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chauffeured limos who were immune to getting nicked for speeding, and even then only on their own patch. If a top copper was nabbed in the county next door the officers on duty would be delighted to slap a ticket in his hand.
    The streetlights received some help in lighting the way from the snowmen and Christmas trees which seemed to be beaming out from every garden the car passed. The people living in one of the terraces had teamed up so that a giant sled blazed along the walls of half a dozen houses. There was plenty of room not only for a splendid Santa but also a full complement of happy helpers and boxes and boxes of lovely presents. A veritable herd of reindeer led the way, Rudolph flying at the very front, of course, his red nose pulsing through the night. Harry liked Christmas. Sure, it was crass and commercial, but it warmed folks’ hearts and brought out the best in them for a while.
    But only for a while. The copper’s cynical heart knew that, come Boxing Day, the police and hospitals would be hoovering up the pieces like the fallen needles from the Christmas tree as the pressure built up by people actually being civil to one another for a few days exploded in a blast of domestic violence and pub punch-ups.
    ‘So what have we got then, Darren? Eighteen-year-old schoolboy bludgeoned to death in an alley. What’s the motive? Theft?’ Hart turned left onto the dual carriageway leading to the centre of town and switched on his wipers.
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Redpath hailed from Newport and he had carried his lovely twang with him over the border to England so that the ends of his sentences tended to glide upwards, as though he were perpetually surprised.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘Well, there was a fair bit of money in the lad’s pocket, Sir; a thief would have taken that for sure. And a top of the range mobile.’
    ‘You’re spot on. Unless he had been interrupted, of course.’
    They stopped at a traffic light and Hart turned his head to his left and looked at the man fifteen years his junior. He gave a little smile, a gesture which would have appeared condescending in the daylight; this was all easy stuff but it still had to be got right and, to his credit, Redpath was doing just that.
    ‘He could have been disturbed, Sir. Leaving that arm sticking out was probably more than just being careless.’
    ‘Perhaps he was simply in a hurry. Perhaps he just wanted to get the heck out of there. Perhaps he had never stood in an alley before and whacked somebody to death.’ Hart moved up through the gears as he accelerated the car away from the green light. ‘We all learn with practice, and I’m sure he’ll make a better job of it if he ever bashes someone’s skull in again.’
    ‘Could the attacker have been after anything else apart from cash?’
    ‘Maybe. But unlikely. What else do eighteen-year-old kids wearing their school uniforms carry around with them that someone wants enough to kill them for? Not much, I shouldn’t think. And even then the killer would nick the money as well, to make it look like a simple robbery. That’ll fool those stupid cops, for sure.’
    ‘So there’s no motive, then? A random killing, just for the fun of it? Or some other kids out for kicks that went too far? Is that how it’s shaping up?’
    ‘Not a chance. They would have scarpered as soon as they realised what they’d done, they wouldn’t have fiddled around dragging him behind some bushes. No, somebody didn’t like Sebastian Emmer. In fact, I reckon they loathed him, detested him so much it went beyond mere hatred. Or perhaps they might have even been scared of him. Or scared of something he knew. Frightened enough to risk spending the rest of their life in the slammer.’
    Hart pulled into the police station car park and turned off the engine. ‘Let me have the lad’s things then get yourself home. And have yourself a good kip, tomorrow’s a big day. You need to be here at six-thirty. We’re going back to