Текст книги "Jessica Daniel: Think of the Children / Playing with Fire / Thicker Than Water"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 56 страниц)

2

Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniel glanced up from her plate to face the man sitting opposite. She put the metal fork on the table, loudly enough to ensure he knew she wanted his attention.

‘So, Garry,’ Jessica began. ‘Who the hell is Sebastian Lowe?’

She watched Garry Ashford squirm. Despite the fact she had known the journalist for a few years, she knew he was still that little bit afraid of her.

Garry looked up from his breakfast, where a congealed fried egg yolk had blended into the leftover baked-bean juice. All that was left of his breakfast was a final piece of black pudding, which he was chewing on while swirling his hand in the air, as if pointing out to Jessica that he would answer when he had finished. She had purposely picked her moment to ask the question, so that he was at his most uncomfortable. Jessica fixed Garry with a steady stare, telling him with her eyes that she was waiting for the answer.

The journalist swallowed and started to speak before spluttering and gulping the final mouthful of tea from his mug.

‘Sorry,’ he coughed. ‘I was just finishing off.’ He smiled apologetically but Jessica didn’t relax her glare. ‘Sebastian’s newish,’ he went on. ‘He’s been working for me for around six months. I hired him but he’s just been bumped up to senior news reporter.’

‘When did you start hiring people?’ Jessica replied, failing to hide her surprise.

‘Since I was promoted to news editor.’

Jessica weighed up his response, not overly satisfied with it. ‘What’s he like? A bit of a troublemaker?’

Garry shook his head. ‘Sebastian? No, he’s a bit like I was. He gets by story to story, although he seems to come up with better stuff than I did.’

Jessica looked sideways at the man, flicking her long dark-blonde hair away from her face and wishing she had tied it back. When she had invited Garry for breakfast, she hadn’t known if she wanted to play on the fact he was scared of her, or that she was pretty sure he still fancied her – despite apparently having a girlfriend. Torn between the two, she opted for a bit of both and left her hair down.

As they waited for their food to arrive in the cafe around the corner from his newspaper’s office, Jessica hadn’t said too much. She allowed the tension to build, watching him devour a full English and deciding she would definitely be going down the ‘scare’ route. She quickly finished her sausage sandwich, wondering if the large breakfast was a usual thing for him, or if he had ordered it because she was paying.

‘Does he have better dress sense than you?’ Jessica asked.

Garry peered down at his brown corduroy trousers, before realising what he was doing. In fairness, Jessica had to admit he was looking as smart as she had ever seen him. His previously long scruffy hair had been cut short and was tidily shaped, with the goatee on his chin looking as if it was there by design, as opposed to because he hadn’t bothered to shave. His cord trousers were perhaps a little outdated but, for as long as she had known him, that seemed to be his style.

‘Why do you want to know about Seb?’ Garry asked, not taking the bait.

Jessica reached into the bag under her seat and scooped out a copy of the previous day’s Manchester Morning Herald. She pushed a ketchup bottle to one side and unfolded the paper before turning it around so Garry could see the front page, pointing at Sebastian’s byline on the lead story.

‘Did you have anything to do with this?’ she asked.

The headline read ‘FLAMING HELL’ with ‘Killer Out This Month’ underneath.

Garry must have known what was coming but he still fidgeted awkwardly. ‘I didn’t write the headline but I knew about Seb’s story.’

Jessica pushed the paper away. ‘Didn’t anyone think about the implications? What if this guy gets hurt when they let him out of prison?’

The journalist sank into his seat and Jessica began to feel a little sorry for him. ‘That’s exactly what I said,’ Garry insisted. ‘I told my editor that. I told Seb that. I said we should be careful if we were going to run it.’

From her earlier dealings with Garry, Jessica knew he had a pretty good grasp of what was right and wrong. Or, more specifically, what she considered to be right or wrong. She wasn’t as prejudiced against the media as some at the station but, as with all professions, she knew there were good guys and bad guys. Garry was one of the better ones. He had certainly helped her in the past, although she was loath to admit it – especially to him.

‘I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on Martin when he comes out of prison,’ Jessica said. ‘It’s not even our job but after this,’ she pointed to the paper again, ‘we don’t have much choice.’

Garry looked a little apologetic, his eyes slightly wider than before. ‘You have to admit it’s a good story.’

