Authors: Kerry Wilkinson
‘Maybe we can get a few brochures?’ Adam suggested. ‘There are a few nice places up Lancashire way and it’s around halfway towards your parents’, which will help.
Perhaps we can go for a drive next weekend?’
‘Sounds good,’ Jessica replied, thinking she would definitely be working the following Saturday and Sunday whether or not she was on the rota.
Apparently happy with her response, Adam shifted his weight, holding his arm out towards her again. Jessica obliged and rested her head on the inside of his armpit, allowing him to cuddle her.
She didn’t know what he was watching on the television but, whatever it was, nothing much seemed to be happening except that one woman was very angry with a man. Adam had put on a jumper over
his T-shirt and the fabric was soft and inviting. Jessica felt her eyelids beginning to get heavy and she struggled to stop them closing before finally succumbing to the intoxicating lure of
sleep.
Jessica didn’t know how long she had been dozing when she felt an arm shaking her awake. ‘Jess, we should go upstairs,’ a man’s voice said. Her mind was
fuzzy and unresponsive as her eyes opened onto a room where the only light came from a muted television.
She felt someone kissing her hair as he untwined his arm from her and then the television turned off. Jessica’s body flopped on the sofa before she raised herself up into a sitting
position, still feeling dozy. She reached out towards the shape of the other person, who hauled her up from the sofa and put an arm around her, then leant down to kiss her. Jessica responded by
chewing on his bottom lip gently and giggling before recoiling away abruptly.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, clearly confused by her response.
Jessica’s throat felt croaky and dry. She blinked rapidly. ‘Sorry, I’m just tired.’
She gripped Adam’s hand, allowing him to lead her up the stairs. Any sleepiness had drifted from her mind as he opened the bedroom door and she followed him inside. Her thoughts were a
mixture of self-loathing and relief that she had stopped herself from saying something stupid for once.
Jessica started to undress, unable to face her fiancé and knowing that, if her mind had taken a second or two longer to wake up, she would have called him Sebastian.
Jessica was beginning to think the biggest problem with commuting wasn’t the time she spent sitting in her car watching traffic lights change, cars sit still, or rain
fall, it was that she felt trapped alone with her mind. Trying to think through her thought process from the previous evening wasn’t something she wanted to do but she simply couldn’t
avoid it. Even with the radio turned on as a distraction, Jessica couldn’t believe how close she had come to saying Sebastian’s name. The only explanation she could come up with was
that she had been dreaming about him but that didn’t offer much comfort either. In many ways, the fact he had crept his way into her unconscious made it worse.
She thought of the way he had flirted with her in the car park a few nights before and the cocky charm he possessed. She wanted to dislike him but he had those delicious eyes that made it seem
as if you were the only person he was focusing on.
Bastard.
Trying to forget him, Jessica turned up the radio, hoping it would take her mind away from her own guilt. The presenters wittered on inanely and took calls from members of the public who offered
their opinions on everything from foreign policy to whether a female celebrity was too old to have children. It was the usual kind of nonsense which drove her crazy – and failed to take her
mind away from both Adam and Sebastian. Maybe she should phone the radio station and let members of the public pass judgement on her dilemma?
Jessica arrived at Longsight just as Reynolds was walking out of the doors into the car park. ‘I saw you pull in,’ he said, not breaking stride. ‘We have found Anthony
Thompson.’
She put one hand on the still-swinging door as a gesture to show she had actually arrived at work, before turning and following the inspector towards one of the marked police cars.
On the journey he explained that Anthony had been arrested in the city centre the previous evening for being drunk and disorderly. At the time he was too drunk to give his name and had been put
in a cell at the Bootle Street police station. This was located just off Deansgate and was about as central as you could get in Manchester. Jessica knew it was where a lot of the overnight drunks
ended up before they were either released in the morning or, if they had been particularly abusive, cautioned or charged. The last time she had been here was when she was dealing with a series of
magic-related paraphernalia that had been left around the city.
Reynolds said that Anthony had sobered up by the morning but started telling the officer who was ready to release him about how his son had been murdered and that he wanted revenge. That was
when they had been called.
