Long Way Home (43 page)

Phil staggered where he stood, braced his hands against the wall, seeing the pieces slotting together, the delay and the silence. There was only one explanation and only one course of action.

‘Tell Inspector Zigic I want to make a full confession. You tell him that right fucking now.’

ZIGIC SAT ALONE
in the canteen, contemplating the vending machine sandwiches in front of him, the smell of sweaty ham making his stomach flip. He’d managed a Mars bar and a Coke, was already regretting taking on so much sugar.

He was going to feel like shit tomorrow.

A couple of WPCs from the night shift came in, their voices crackling around the deserted room, talking about some bloke they’d just pulled over, driving drunk and coked up, with a woman clamped on his dick. Their laughter was like shards of broken glass and it lingered for a few minutes after they left, an aftershock sparking across his brain.

He fingered the blister pack of codeine in his pocket, was debating taking another when his mobile vibrated against the table, screen flashing dementedly.

Ferreira – on her way back in with Craig Barlow.

He forced himself to eat one of the sandwiches, chewed and swallowed mechanically, barely tasting it. He threw the other one in the bin, hesitated for a moment and chucked the codeine in there too.

As he was leaving the canteen he ran into the custody sergeant. She was out of breath, flushed in the face.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ she said. ‘Barlow’s kicking up a hell of racket. He says he wants to talk to you, he’s ready to give you a confession.’

‘The food’s getting to him, is it?’

She smiled. There was lipstick on her teeth. ‘He saw your prodigal corpse being taken down, it seemed to provoke him.’

‘OK, thanks, Rita.’

‘Would you like him bringing up?’

‘Yes. No. Is Carr back with Mrs Barlow yet?’

‘Just arrived.’

‘I’ll have a word with her first.’

She nodded, turned away smartly on her heel.

Ten minutes later she escorted Gemma into the interview room.

A long day alone, thinking about Phil locked in the cells, had left her crumpled and puffy-eyed. Her face still bore the traces of yesterday’s make-up and her hair sat lank against her skull. Zigic was aware he probably didn’t look much better, bruised and bearded, and he could smell the sharp tang of his own body odour as he sat down opposite her at the grey metal table.

‘Why have you dragged me back here?’ she asked. ‘What’re you doing to Phil?’

‘I just need to ask you a few more questions, Gemma. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.’

She let out a bitter laugh. ‘This is harassment, you know that. When this is over I’m going to the best lawyer I can find and I’m going to sue you.’

‘I’m only doing my job.’

‘So do it then.’ She nodded towards the tape recorder bolted to the wall. ‘Come on. Ask me what you’re going to.’

‘Don’t you want a solicitor?’

‘I don’t want to wait another minute in this fucking place.’

‘She’s downstairs,’ Zigic said. ‘She’s on her way up now.’

Gemma crossed her arms. ‘Fine.’

They sat in silence until Mrs Waites arrived and she didn’t seem very amused about being kept hanging around either.

‘Three hours, Inspector. Really, it’s just not cricket.’

‘I seem to remember we called you at one o’clock this afternoon,’ he said. ‘You kept us waiting for five hours. Now, if we’re all ready . . .’

Mrs Waites settled herself next to Gemma as he set the tapes up, slipped off her burgundy suit jacket to reveal a creased white blouse with a tick of biro on the cuff. She pointed at Gemma’s untouched cup of tea and asked if she was going to drink it, drained it in one long gulp when Gemma shook her head.

‘First of all, you should know the man who died in your shed wasn’t Jaan Stepulov.’

‘What? Who was it then?’

‘His name’s Andy Hudson.’ Zigic showed her the photograph, got a genuinely bemused expression in return. ‘Do you know him?’

‘No. What was he, a mate of Stepulov’s?’

‘Not a friend, no, but they knew each other.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘So? What’s the difference? We still didn’t have anything to do with that fire.’

Zigic slipped the photograph away again, bunched his hands on the table and stared at Gemma, letting the silence stretch for a couple of seconds which felt like minutes, the clock ticking and the tapes turning. A fly had found its way into the room and it buzzed lazily around the table, drawn by the scent of unwashed hair and stale bodies.