Jessica knew it was and had made that exact point in the staff briefing the previous day. It was probably that which prompted Detective Chief Inspector Jack Cole to give her the job of escorting Martin Chadwick when he left prison in a few days’ time. Unknown to Garry – she hoped – everything had been moved forward by a day in an attempt to avoid any further publicity.

‘Where did Sebastian get the story from?’ Jessica asked, fully aware Garry would never give her the answer. She was curious because the day of a prisoner’s release wasn’t the type of information that should have been freely available. All they had managed to come up with in the briefing was that the second subject of the article – who would have been told by the prison service that Martin was due to be released – had taken it to the media.

Garry shook his head. ‘You know I won’t tell you that.’

‘Was it Anthony Thompson?’ Jessica asked, hoping Garry’s body language would give him away. As he had grown older, the man had clearly learned his lessons from dealing with her. He sat impassively, refusing to answer. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Jessica added. ‘I know Anthony might have every reason to want to hurt Martin – but flagging it up for the world to see isn’t going to do anyone any good.’

Garry nodded slowly and Jessica could see he agreed with her, although the congealed egg yolk on his chin did detract slightly from the serious conversation she was trying to cultivate. She leant across the table and wiped the yellow liquid from Garry’s face as he writhed away from her. ‘You’re not my mum,’ he said with a smile.

Jessica grinned back, the atmosphere lost. ‘Believe it or not, I didn’t invite you to breakfast to simply bollock you. Whoever this Sebastian is should do his homework. There are mistakes in the piece and, although it’s not my job to clean up after you, my boss and I thought it would be much better if we gave you some proper facts for next time.’

‘On the record?’

Jessica shook her head. ‘You give me your source and I’ll give you something on the record.’ Garry smiled back but didn’t answer.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Off the record it is. Have you got a pen?’

The journalist stacked his empty plate on top of Jessica’s and moved them into the middle of the table, before fumbling in a shoulder bag hanging over the back of his chair and taking out a notepad and pen.

When it was clear he was ready, Jessica began. ‘You got most of it right. Martin Chadwick is due out of prison but you know I can’t confirm exactly when that’s going to happen. Up until seven years ago, he was a bit of a pest with sporadic criminal offences, none of which was very serious. Then he set fire to a pub he thought was empty. Unfortunately, a twenty-one-year-old man named Alfie Thompson was sleeping inside.’

Garry was making notes, although Jessica hadn’t yet told him anything he wouldn’t already know. She paused to let him catch up, continuing when his pen scratched to a halt. ‘Martin was so drunk, he was picked up sleeping on a bench less than a hundred yards away from the pub. The lighter and empty bottle of vodka he used to start the fire were still in his possession. He didn’t exactly confess, largely because he said he couldn’t remember doing it. With the CCTV footage and forensic evidence, he pleaded guilty to manslaughter and received his prison sentence.’

The journalist looked up from his pad. ‘We know this . . .’

Jessica interrupted. ‘What you don’t know is that Martin had an eleven-year-old son who was taken into care when his father went into prison. He is now eighteen and, apparently, he’s been in regular contact with his dad. I don’t know much about his mother but the son is called Ryan. Although I’ve not met him yet, strictly unofficially we would rather you be careful of mentioning him. He doesn’t have anything to do with this and I am only telling you because I know you will find it out at some point anyway.’

She let her words hang. Garry hadn’t written down any of the last pieces of information. ‘All I can do is ask,’ he said.

Jessica nodded. ‘Obviously you know about Anthony Thompson. It was his son killed in the fire. I’m assuming he was your source about Martin’s release because he was informed. We don’t know that much about Anthony, except for what you printed.’

She picked the paper back up and began to read. ‘“There’s no bringing back my Alfie but everyone has to pay for what they’ve done”.’

She looked up to see Garry wince. ‘I know it’s ambiguous,’ he said.

‘Deliberately so?’ Jessica asked. She fell silent as a waitress came close to their table and picked up the plates.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked sweetly, although the twang of her local accent made it sound as if she was offering them a fight. The woman was somewhere in her early twenties, with bleached hair tied neatly in a bun on top of her head. Jessica watched Garry eye the waitress up and down, before stopping himself when he realised she was observing him.

Jessica giggled slightly, shaking her head. ‘No thanks, just the bill.’