‘Where was he picked up?’ Jessica asked.
‘I don’t know, somewhere central. Why?’
Jessica hoped she was wrong. ‘Because Martin and Ryan Chadwick have been put up in a hotel in the centre by an insurance company. What if he was found outside where they are
staying?’
The staff at Bootle Street were expecting them and the first thing Jessica did was look through the paperwork. Anthony had been picked up in Piccadilly Gardens, less than a hundred metres from
the hotel the Chadwicks were in. It proved nothing as there was a good chance he would have been picked up around there anyway if he had gone to the centre to get drunk. Still, along with the spray
paint and petrol can, the circumstantial evidence was building.
Rather than take him across the city, Jessica and Reynolds were given an interview room in which to talk to Anthony. One of the uniformed constables told them their suspect had refused any offer
of food and when told officers would be arriving to talk to him, insisted he didn’t have – or want – a solicitor. As he closed the door and assured them he would return with
Anthony shortly, the constable’s final words of ‘good luck’ didn’t bode too well.
A security camera hummed in a top corner. Within the last few months, every interview room in Greater Manchester had been fitted with one after complaints from a suspect that he had been
assaulted in a station in the north of the city. The police officers involved denied the accusations and there was no evidence but the media outcry didn’t paint them in a good light. And so,
the chief constable somehow found funds in a budget that had previously had no flexibility to fit the cameras. Jessica could think of a specific incident in her past that had happened with a
suspect called Wayne Lapham that she was pleased hadn’t been caught on camera. It seemed strange that they were still using old-fashioned cassette tapes to record interviews considering they
had the newish piece of technology as well.
After a short while, Jessica heard the clanging of doors and then theirs was opened. Anthony Thompson walked in looking slightly disorientated, as if he had just woken up. His face was as red as
it had been when she had last seen him and he was wearing the same green jumper. His grey hair had begun to mat together and it hung across his face, partially obscuring his view. Anthony sat where
he was told and rubbed his eyes. Jessica wondered if he recognised her. If he did, he certainly didn’t acknowledge it. Reynolds asked if the man wanted a solicitor and if he was feeling okay.
Jessica knew he would have been checked for drugs but there was something about the way his eyes seemed to drift in and out of focus that was disconcerting.
When the formalities were out of the way, Jessica began. ‘Where have you been, Anthony?’ she asked in a way that she hoped didn’t sound too accusing. ‘Do you know
we’ve been looking for you?’
Anthony stared at a spot somewhere over Jessica’s head and shrugged. ‘Around.’
‘Have you been staying with anyone in particular?’
‘No.’
‘We know you haven’t been at home.’
‘No.’
Jessica didn’t know if he was saying ‘no’ to disagree with her, or to acknowledge that he hadn’t been at his house. Either way, they’d had an officer stationed
there ever since Anthony went missing, so they knew he hadn’t been around. She sensed she wasn’t going to get much with regard to where he had been. By the look of him, he could well
have been sleeping rough. He certainly looked as if he had done plenty of drinking since going missing.
‘Do you remember when I came to speak to you the first time?’ Jessica asked.
Anthony didn’t respond, still focusing on the spot on the wall behind her. She half-wanted to turn to see if there was anything actually there.
‘It was because Martin Chadwick’s house was sprayed with graffiti the night before. Did you know that?’ Jessica deliberately hadn’t told him at the time. A fraction of a
smile appeared on Anthony’s face but he didn’t reply.
‘We came back to your house a few days ago to look for you but you weren’t there,’ Jessica continued. ‘That night someone set fire to Mr Chadwick’s
house.’
Anthony grinned wider, continuing to remain silent.
‘Do you know anything about either of those incidents?’ Jessica asked.
At first she didn’t think she was going to get a response but then Anthony’s face broke and he started to laugh. His joy seemed unnatural, given the dishevelled nature of his
appearance. Jessica and Reynolds sat impassively, waiting for him to compose himself.
‘What is it you find so funny?’ Jessica asked when he had eventually quietened.
