Authors: Kerry Wilkinson
‘What was that?’ he eventually said.
Jessica untied her ponytail and started to twirl her hair, before tying it again. ‘I just wanted him to say something.’
‘That you achieved.’
The inspector didn’t sound angry, more exasperated. Jessica didn’t know what to say. She knew she had gone too far but sometimes it was that which got a response.
‘What do you want to do?’
‘With you?’ he fired back.
‘With Anthony.’ Jessica figured it was better to play things straight, rather than dig herself a deeper hole by being flippant.
Reynolds ran a hand through the little hair he had. ‘It’s going to be hard to keep him in. As far as we can tell he hasn’t done anything. The few things we have got are about
as circumstantial as you can get.’
‘He doesn’t seem quite . . . right.’
The inspector fixed her with a gaze as if to say he wasn’t surprised given the way Jessica spoke to him. ‘That’s not a reason to keep him in.’
‘He still seems drunk to me. You can smell it on him.’
‘He’d have to be taken to magistrates’ court today or we would have to let him go.’
‘Not if he was still under the influence . . .’
If someone arrested was still intoxicated, they weren’t supposed to be released. Jessica knew that what she was suggesting was anything but by the book. Reynolds continued to glare at the
floor. ‘I don’t think he would protest,’ Jessica added. ‘I reckon he’s been sleeping rough.’
‘Why do you want to keep him in?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I think there’s something we’re all missing.’
‘To do with him?’
Jessica stood, adjusting her jacket. ‘I don’t know.’
Reynolds raised himself from the chair with a grunt and walked towards the door, standing in front of it and blocking the way out. Jessica wondered if he had done it deliberately. ‘Do you
think he started the fire?’
It was the most direct question he could have asked.
‘I think he’s unpredictable,’ Jessica replied.
The inspector smiled in the fatherly way she knew he could. It was how he used to greet her when they shared an office and he didn’t have to control her. His head lolled onto one shoulder
as he rolled his eyes and flashed his teeth. He stepped aside, clearing the exit and then put a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. ‘I’ll have a word with the custody sergeant but
you’re going to be the death of me.’
Jessica thought about Reynolds’s words throughout the evening. Whatever he had said in the other station had done the trick and, however the paperwork had been fiddled,
Anthony Thompson was going to be sleeping in a cell until the following morning. Jessica knew it wasn’t a particularly fair way to treat him but, as she suspected, he had offered no
complaints.
At some point during the day, Adam had bookmarked a selection of potential wedding venues, which he showed her enthusiastically. She found it hard to look him in the eye as, every time she did,
she remembered her confusion from the night before in thinking he was Sebastian. Largely because of that, she skimmed through the sites with him, saying all the right things about going to visit
them.
Jessica couldn’t stop thinking about the way Reynolds had looked at her in the interview room. He was someone she had always respected, even though she had never been as close to him as
she was to Dave and Izzy. One time when she was a child, her mother had scolded her for crossing the road without looking. She had said that she wasn’t angry, just disappointed. The inspector
had given her that same look and she wondered why she was allowing herself to become so involved. In essence, it was a straightforward arson that might, at some point, be upgraded to an attempted
murder. She had dealt with much more serious cases and not allowed herself to be drawn in the way she felt she was now.
Jessica struggled to hide her relief as the sound of her phone ringing interrupted their Internet browsing. She mouthed her customary ‘sorry’ as she took the call, strolling into the
hallway as she had done the previous night. On this occasion, she barely had a foot on the bottom step before she turned and walked back into the living room to pick up her jacket from the chair
where she had left it.
There was another fire.
In her old car, Jessica knew there was a good chance she would have been driving around in circles swearing at no one in particular before stopping to ask scared passers-by for
directions. Another function of her new car that she actually found useful – when she could figure out how to use it – was the built-in satellite navigation device. That didn’t
stop her swearing at the eerie flat tone of the voice telling her which direction she should be heading in. Adam would have laughed as she shouted ‘I just turned left, you mardy bitch’,
only to get the reply: ‘Please turn around’. It also didn’t stop her becoming furious every time it beeped to tell her she was approaching a speed camera. That was something which
seemed to happen a lot around Manchester.