‘Phil wants to make a full confession.’

Gemma gasped, pressing her palms over her mouth.

‘No. No, he can’t, he didn’t do it.’

‘You can’t protect him any more, Gemma. I can fully understand why you did it – he’s your husband and you love him – but you need to think of yourself now.’

She covered her eyes and began to cry.

‘I’m giving you a chance to retract your previous statements before this goes any further. Do you understand?’

Next to her Mrs Waites was examining something unpleasant she’d found under her thumbnail. ‘I think I should speak to Mr Barlow,’ she said.

Zigic ignored her. ‘There are extenuating circumstances, a jury will be sympathetic to what Stepulov put you both through, but –’

‘Oh my God, this isn’t happening,’ Gemma said. ‘This can’t be happening. What did he say?’

‘You know how he’s been suffering . . .’

She let out an anguished noise something between dark laughter and a cry of deep, soul-shattering despair. ‘You have no idea. You’ve been picking away at him, haven’t you? Bullying us and harassing us and you have no fucking idea.’

She got up from the table, paced into the corner of the room, arguing with herself in an undertone, dragging her fingers through her hair, pressing her palms to her cheeks, and Zigic waited it out, seeing that the battle she was fighting with herself was too big to be hurried to a conclusion by him.

He leaned back in the hard, plastic chair, his hand straying to his chest, feeling the points of his ribs throbbing, each one of them a distinct and special pain.

‘No. I’m not having this.’ She stomped back to her chair and drew it close, planted her hands defiantly on the table. ‘You listen to me now. Whatever Phil said, he’s lying. Alright? He’s full of shit. You want to know what happened?’

Gemma didn’t wait for him to answer. She took a deep breath, which made her shoulders shake, and spewed out the truth.

‘
I FEEL LIKE
I’ve been here for days,’ Ferreira said, sitting on the radiator opposite the door to interview room 2.

‘Tell me about it.’

Zigic was leaning against the wall, arms folded, head tipped back and his eyes closed, looking like he might slide down onto his heels and pass out at any moment.

‘I could have handled this, you know. You didn’t need to come in.’

He opened one eye, said nothing.

She wanted a cigarette but she’d smoked the last of her tobacco hours ago and there was no time to slip out to the garage in Bretton and get a fresh bag. She could smell it on her fingers and that was just making the craving worse.

Maybe there were enough loose strands scattered about on her desk for a very thin roll-up. The office was empty so no one would see her scraping them together from under the keyboard.

It was tempting.

She shifted where she sat, the ridges of the radiator digging into her backside through her jeans.

‘We could just do this tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Lightweight.’

‘Just saying.’

‘I’m doing nothing tomorrow,’ Zigic said. ‘I don’t care if mass riots break out and M&S gets looted by gangs of heavily armed pensioners, I’m staying in bed.’

‘That’s pretty unlikely. There’s nothing worth looting in M&S.’

The door of the interview room opened and a thin blond guy in a grey suit poked his head out.

‘Are you ready for us now, Mr Dean?’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

Dean returned to his seat as they went in, smoothed his tie and straightened the crease in his trouser leg, ready for action. Next to him Craig Barlow looked even younger than he had at home; a child pulled out of his element and dropped down in an adult world he was ill-equipped for. He’d zipped his hoodie up to his chin, dragged the sleeves down over his knuckles, trying to disappear inside it like a turtle retreating into its shell.

Ferreira set up the tapes, aware of him watching her, a stunned expression on his face. It was getting real now, or maybe more unreal, the protocols so like something from television that he couldn’t process it.

He stated his name for the tape, barely getting above a whisper, and when one of his trainers squeaked against the floor he mumbled an apology into his chest.

His mother put a protective arm around his shoulder but he quickly shrugged her off. Kerry placed her hands in her lap, fingers knitted tightly together, an expression of nauseous fear on her pointed features.

Zigic cleared his throat. ‘OK, Craig, why don’t you tell us what happened last Tuesday night when you were at your dad’s?’

The boy shifted in his seat, glanced at his solicitor then his mother.

‘I wasn’t at Dad’s last Tuesday.’

‘Gemma told us everything, we know you were there.’