Anthony finally fixed his eyes on her. They were wide and full of a humour that shouldn’t have been there. ‘Fire,’ he said, grinning yet further.
It was an uncomfortable moment before Reynolds spoke. ‘Are you admitting to starting the fire at Martin Chadwick’s house?’
The man switched his gaze from Jessica to her supervisor. ‘Fi-re,’ he repeated with as much joy as before, making the word sound as if it had two extended syllables.
Both officers knew it wasn’t a confession, certainly it wasn’t strong enough to pass any kind of test if it ever got to court. Jessica asked where he was on the night of the first
incident but Anthony simply shrugged and smiled before saying that he couldn’t remember. Jessica was grateful to have something other than a one-word response but it still didn’t get
her anywhere.
‘The graffiti sprayed at the Chadwick house was done in yellow paint,’ Jessica said. ‘We found an empty tin of yellow spray paint in the same shade in your shed. What would you
say if I told you the pigment of the paint from the can matched what was sprayed on the house?’
It wasn’t strictly true because that was still being looked into. In any case, Anthony smiled and said nothing.
‘We also found a petrol can in your back garden the day after the fire was started using an accelerant.’
No response.
‘Last night you were arrested close to where Martin and his son are now staying. That’s three pretty big coincidences that end up with you being here, isn’t it?’
Jessica hadn’t known whether to reveal that the Chadwicks were staying somewhere central in the city. If Anthony’s location was incidental then she didn’t want to tip him off.
On the other hand, she wanted to see his reaction to the news.
His face didn’t change from the fixed half-smile he had been displaying. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Anthony replied.
His unpredictability made it almost impossible for Jessica to read him. At times he seemed confused, as if still drunk. At others, he seemed perfectly aware of what was going on. At the present
time, he had returned to staring at the spot on the wall behind her.
‘Did you have anything to do with this?’ Jessica tried one more time.
‘He deserves all he gets,’ Anthony answered with a snarl.
‘That’s not what I asked.’
Anthony burst out laughing again before dissolving into a coughing fit. Reynolds caught Jessica’s eye, telling her without words that they were getting nowhere. Anthony had lifted his
jumper to cover his mouth as he coughed. Then, much to Jessica’s disgust, he blew his nose into the material. She couldn’t prevent herself from pulling a face, which the man noticed and
smiled more widely at.
If it wasn’t an act, Jessica thought Anthony must be quite close to having some sort of personality disorder. He lurched from saying nothing and barely reacting to laughing himself hoarse.
On the one hand he appeared to understand all of the questions being put to him and responded when he wanted. On other occasions, he would resort to one- or two-word replies, as if the language
being used was too complicated. She had to remind herself that he had lost his son. She wondered what he was like before it happened. Was he similarly difficult then or had everything happened
since?
‘Do you think this is what Alfie would want?’ Jessica said quietly.
Anthony’s laughing stopped as suddenly as it had started. He focused his attention on Jessica, his eyes narrow and fierce. She realised from the pressure in her chest that she was holding
her breath in the ensuing silence. Jessica looked up to meet his eyes, not knowing why she had said it but determined to get something from him. Above everything, she wanted him to deny it. She had
now met him twice but on neither occasion had he outright told her the vandalism and now the fire was nothing to do with him.
‘Don’t you say his name,’ Anthony said softly, his voice clearer than it had been at any point since he had been brought in.
Jessica knew she had crossed a line. ‘I’m sorry but . . .’
‘Don’t. You. Say. His. Name.’ Anthony’s voice was louder and firmer, each word punctuated with absolute fury.
Reynolds stood and said he was ending the interview before announcing the time for the recording. The same officer returned to collect Anthony, who left silently without looking back at the
officers.
Jessica hadn’t moved from her seat but the inspector paced the room, his black shiny shoes clipping noisily across the surface. She didn’t risk standing herself because she knew what
was likely to be coming. After what seemed like minutes but was probably just seconds, Reynolds stopped and sat in the chair Anthony had been in across the table from Jessica. He was shaking his
head, sucking on his bottom lip.