She discovered to her surprise that the journey was largely along one road. Boothstown was an affluent area she had rarely visited. Jessica had been to plenty of large properties south of the
city but rarely in the west. Outside the M60 ring road, it was close enough to Manchester to enjoy the transport links but far enough away that it was almost inconceivable that grim, dark housing
estates were barely a fifteen-minute bus ride away.
The distance between houses began to increase and, as she passed a golf club, smoke drifted across the road and Jessica could smell the burned aroma she had tasted at Martin Chadwick’s
house. Ignoring the sat nav and following the smoke, Jessica arrived in front of a property with huge metal gates that were opened inwards. From the road she could see the flames. She parked close
by, grabbed the jacket that she still hadn’t returned from the back seat, and then hurried along the wide driveway towards where she could see the fire licking into the night sky.
In the light of the flames, Jessica could see three fire engines parked at the end of the drive, with large hoses pumping water as small groups of men gripped them. As she walked, she looked to
her left where a large lush lawn stretched away from the driveway. Ahead of her, she could see the far sides of the house were untouched by flames. The sandstone ends were in stark contrast to the
blackened centre, which was entirely engulfed by the fire. She heard a creak and then a crash, watching as the upper part in the centre of the house collapsed onto the ground floor.
Two of the firefighters darted backwards, shouting instructions over their shoulders. She could feel the heat on her face, although the wind was blowing the thick black smoke away from where she
was walking. The property itself looked as if it would have at least five or six bedrooms. The window frames still untouched at either end were tall, showing off what she expected were large,
high-ceilinged rooms.
As Jessica continued making her way slowly towards the site, she heard someone shouting and turned to her right where another fire officer was running towards her.
As he neared, he lowered his voice. ‘No public, you’ve got to go back to the road.’
Jessica fumbled in her pockets for her identification. ‘I’ve been called here,’ she said. ‘Detective Sergeant Daniel. I’m from Longsight.’
‘What are you doing all the way out here?’ he asked.
‘Long story. Where’s the owner?’
‘On his way. He wasn’t in.’ The officer pointed over his shoulder towards the next property along which was shielded from view by a large hedge. ‘We were called out by a
neighbour. You might want to talk to them.’
Jessica heard sirens approaching and two marked police cars started accelerating along the drive towards them. The first one sped past, pulling up next to the fire engines, the second stopping
alongside Jessica. She didn’t recognise the police officer who got out of the car, although that wasn’t a surprise. She wasn’t sure exactly what division was responsible for the
area she was in. It was right on the border where Manchester West CID would take over from her Metropolitan division, although the responsibility for uniformed officers was far more localised.
Either way, given whose house was on fire, there was no doubt she would end up dealing with the fallout.
The uniformed constable who stepped out of the car put his hat on, straightening it, and fixed Jessica with a suspicious look. He was somewhere in his mid-twenties and, from the way he looked at
her, she knew the type straight away. He was the sort who would ask all the questions first in a time-sensitive situation and then realise that they had left it too late to actually do anything.
Jessica was the opposite, although, with everything going on around her and Reynolds’s clear indifference to her presently, she wondered whose way was best.
Before the constable could ask who she was, Jessica showed him her identification and gave him a ‘piss off over there’ look. She had honed it perfectly over the years. She combined
it with her ‘and don’t come back until your bollocks have dropped’ look, which was a new one she was working on.
‘Who called you?’ the fire officer asked as the other officer walked towards the house, suitably chastened.
‘Someone at Longsight.’
Jessica didn’t know exactly who had phoned it through but, given the location and the fact she wouldn’t usually have been called, it seemed like someone in the central call centre
was on the ball that night. That was certainly a surprise. She knew she hadn’t answered the question the fire officer was really asking.
