“Where do you draw it?”

“He wasn’t dragging the kid along, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Were they talking?”

“I heard voices, but they were too far away for me to catch any words.” Anderton rose from the table.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I was going to boil more water. Permission granted?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know what language they were speaking?” Macdonald asked.

Anderton sat back down. “Wasn’t it English?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Why would they be speaking another language?”

“Did they seem to understand each other?”

“The character was doing most of the talking, but it looked like the kid understood him. Of course, they weren’t there very long.”

“I see.”

The kettle began to whistle. Anderton went over to the stove and fixed more tea, his back to Macdonald. “I was just about to come out of the bushes when they left.” He sat down again.

“Did they see you?”

“I have no idea. The kid turned around once and he might have noticed me. But what difference does it make now? He’s dead, right?”

“How long did you watch them walk away?”

“I didn’t stare at them until they disappeared over the horizon, if that’s what you mean. I was in a hurry to get home and watch East-Enders. And it was already getting dark.”

“Which way did they go?”

“Straight south across Windmill Drive.”

“We’re going to need your help to put together a composite sketch of this man.”

“But I barely saw his face. I can’t just make things up, can I?”

Macdonald sighed.

“Okay, okay, I wasn’t trying to be a wise guy or anything.”

Macdonald jotted down a note to himself.

“I’ll do whatever I can. It’s not like I don’t realize what you’re up against, and I do feel sorry for the kid. Not to mention his parents. I mean, I called you guys, right? First thing I did when I saw it in the South London Press.”