CHAPTER ELEVENAlthough it was nine o'clock on an icy winter's night, children as young as eight were still out on the Bullocks' estate, their pinched faces blue with cold and their eyes watchful.
As Rafferty and Llewellyn got out of the car, one of the older boys yelled at them. 'Hey, copper. You wanted to know when Roger the Rapist was about last week.'
Rafferty turned. The youth was about fifteen, but he already had cold, watchful eyes and hardened features. 'That's right,' he said. 'Why? Can you help?'
The boy nodded. His name was Darren, he told them. 'He was 'ere last Thursday. I saw him leavin' from up on the balcony.'
Rafferty frowned. 'Thursday? You're sure about that? Sure it wasn't the Wednesday?'
'Nah.' Darren shook his head. 'EastEnders had just finished on the telly, and