‘She’s lying.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We have another witness who places you at the house,’ Zigic said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. ‘We know you were there, so let’s not waste any more time with the denials.’

Craig was breathing heavily, eyes searching the tabletop. ‘Nothing happened.’

‘So how do you think that shed caught fire?’

Craig shrugged.

‘Maybe your dad did it.’

‘No.’

‘Or Gemma.’

Craig tried to glare but there was too much fear in his small brown eyes to pull off the look. He didn’t expect it to come to this, Ferreira thought. He was a kid, living in a world without consequences, coddled and lied for, and now there was nobody to protect him and all he had was his own wit to get him out of the situation. They’d done him no favours, Phil and Gemma and his mother, colluding so carefully to spirit him away from Highbury Street in the early hours of Wednesday morning.

Kerry had admitted that much during her own interview, the phone call just before six, Phil telling her there’d been a fire and he didn’t want Craig caught up in it. Phil was the guilty party, there was no question in her mind. She was prepared to help him for her son’s sake, but only up to a point, and that point had been passed.

Zigic opened the file he’d brought in with him and removed Jaan Stepulov’s mugshot.

Craig blinked rapidly, then dropped his eyes.

‘Look at him, Craig.’ Zigic pushed the photograph across the table. ‘This man was living in your dad’s shed. On Tuesday night you went out into the garden and you threw a brick through the shed window while he was inside.’

Kerry inhaled sharply.

‘I didn’t,’ Craig said.

‘When he came out you threw another brick at him.’

‘No.’

‘Gemma saw you do it,’ Zigic said. ‘She told us everything.’

‘No. She wouldn’t do that.’

‘It was a straight choice between you and Phil,’ Ferreira said. ‘He’s down in the cells now screaming his head off, wanting to come in here and confess.’

Craig pulled his hood up, retreated a little further into himself.

‘He’s ready to do ten years for you.’

‘It’ll be more like fifteen,’ Ferreira said. ‘How does that make you feel, Craig, knowing your dad’s prepared to go down for something you did?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Maybe you think he deserves it,’ she said. ‘Not much of a man, your dad, letting Stepulov push him around like that. Can’t be much of a man to let someone punch you in the face and not retaliate.’

Kerry’s shoulders squared. ‘He’s already told you he didn’t do it.’

‘Please, Ms Barlow, let Craig speak or I’ll be forced to have you removed.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Craig said.

‘But you did.’ Ferreira smiled at him. ‘You stepped up where your dad couldn’t. You went out there and confronted Stepulov – which was a pretty brave thing to do, given the size of him.’

He peeped out at her from under the shadow of his hoodie, a glimmer of pride in his face.

‘Someone had to get him to leave,’ Ferreira said.

‘I only wanted to scare him.’

‘Well, you succeeded. He left a few hours later, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You saw him go?’

‘I told him not to come back.’

‘So you thought the shed was empty when you set fire to it?’

‘I didn’t.’

Zigic sighed and Ferreira saw him wince, press his hand to his chest for a second.

‘Let me explain something to you, Craig. We have a very thorough statement from Gemma, we have your parents lying about your presence at the crime scene and now we have you admitting to attacking Stepulov. We also have a forensics team at your mother’s house right now searching for the clothes you were wearing at the time.’

Craig’s eyes widened and he turned towards his solicitor, looking for help which wasn’t coming.

‘Now, maybe you were clever enough to get rid of them but since you believed the shed was empty I doubt it. My guess is they’re in the washing basket still, or if your mum’s on the ball she’s already washed them, which is meaningless because we will still be able to recover the material we need to prove you were there.’

Kerry squirmed in her seat.

‘If you keep up this “I didn’t do it” rubbish then we’ll charge you and you’ll go to court and you will be found guilty. I guarantee it.’

The boy’s head dropped and tears sprang into his eyes. He tried to hold them down but they came anyway, despite his clenched jaw and the shame which burned across his cheeks.

‘There was no way you could have known someone was inside that shed,’ Zigic said softly. ‘You saw Stepulov leave. You weren’t to know he’d left an unconscious man locked in there. He’s at fault as much as you are here.’