” said Reilly. “Your wife had some as well. Remember her, do you? She’s the lady who died. I reckon she’d prefer a few rules imposed on her and sleep the night in her own bed... instead of the mortuary.”
“Mr Carter,” said Gardener. “Maybe you should try looking at this a different way.”
“What’s that then, the fact that I’m lucky to be alive?”
“You said it,” replied Reilly.
“We’re only trying to do our job,” said Gardener. “We want your wife’s killer behind bars as quickly as possible. Now, while you think we are persecuting you, you might want to try thinking that what we’re actually doing is protecting you. Has it crossed your mind that your wife may have been first? The killer might not have finished with you by a long stretch. You might be next. You may have been lucky when you came home in so far as you either disturbed the killer and he fled, leaving you for another time, or he may have left of his own accord when he couldn’t find you. By putting all these things in place, we can keep an eye on you.”
“You lot must think I was born yesterday. This has got nothing to do with protection. You still think I’m guilty.” Robbie Carter only stopped talking because he was pointing at one of the lists. “What’s this?”
“What?” Gardener asked.
“You said this is a list of everything that’s in the house. Where’s my guitar?”
“Not in the house, obviously,” said Reilly.
“It was before you lot invaded the place.”
“You’re certain of that?” said Gardener. “Where exactly was it?”
“With the rest of the gear, at the front door. And apart from the guitar there was my wages for the night inside a little compartment in the case. Two hundred quid!”
“I can promise you, Mr Carter, that we have not taken your guitar or your money. We have inventories of everything in the house. If the guitar is not on the list, then it isn’t in the house.”
“That guitar is an heirloom. I’ve had it over thirty years, from new. It’s been everywhere with me.”
Gardener frowned. If what Robbie Carter had claimed was true then there really had been a burglary. Either that, or he was one hell of an actor. “Have you checked the list for the rest of the gear? Is there anything else missing?”
Robbie Carter went through it. “It looks to be all there apart from the guitar. But I can’t say for certain; I’ll need to see the place.”