The Burning Girl-4 by Mark Billingham Page A

deal with the tapes that had been returned in the overnight box. My mother came down to help him get things set up once she'd put the breakfast things away." He spoke wel , and slowly, with no trace of an accent. Thorne realised suddenly that the maroon sweater and grey trousers were a uniform, and guessed that the boy went to a private school.
    "So you heard nothing?" Thorne asked. "No raised voices?"
    The boy shook his head. "I heard the bel go on the door when someone opened it, but that isn't unusual."
    "It was a bit early, though, wasn't it?"
    "We often have customers who come in on their way to work, to pick up a film that's been returned the night before."
    "Anything else .. .?"
    "I was in the bathroom after that. There was water running. If not, I might have heard something." His hand went to his face, pressed and wiped. "They had silencers on their guns, didn't they?"
    It was an odd thing to say. Thorne wondered if perhaps the boy knew more than he was tel ing, but decided it was probably down to seeing far too many of the shitty British gangster movies his father kept on the shelves.
    "What makes you think there was more than one of them, Yusuf?"
    "A week ago two boys came in. About the same age as me, my father said. They tried to scare him."
    "What did they do?"
    "Pathetic stuff, threats. Dog mess in a video case. Throwing a litter bin through the window." He pointed towards the shop front where a thick black curtain now ran across the plate-glass window and front door, rigged up to hide the activity within from the eyes of passers-by. "There was a letter first. My father ignored it."
    "Did he keep the letter?"
    "My mother wil have filed it somewhere. She never throws anything away."
    The boy realised what he'd said, and blinked slowly. The hand that went to his face stayed there a little longer this time. Thorne remembered the sign he'd seen stuck to the front of the til : You are being recorded. "Did your father get it on tape? The incident with the two boys?"
    "I should think so. He recorded everything, but it won't be there any more."
    Thorne asked the question with a look.
    "Because he used the same few tapes over and over again," Yusuf said. "Changed them half a dozen times every day, and recorded over them. He was always trying to save money, but this business with the videotapes was real y stupid, considering that we sold the bloody things. Always trying to save money .. ."
    The boy's head dropped. The tears that came were left to run their course, the hands that had been wiping them away now clutching the countertop.
    "You're not a child, Yusuf," Thorne said. "You're far too clever to buy any of my bul shit, so I won't give you any, al right?" He glanced back towards the screens, towards what lay behind them. "This is not about an argument, or an affair, or an unpaid bil . I'm not going to tel you that I can catch whoever did this, because I don't know if I can. I do know I'm going to have a bloody good try, though."
    Thorne waited, but the boy did not look up. He gave a smal nod to Terry, who stood and put an arm on Yusuf's shoulder. The constable said something, a few murmured words of comfort, as Thorne closed the door behind him.
    He arrived back in the shop in time to see the black curtain swept aside and DCI Nick Tughan stepping through it like a bad actor.

    "Right. What have we got?" Tughan was a stick-thin Irishman with less than generous lips. His short, sandy hair was always clean, and the col ars crisp beneath a variety of expensive suits. "Who's fil ing me in .. .?"
    Thorne smiled and shrugged: Me, given half a chance, you tosser. He was happy to see Hol and walking across to do the honours, clearly not relishing the task, but knowing that he'd earn himself a drink later. A pint sounded like a good idea, even at eleven o'clock in the morning. Including the Izzigils, there were a dozen people inside the smal shop, which, combined with the heat coming off the SOC lights, had turned the place