White shrugged. “Well it works for some but it's a slippery slope that leads to overnight lock-ups and capital punishment and we know where that goes.” He turned another corner and pointed at a sign. “Here we are. Not such a long walk and quicker than it would have taken us to drive here.”
“Of course, now we have to walk back as well.”
“No-one likes a smart-alec, sergeant.”
“No sir.” He stepped ahead and pulled open the door, an industrial thickness fire door with a handle running the whole height.
White went through. “We want room seven.” He studied a diagram on the wall. “This way.”
Computer Tech was held in an open plan room with one end devoted to teaching and the rest of the space devoted to student projects. Clumps of them were dotted about, mostly clustered around and under tables, staring into monitors and oscilloscopes. A thin, weaselly-looking man was trying to explain the importance of documentation to a grand of lads that looked as if they belonged on a community service program.
“Kenneth Shadwell?” White headed toward the group.
The man adjusted his glasses. One of the lads sidled off.
“Detective-inspector White.” He pulled out his warrant card and Peters did the same. “We like to ask you about a couple of your lads.”
“Oh yes?” Shadwell glanced at the dwindling group around him. “Which ones?”
“Dillard Farthing and Samuel Trubshaw.”
“Oh.” He visibly relaxed. “Those two. Haven't seen them all week, actually. What have they done?”