Authors: Kerry Wilkinson
‘Why don’t you talk to me, Anthony,’ she said gently. ‘Just tell me whatever you want to.’
She thought about everything the inspector had said to her and realised they had done nothing but accuse Anthony of doing various things – even right from the beginning. He might still be
responsible but no one had asked him what was going through his mind.
Anthony eyed Jessica, his head at an angle. He had stopped grinning, his eyes studying her intently. ‘Let’s just talk,’ she added, holding her hands out to show she was hiding
nothing.
The man nodded towards Reynolds. ‘What about him?’
‘He has to stay – but you can just talk to me if that’s what you want.’
Anthony nodded slowly and Reynolds slid the chair away from the desk so it was in front of the door. He sat and Jessica could feel him staring at her.
‘You didn’t attack anyone last night, did you?’ Jessica said softly. The man leant forward, resting his elbows on the table, shaking his head. Jessica was going to ask why
he’d claimed he had but the answer was obvious – he wished he’d done so.
‘What about the other things we have spoken to you about? The brick? The fire?’ Anthony shook his head again but didn’t speak. ‘What would you like to tell me?’
Jessica asked.
Anthony ran his hands through his hair, getting one of his fingers caught on a knot, before aggressively yanking it free. ‘Do you have children?’
‘No.’
He looked up from the table and waited until Jessica met his gaze. ‘Do you know why Alf was sleeping in the pub the night he died?’
‘No.’
‘We’d had an argument. A stupid thing about him getting a job because he was twenty-one and still living at home. I was only joking – I knew he was trying but there was nothing
around. He was a clever kid. He wanted to work with computers, not work in a shop. Me and his mum would have let him live with us for as long as he wanted. It was just one of those things where you
joke about something so often, it begins to sound serious. I’d been going at him and he walked out one afternoon.’
Jessica could guess the rest of the story but didn’t want to interrupt the man’s flow. From his grinning, almost mocking performance earlier, she knew he was being as sincere as he
was capable of.
Anthony scratched just above his eye so hard that Jessica thought he might draw blood. ‘When he didn’t come home at night, we thought he was with one of his friends,’ he
continued. ‘It was only when you came knocking the next day when we realised something had happened. From there . . . well, what do you want me to say? My wife blamed me and left. Meanwhile
he walks out of prison as if everything’s all right just because he’s spent a few years inside.’
‘I’m sorry, Anthony, but this has to stop. All of it. I’m not saying you’ve been involved in what has happened to Martin but we both know what you told the journalist. I
know it isn’t down to you what they wrote but it could have been that which inspired someone else to target him.’
‘I know.’
‘Can I ask you a few questions now?’ Anthony rocked himself gently forwards and backwards, nodding his head. ‘We found a tin of spray paint and a petrol can at your house. Was
the damage to Martin’s house anything to do with you?’
‘No.’
‘Why were those items at yours?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They’re not yours?’
‘No.’
Jessica believed him – but that only left them with more questions they would have to think through.
‘Why didn’t you tell us that?’ she asked. Anthony shrugged but Jessica knew the answer was because he hadn’t forgiven himself for the way his son had died. She suspected
he wanted to get himself in trouble. It was why he hadn’t protested about being left in the cells at Bootle Street station.
‘Why did you go missing when we came to find you?’ she asked.
Anthony smiled for the first time since they had begun to talk properly. ‘Booze.’
‘But why were you near to Martin’s hotel?’
The man shook his head. ‘I didn’t know I was until you told me.’
‘Anthony.’ Jessica waited until they were staring at each other.
‘Yes.’
‘I know you might look at me in this suit and you hear me introduce myself as “Detective Sergeant” and you might think I’m someone I’m not. The thing is, away from
here, my name is Jessica. You asked if I have children. I don’t – but I’ve got a mum and a dad. I’ve got friends and I’ve got a fiancé who’s bloody
fantastic.’
Jessica felt a lump forming in her throat but continued, even as she felt a dampness around her eyes. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if someone wanted to hurt them, let alone if
they actually managed it. I don’t want to patronise you and say, “I know how you feel” and all that shite, because I don’t. Anyone who tells you that is a complete dick. But
you have to see that this is your chance to let go. When we open the door, you can go home and you can do what you want with your life. If that means drinking yourself to death, that’s up to
you. I believe what you’ve told me – but, even if you’re not involved with what’s happened to Martin, you still would have wished it upon him. You have to let it
go.’