When the woman had moved away, she raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you really a ladies’ man now?’

Garry offered an apologetic ‘No’ but Jessica already knew he was far from the type. He might have wandering eyes, as did most men she knew, but the journalist lacked the social grace to be discreet.

Jessica lowered her voice. ‘From what Anthony says, I don’t know if he’s referring to the jail sentence as Martin “paying” for what he’s done, or if there’s a veiled threat there.’

Garry spoke slowly and cautiously. ‘I don’t know. Sebastian did the interview. I know you can read it both ways. I said we should take it out.’

Jessica returned the paper to her bag. ‘I don’t think any of us want something stupid happening when Martin comes out. Whatever you think of the guy, or the punishment, he’s done his time.’

Garry put down his pen and nervously wiped his chin with a napkin from the table.

‘How are things anyway?’ Jessica asked in a lighter tone.

He stopped dabbing his face and smiled. ‘Are you actually being nice to me?’

Jessica grinned. ‘Hey, I left my hair down for this impromptu bollocking. I’m not all bad.’

Garry shrugged. ‘I’m doing okay. I’ve been promoted and I’ve moved in with my girlfriend.’

‘Is she the blind one?’

The journalist snorted gently and shook his head. ‘I thought you were being nice?’

‘This is me being nice,’ Jessica replied with a wink.

‘What about you?’ Garry asked. ‘I heard you were loved-up, engaged and all that?’

Jessica tried not to fidget but couldn’t stop herself. Instead of answering his question, she shunted her chair backwards and picked up her jacket, before crouching to retrieve her bag. ‘I’ve gotta go,’ she said.

Garry laughed. ‘Thanks for the breakfast.’

‘Judging by the amount you left on your chin and shirt, it certainly looked like you enjoyed it.’ He glanced down at his clean shirt before looking back up at a smiling Jessica. ‘Gotcha,’ she said.

The journalist put his coat on while Jessica paid at the counter. As she turned, he looped his bag over his shoulder and stretched out his hand for her to shake. ‘It was good seeing you again, Jess,’ he said.

Jessica rolled her eyes but shook his hand anyway. ‘Can you deliver a message for me?’

‘What?’

‘Tell this “Sebastian” that I will kick his arse if anything happens to Martin.’

3

‘So much for bringing it forward a day so no one knew,’ Jessica said agitatedly. She deliberately elbowed a reporter she didn’t recognise as she fought her way through the crowd of journalists assembled outside the prison gates. She heard the man grunt but kept moving, wondering if the person she had ‘accidentally’ caught was Sebastian Lowe. She didn’t know what he looked like but she could only hope.

Detective Inspector Jason Reynolds and Jessica stepped through the gate, where they were met by a man in a suit. Reynolds was around six feet tall but the man was taller and stooped, stretching out a hand for Jessica and then the inspector to shake. He had brown hair combed and smoothed to one side and introduced himself as the deputy governor of the prison. Jessica thought he seemed younger than other people in similar positions she had met in the past. She would have placed him somewhere in his forties, but his sharp eyes gave the impression of someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned and started to lead them towards the main part of the prison. ‘We’re not used to this sort of attention out here,’ he said, referring to the throng of photographers and journalists waiting outside. ‘Have you ever been to Wymott before?’

Jessica exchanged a look with Reynolds but let him answer ‘No’. They had spent the best part of an hour driving through the back lanes of Lancashire, with Jessica complaining at every turn how remote the institution was. Wymott was a category C prison not far from Leyland, around thirty miles north of Manchester. She had grown up in Cumbria, where the roads were even narrower and harder to negotiate. Since then, she had lived most of her adult life in Manchester, largely forgetting how fiddly country lanes could be. Judging by the way Reynolds had ignored her complaints, she guessed he didn’t share her annoyance.

Martin Chadwick had been moved to the low-risk prison a few years previously when it became apparent to the authorities that he posed no particular danger to anyone.

In the days since the original story about his release, Chadwick’s case had gradually received greater interest through the local media. Even a few national papers had got hold of it, all adding to a feeling at Longsight Police Station, where Jessica worked, that they would have to play things carefully.

Both Martin and Anthony Thompson lived in their district and although supervising newly freed prisoners was largely out of their remit, the police were working closely with the probation service over Martin’s release in an effort to prevent any trouble.