‘So why are you out here?’ he persisted.
‘Because I’m currently investigating why the house owner’s daughter killed herself.’
Reynolds and Rowlands each turned up within ten minutes. The inspector headed straight for the house, hoping to talk to whoever was in charge from the fire service as soon as
the blaze was out. Meanwhile, Jessica and Rowlands went to visit the person who had reported the fire.
The neighbouring property was a similar size to Harley Todd’s. Large green gardens stretched into the darkness and the gravel driveway had three large cars parked close to the house. As
they crunched their way towards the front door, Rowlands said the one name that Jessica had in her mind – ‘Ryan Chadwick’.
‘Why would he do this?’ Jessica asked.
‘I have no idea but it’s the second fire he’s been connected to in under a week. Not to mention that suicide,’ Rowlands replied.
Jessica agreed but couldn’t bring herself to say it. She didn’t know why he might have set fire to his own house, other than to frame Anthony Thompson, but all she could think of was
the doodles on the pages Aidan had given her. She hadn’t told Dave, or anyone, about those sketches but that decision now looked foolish.
‘We can’t connect him to the one at his own house and all we know is that he knew Sienna. That doesn’t link him properly to either her death or this fire.’
She was saying it more to convince herself.
‘Maybe,’ Rowlands replied. ‘But the timing’s bloody uncanny. That said, we have another arsonist we’re overlooking.’
‘Who?’
Jessica felt stupid when the reply came.
‘Ryan’s dad, of course.’
With everything that had been going on, Jessica had almost forgotten the obvious fact that Martin Chadwick had only recently been released from prison after starting the fire that killed Alfie
Thompson. Could he really be up to his old tricks? If so, why his own house and why this one?
Jessica didn’t know if there was a connection from Harley to Martin in any way other than through their children. The only thing she did know was that Anthony Thompson was definitely
innocent of this one, given that he was still in a cell somewhere at the Bootle Street station.
Before Rowlands could say anything else, Jessica rang the bell. There was a large wooden door, fixed to a mock Tudor frame that looked impressive, even in the dark. The door opened inwards
barely a second after the bell had sounded. Standing inside was a tall man with ginger hair combed to one side. He was wearing a grey pinstripe suit with a blue shirt underneath. Jessica was
confused by how quickly he had opened the door.
As if reading her mind, he said: ‘I’ve been watching through the upstairs window to see what was going on next door. I saw you coming.’
His voice was husky and dry and he offered little to no emotion.
Jessica checked his name and confirmed it was he who had called the police. The neighbour invited them in, closing the door behind them as flecks of black ash drifted across the front of the
house. He told them he had smelled the fire but had disregarded it at first, thinking someone was having a bonfire nearby. When he noticed the orange glow illuminating his lawn not long after, he
had walked along his driveway until he saw the flames properly and then called the police. Jessica asked if he had seen anything suspicious but the man seemed more concerned by the possibility of
it being ‘kids’ who might target him next.
Three times he repeated ‘These bloody kids today’ before Jessica asked him to confirm whether he had seen any youths.
Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t.
‘What do you know of your neighbour?’ Jessica asked.
‘Harley?’
‘Yes.’
The man shrugged. ‘We pretty much keep to ourselves. We invited him around for a dinner party when he first moved in but he didn’t bother turning up. Then sometimes we would hear
cars bringing his daughter back late . . . well, before . . .’ He tailed off, apparently not wanting to mention her death, but he didn’t seem overly concerned.
‘Was there anything suspicious about the cars?’
‘What cars?’
Jessica forced herself not to roll her eyes. ‘The ones you said brought back his daughter.’
He shrugged his shoulders, eyes darting towards the door, evidently bored. He clearly had no interest in anyone other than himself and Jessica suspected his annoyance stemmed back to the dinner
party snub. She could picture him moaning about it every day since, a typical busybody who took offence at any minute dispute. Jessica thought about leaving but figured it couldn’t do any
harm to push him a little further.