Jessica was thinking about Adam and how she would go on if anything happened to him. Just the idea of him being hurt was making her feel a type of grief she hadn’t experienced since her
colleague and friend Detective Constable Carrie Jones had been killed. She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve but didn’t stop looking at Anthony.
‘You can’t just flick a switch,’ he said.
‘I know.’
Jessica saw the man’s Adam’s Apple begin to bob up and down. Her mind flashed back to the same thing happening to Martin in the rear of the van they had shared. Anthony burst into
tears. At first, Jessica thought about comforting him, but the man raised his arms and covered his face with his sleeves. She looked sideways at Reynolds, still trying to dry her own eyes. He gave
her a small nod.
‘Anthony?’
The man swiped the sleeves of his top across his face, trying to calm himself. He met Jessica’s eyes again. ‘Yes.’
‘Are you going to be okay?’
He didn’t speak, nodding instead. Jessica motioned to move her chair backwards but Anthony interrupted her. ‘I’ve never told anyone this before.’
Jessica had her hands resting on the desk but stopped. ‘What?’
‘That afternoon, I’d got home from work and Alfie was watching some rubbish on the TV. I’d wanted to put on the racing and we had this stupid argument. That’s when I told
him he should get a job if he wanted to stay at our house. I said he could watch what he wanted when he started paying rent. He was so angry. He threw the remote at me and stormed out of the room.
Just before he slammed the door, do you know what he shouted at me?’
Jessica thought it was a question he was asking himself but it was clear Anthony wanted her to respond. ‘No.’
Tears had begun to form around Anthony’s eyes again. He gulped before replying. ‘“Fuck off, Dad”. That was the last thing he ever said to me. I never got the chance to
say I was sorry. Just “fuck off” and then he was gone.’
Jessica tried to think of something she could say but instead the sobs she had been trying to suppress were drowned out by Anthony’s eruption of tears.
Jessica sat alone in the interview room, directly underneath the security camera so that it couldn’t see her. The tears felt embarrassing but relieving at the same time.
The ends of her sleeves were feeling pretty damp by the time Reynolds returned.
‘I thought you were going to listen, not talk,’ he said with a smile.
Jessica snorted and coughed. ‘You know me. I’ve got a big mouth.’
The inspector came close to Jessica and held his arms out. She allowed him to cradle her onto his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be fine. I don’t know what’s happening to me.’
‘It’s called being human, Jess. Welcome to the race – it’s taken you long enough.’
His arms were strong and Jessica felt as if a large weight had been lifted from her – even if she didn’t know what the burden had been in the first place.
‘I sorted out one of the cars giving Anthony a lift home,’ Reynolds said, releasing her.
‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’
He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I think he’s been waiting to tell someone about it for a long time.’
‘If he didn’t burn down Martin’s house, who did? And I believe him when he said the paint and petrol can weren’t his. So who left them at his house? And who attacked
Martin? Plus someone poured petrol over his front door too.’
The inspector smiled weakly. ‘I’ll talk to Jack and we’ll meet upstairs.’
‘I’ll see you in five minutes,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve got something to pick up first.’
Cole’s office was a little less crowded than it had been a few days before as Cornish was working on an armed robbery case. When Jessica arrived, the chief inspector was
behind his desk as usual, Reynolds and Rowlands across from him.
As well as collecting the item she wanted, Jessica had visited the toilets to make sure it wasn’t too obvious she had been crying.
‘I’ve told Jack about the interview with Anthony Thompson,’ Reynolds said. ‘I don’t think either of us really suspect him but we have another problem
too.’
Cole spun around his computer monitor so Jessica could see it. In large capital letters was the headline ‘ARSON MAN BEATEN’, with the same picture of Martin Chadwick that the media
had used to report his release from prison.
‘Bloody Internet,’ Jessica said. ‘A few years ago, you’d at least manage to wait until the next day for these things to get out. How did they find the story?’