Unfortunately, someone with a big mouth had told the media that the man’s discharge had been brought forward, leading to the presence of journalists, photographers and television cameras at the front of the prison. As ever, the police, prison and probation service blamed each other.

The deputy governor held a door open for them as they entered the prison’s visiting hall. Aside from the three of them, the room was empty. The man closed the door behind the two officers and followed them into the room.

Reynolds spoke. ‘Do you have some sort of rear exit?’ he asked, although Jessica realised his choice of words was clumsy. ‘I know everything had been arranged for Martin’s release but we didn’t expect all of this attention.’

The deputy governor screwed up his face awkwardly. Jessica knew prisoner releases were generally straightforward things, although, depending on the people and category involved, they might need meticulous planning.

‘It’s a bit late to be changing things now . . .’ he said.

Jessica was regretting wearing one of her better suits as she stretched out her legs in an unsuccessful effort to get comfortable in the back of the van. She didn’t know how clean the floor was and it was too dimly lit to make out exactly what she was sitting on. The man across from her offered a weak smile as if sensing her discomfort. He was also wearing a suit, although it was far too big for him. As she peered through the gloom, Jessica could make out his thinning grey hair, the crinkles around his eyes making him look older than his fifty years.

‘You got the short straw,’ Martin Chadwick said with a small, unconvincing laugh.

Before Jessica could reply, the van bucked upwards over a hump in the road, sending her flying sideways.

After the deputy governor had told them it was unlikely he could find a better way to get them out of the prison without going through the media crowd, Jessica had uttered the words she was now wishing she hadn’t: ‘Isn’t there a service van or something similar we could sneak out in?’

At the time, it sounded like a good idea. With Martin’s unwillingness to face the media, it became an even better one. Unfortunately, Jessica hadn’t thought through the part where someone was supposed to be escorting the former prisoner off-site.

As the catering van reversed towards the prison’s main building after dropping off its daily delivery, Jessica had looked at the deputy governor and then Reynolds, before it dawned on her that the inspector was going to pull rank. While he and the probation officer were to leave the prison via the gates they’d come in through – much to the confusion of the waiting media – she would be in the back of a van with Martin.

Apart from the tinted windows at the rear, the rest of the back of the vehicle was enclosed, a wooden panel separating Jessica and Martin from the driver’s compartment. She tried to steady herself, thinking it was almost certainly illegal to be travelling in such a way without seatbelts. The plan was for the van to drive them to a nearby petrol station, where they would transfer back into Reynolds’s car.

‘Sorry about this,’ Martin said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

‘It’s all right, it isn’t your fault.’

Jessica was wary of getting into too much of a conversation with Chadwick. Although when she’d told Garry Ashford that Martin had served his time, she meant it, that didn’t mean she had to like a person who had burned someone else to death, whether it was on purpose or not.

‘At least it’s not raining,’ Martin added, clearly trying to make conversation.

Regardless of her personal opinion, the more he spoke, the harder Jessica found it not to be charmed by him. She couldn’t explain it but there was a fatherly tone to his voice. Some people came out of the prison system broken but Martin’s voice had no resigned quality to it. Instead, there was hope. She wondered how he’d got to the point years earlier where he was so drunk he burned down a building.

‘It’s not been wet, just cold,’ Jessica told him but the man didn’t seem to be listening.

They went over more bumps as Martin continued. ‘My son Ryan visited a few days ago. He says he’s been getting the house ready for us to move back into.’

Jessica was curious. ‘Is it the house you used to live in?’

Martin barely stopped for breath. ‘Yes. I’ve lived there since I was a boy. It was passed through the family, so there was never any rent or anything. I’ve been . . . away but Ryan was too young to live on his own so one of my cousins stayed in it for a while. It’s been empty for some time though.’

‘Has Ryan been living there since he turned eighteen?’

Martin sounded pleased with Jessica’s interest. ‘Yes. It’s in his name – it’s his house now. I told him I’d sign the papers when he became an adult. It’s only fair after what . . . I did to him.’ The man’s voice tailed off as he finished the sentence.

The van momentarily dropped into a pot hole before leaping out, sending Jessica and Martin sprawling again. Jessica was beginning to think she should find out exactly who Sebastian Lowe was, so she could blame him for her predicament, when Martin began crying.

