7
The policeman smoothed out the small piece of paper he’d produced from his pocket and laid it down on the table. “Why would he have your address on this piece of paper, Richard?”
Richard sat opposite, his mum next to him. The boy shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you need to think. You’ve been very honest about everything else.”
Richard knew he’d been honest; he didn’t need reminding of the fact. He hadn’t left anything out about the evening he and Eddy played football on the beach. Not even the part where he’d run, leaving Eddy to his fate.
“You were mates?” asked the second, smaller, wiry-looking policeman, a thick thatch of ginger hair sprouting haphazardly from his head.
“Yes. But we hadn’t known one another long. He’d only started school a few days before.”
“No, I meant Stanmo