Cole shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Our press office were just working on a release when it broke. Someone at the hospital probably? Maybe even the hotel? There were plenty of
bystanders too. Martin has been all over the news, so it’s not as if the doctors, nurses and receptionists would struggle to recognise him. I don’t know if they copied it off each other
but it’s been on the news channels too. Everyone has the story.’
Jessica read the first few lines of the piece before sitting back in the seat. ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ she said, reaching into the cardboard folder she had been
keeping in her office and handing Cole the papers with the doodles in the margins.
‘I know it isn’t proof of anything,’ she added. ‘But Ryan Chadwick’s form tutor gave me these. I don’t know all the data protection or privacy stuff but
I’m guessing I probably shouldn’t have them. Either way, it’s too late now.’
Cole looked through the pages before passing them to Reynolds to scan. No one said anything as Rowlands flicked through the pages, before handing them back to Jessica.
‘What do you think they show?’ the DCI asked, but Jessica interrupted him.
‘There’s more. When I mentioned about that private investigator the other day, I know you told me not to but . . .’
She could feel the other two officers’ eyes on her but it was Cole she stared at. ‘Sorry,’ she offered, knowing it sounded pathetic.
Cole sat up straighter in his seat and glanced towards Reynolds before returning his gaze to Jessica. She couldn’t read his face. ‘Did you . . . ?’
‘Yes . . . well, sort of.’
Her supervisor rolled his eyes and shook his head but she still couldn’t tell if he was angry. ‘What have you got?’ he asked.
‘You’ve seen the drawings. It can’t just be me that’s concerned about the flames Ryan drew?’
From the moment Cole said ‘Jess’, she knew what was coming. ‘This is nothing,’ he stated. ‘You must know we could never use it as evidence.’
‘Of course I know. It’s just something to bear in mind along with everything else that’s going on.’
‘What about the investigator?’ the chief inspector asked.
‘I asked him to follow Ryan for me. I didn’t bring any of you into it. He saw Ryan giving money to this girl. She’s the same age as Sienna and Molly. It was all secretive and
away from people.’
‘Do you know who the girl is?’
‘Yes. I spoke to her. I think she wanted to talk but got distracted.’ Jessica realised she was sounding desperate.
Cole didn’t look annoyed, just confused. ‘What are you saying he’s up to?’
‘I . . . I don’t know, just something. You have to admit it all looks bad. The link to the fires, the girls, the drawings, the money. There’s something going on
there.’
There was a short pause and Jessica realised she had badly misjudged the mood of her colleagues. It was Rowlands who spoke which, in many ways, made her own desperation worse. If either of the
other two had said something, they were her superiors. She not only outranked the constable but considered him one of her closest friends.
‘Jess,’ he said quietly.
‘What? I’m not saying all of this is down to him. I’m just saying we’re missing something.’
‘But this can be so easily explained. Most people draw, write and doodle when they’re bored. Just because his are flames, it doesn’t show anything. And as for the money? I
don’t know, it could be for anything. Maybe he’d bought something from her?’
‘But what if it’s more?’
Cole interrupted. ‘We can’t keep having this conversation, Jess. We all love you here but . . .’
As Jessica was about to reply, Reynolds spoke. ‘Remember what you told Anthony about letting go? Whatever’s going on, you’ve got to get on and do the job. If we find any proper
evidence to say Ryan is involved with either case – the fires or the suicides – then we’ll move on it. But we don’t have anything. No witnesses, no forensics . .
.’
Jessica knew she was in an argument she wasn’t going to win. ‘I just wanted to tell you everything that was going on,’ she said. ‘We don’t have any other suspects
or clues for either of the cases. Before they get dumped to one side as unsolved, I wanted to tell you what I had.’
Cole nodded, although she wasn’t sure if it was to accept her explanation or simply to shut her up. ‘You’ve got to tell this investigator friend of yours to stop doing whatever
he’s doing if it’s on your behalf. We can’t get tied to something like this. Other than that, we’ll just have to dig deeper. You might be right that we’re missing
something, so let’s go back to the beginning and look into Martin himself. Jason says his old school burned down – let’s see if we can find any way he could be connected to that,
or anything else suspicious he might be connected to. When we’re done with him, we’ll move onto Ryan. If he was in a children’s home, there must be people out there who know him
and paperwork to chase. If we can’t come up with anything, we’ll look further afield.’