At first, she just heard him sniffing but then it became a full-blown sob. Jessica felt a moment of panic she wasn’t used to. She had seen people break down in interviews but this was an entirely new situation where she didn’t feel comfortable offering any form of reassurance. She wanted to stay neutral, reminding herself that the person across from her, like it or not, was a killer.

She reached into the inside pocket of her suit. ‘Tissue?’ she asked, trying not to sound as feeble as she felt. Martin shuffled across the hard floor as Jessica reached forward, passing him a small packet. After various accidents with food over the years, she kept tissues on her just in case.

Chadwick pressed himself back into the side of the van and blew his nose loudly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said just loudly enough for Jessica to hear over the sound of the engine.

She didn’t want to get into a conversation about it but, for some reason, couldn’t stop herself. ‘What are you sorry for?’

Martin continued to sniff. ‘This. Everything. I’ve made such a mess of it all.’ He ran his hand through what was left of his hair. ‘You know what I did, don’t you?’

Jessica replied firmly. ‘Yes.’

The man gulped and blew his nose a second time. ‘My wife left me and I lost my job. I couldn’t deal with having Ryan on my own and I . . . got pissed all the time.’ Martin paused for a moment and the quiver in his voice had gone when he spoke again. ‘Looking back, it doesn’t feel like me. I haven’t had a drop since I was arrested. I don’t know why I did it with the fire and everything. I guess it was one of those things that seem clever when you’ve had too much to drink.’

Martin let out another sob and tried to dry his eyes. Jessica was lost for words. It would have been unsettling in any situation but as the van they were sitting in bumped along the country lane and she shuffled to try to get comfortable, it was almost surreal. She thought about the types of people the man would have encountered over recent years. As well as fellow inmates, there would have been counsellors and chaplains who might have heard similar confessions. She wondered if Martin had spoken to any of them, or if the contrition was something that had grown inside him as his release date neared.

‘I’m sorry for doing this now,’ Martin added.

‘You don’t have to apologise.’

‘I can’t believe I’m out. I can’t believe I’m going to live at home again. It doesn’t feel fair, not after what happened to that boy.’

Jessica never knew how to take statements of remorse. When she was younger, she would take everything at face value but years of seeing people’s sentences reduced because of guilty pleas and the ‘remorse’ they showed had left her cynical about the whole thing. Despite that, Martin did appear to be sorry for what he had done. Jessica couldn’t think of a reason why he would break down in front of her. He certainly had nothing to gain by doing so because he had already served his sentence.

‘It’s up to you what you do with your second chance now,’ she said.

Jessica was wondering whether the rapid switch in Martin’s mood was something that should worry her as the revs of the engine dropped. The vehicle was slowing, presumably because they had reached the garage where they were swapping back into the car. As she watched Martin nodding gently in the dim light, she thought the media attention could be the least of her worries.

Reynolds parked the car outside Martin’s house and switched off the engine. The journey from the petrol station to Manchester had been an almost silent affair although, somehow, their plan had worked and none of the assembled media had followed them. Martin and the probation officer opened the rear doors as Jessica opened the one on the passenger’s side. Together with the inspector, they all walked towards Martin’s house.

The man’s property was on a tight maze of roads just south of Crowcroft Park, barely a mile away from Longsight Police Station. On one side of the road was a long row of dark red-brick terraced houses but the homes on the opposite side were semi-detached and had been built in a different era. An empty driveway ran along the side of Martin’s house but the tarmac was beginning to crack and chunks of it had been swept to the side. As he opened a small metal gate, Jessica looked to her left where a scruffy paved area was becoming overrun with weeds growing in the gaps between the slabs.

Before Martin could knock on his own front door, someone opened it. Jessica knew Ryan Chadwick was eighteen but he looked a year or two younger. He was thin with short spiky blond hair and was wearing a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a hooded top. Ryan reached forward and pulled his father towards him into an embrace. As they held each other, Jessica watched the younger man’s eyes stare over his dad’s shoulder, darting from Reynolds to the probation officer before fixing on her. They may have been blue but, in the light, looked grey and had a piercing, steely quality to them. Jessica suppressed a shiver as Ryan watched her before he eventually released his father.

‘Welcome home,’ Ryan said, turning to lead them into the house.

