helpless. âThey apparently want to see you at police headquarters. We havenât been given a reason.â
He looked at the man in uniform, and the man in uniform looked stolidly back. I tried to think of a possible reason myself. I had not been in any trouble I knew of, except for that fight at the airport. Even if the airport policeman had changed his mind anddecided to report me after all, it wasnât enough to justify something like this. And what about Gary? The policeman couldnât have reported me without reporting him.
I shook my head. âIt must be a mistake.â
Williams looked baffled, too, but in his case angry. He said sharply to the officer, âYou do know this boy is Councillor Andersonâs son? Surely they gave you some idea why heâs wanted?â
The man shrugged. âI was only told to bring him.â
Weatherby said, âYou have the authority, so I suppose itâs all right.â He looked at me in a depressed way. âYouâd better go with him, Anderson. I hope they donât keep you long. I canât think why these things canât be seen to outside school hours.â
â¢Â â¢Â â¢
In the police car I tried to make conversation with my escort, in the hope of picking up a clue. Some of my friends were scared of the police, but they had never made me nervous. I had been used to seeing them around my father, of course, all my life. This one was civil, but uncommunicative. When we reached the police building, I knew as little of thereason for my being there as when we started.
I was quite familiar with the ground layout of the building, but my escort called the lift and took me to uncharted territory on the seventh floor. He left me with the duty officer, who dialed a number on his control panel, listened to an instruction, and motioned me to follow him. He took me to an office, halfway along a corridor, which we reached through one of a dozen identical doors.
There were two men in the office, which had windows overlooking St. Jamesâs Park. They were not wearing uniforms, but casual clothes. Both were quite young, neither over thirty, one narrow-Âshouldered and red-haired, the other dark and brawny.
The brawny one said, âClive Andersonâthat right?â
âYes, sir.â
He leaned back in his chair and stared at me thoughtfully. âLike to tell us all about it?â
âAbout what?â
He tilted his chair farther and sank his chin on his chest. âCome on, now. You know all right.â
âI donât. Iâve no idea why Iâm here.â
Both watched me. Neither said anything.
I said at last, âI really donât understand, sir. But I think it might be a good idea if I could speak to Mr. Richie, my fatherâs secretary. My father is Councillor Anderson.â
The brawny one made a clicking sound with his tongue but did not straighten up. He said, âYes, we know your father is Councillor Anderson. At the moment cruising among the Greek islands, I believe. Very pleasant, though Iâm sure well-earned. As to Mr. Richie, we know where to get hold of him if we want him. Thereâs no hurry about that. Weâll finish our little chat with you first.â
I disliked him, but I was not alarmed. The job of the police was to serve the city, and particularly the council.
I said, âI donât see that I can be much help when I havenât the faintest idea what the chat is supposed to be about.â
âDonât be pert, boy.â I stayed silent. âDo you know Brian Grantham?â
âYes. He goes to my school.â
I realized as I spoke that I had not seen him since the beginning of the new term. Not that that meant much, since he was not in my class or dormitory.
The policeman said, âDid you visit his house onââhe leaned forward and glanced at a pad in front of himââ. . . on the evening of the sixteenth?â
That