As the younger man went towards the rear of the house to make tea, Martin took them into a living room with wooden floorboards where the varnish had long since started to rub off. From the smell, it seemed as if the walls had been repainted recently but Jessica guessed the rest of the furniture was exactly as it had been seven years ago. A cream-coloured sofa with a faded pink pattern was pushed towards the wall facing them, with an armchair in a matching pattern opposite the bay window. A large mirror hung on the wall above the sofa and, aside from a low coffee table and television, the room was otherwise empty and felt cold.

The probation officer opened his briefcase and set down some papers on the table as Jessica and Reynolds sat on the sofa. The officer talked Martin through some formalities regarding when they would have to meet and handed over some contact numbers. He didn’t seem too keen on hanging around and was packing up his papers when Ryan returned with five mugs of tea. Martin showed the officer out as Ryan put the cups on the table and then sat cross-legged on the floor leaning up against the wall. Jessica could feel him staring at her but refused to meet his eyes, instead reaching forward and taking one of the teas from the table, cradling it in her hand.

A few moments after the front door closed, Martin returned, picking up a mug and settling in his armchair.

‘We just wanted to make sure you were happy with everything before we left,’ Reynolds said. ‘I know we have spoken briefly about the recent media coverage but you should know we haven’t had any specific threats made towards you.’

Ryan snorted. ‘Didn’t you see that stuff in the paper?’

Martin shushed his son. ‘I appreciate you coming around,’ he said, addressing the two officers and sounding sincere.

Jessica sipped her tea before replying. ‘I’ll leave you my direct number but you’ve also got the number for the station and, of course, you should call 999 if you feel unsafe.’

Martin leant back in his chair and smiled gently. His earlier tears seemed long gone and he had reverted to the gentle fatherly type. ‘You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.’

Reynolds picked up one of the full mugs from the table. ‘Are you likely to be alone much? Obviously that’s not a problem, it would just help us to know.’

Martin scratched his head and ran his hand through his hair. It was the second time Jessica had noticed him do it and it appeared to be some sort of nervous reaction.

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘Ryan goes to college a few times a week and works at a local garage. I’d quite like to get myself a job but I’m not really sure how things like that will work. The probation guy told me we’ll talk about it at our first session. I think being out here is going to take a bit of getting used to.’

The man was interrupted by a clatter of crockery as Ryan loudly put his mug down on the floor. Jessica had been deliberately ignoring him, feeling his stare but not acknowledging it. As she turned to look at him, she could see the fire in his eyes. Their colour hadn’t changed since he moved indoors – grey, focused on Jessica, and furious. ‘This is utter shite,’ he spat. ‘You read what was in the paper. Why haven’t you arrested this Thompson clown? Are you going to wait until he’s actually done something?’

Martin started to intervene but Jessica spoke over him, meeting Ryan’s eyes. ‘We saw what was in the paper and officers have been to speak to Mr Thompson. He says he was misquoted in the article and that he didn’t threaten your father.’

‘And you believe him?’

Jessica could see the venom in Ryan. Whereas his father sat passively and – at least from what she’d observed – let his emotions overflow through tears and remorse, his son expressed himself through anger. She said nothing at first, watching the teenager’s fists ball and arm muscles tense.

Jessica held his gaze. ‘I think you should calm down.’

She knew that telling people to calm down was frequently one of the biggest causes of people actually flaring up. The policy of certain forces was to avoid using the words because of the negative effect they could have on people, especially those who were drunk. Jessica didn’t for one minute think Ryan was affected by drink but she wanted to see how he would respond. She felt the inspector next to her shuffle uncomfortably and wondered if he knew why she had said what she had. On the floor, Ryan’s back straightened, his eyes narrowing. His fists were still clenched tightly, his lips thin.

Just as Jessica was wondering what the teenager might say, Martin spoke. ‘It’s okay, Ry. They’re trying their best.’

Reynolds stood quickly and awkwardly, placing his empty mug on the table. It was clearly an indication they should go. Jessica stood too, turning to face Martin.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and handed him one of her business cards. ‘Call me any time of day or night if you have a problem but always dial 999 first if it’s an emergency.’

Martin took the card and stood, before ushering the two officers into the hallway. ‘Thanks again for coming,’ he said, closing the door that separated the living room from the rest of the house. He lowered his voice. ‘Sorry about Ryan. He’s really not a bad lad; he’s just not had his dad around for all this time. I don’t know everything but some of the things that happened to him in care . . .’