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

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 56 страниц)

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.

13

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.

‘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.

14

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.

‘What else can you tell me about Harley?’

‘What do you want to know?’

Jessica raised her eyebrows, speaking firmly. ‘That’s what I just asked you.’

For a moment, the man didn’t reply, chewing on his bottom lip. ‘He’s not around much. I think he’s got a job that takes him around the country. A lot of the time it was just his daughter in the house.’

Jessica wasn’t hearing anything she wasn’t already aware of but didn’t want another rant about kids.

The man suggested they should leave an officer stationed at the end of his driveway just in case the perpetrator – or ‘perpetrators’, as he emphasised – should return. His gravelly voice made it sound as if he endlessly smoked either cigarettes or cigars and his attitude was pushing her buttons.

Jessica told him to call the police if he had any further concerns and then left the house when, for one of the few times in her life, she was pleased to see it raining. It was the drizzly nothing-type mist that was barely noticeable when out in it. If you got wet in the morning, however, you spent the rest of the day trying to dry out. There were still small scraps of burned black material being blown across to them and the raindrops almost seemed to taste of the blaze.

‘Shite,’ Rowlands said as they made their way down the driveway.

‘Stop moaning,’ Jessica replied, pulling the jacket’s hood over her head.

Dave was wearing only his suit. He tried to yank the jacket over his head but it was a little too tight and he struggled to loosen it around his arms to enable him to lift it up.

Jessica laughed. ‘Covering your hair isn’t going to stop it going grey.’

Rowlands finally contorted his arm enough to free the jacket and he raised it over himself. ‘I keep telling you I’m not going grey,’ he said defensively.

‘Maybe you’re right . . . it might be white, I suppose.’

‘Sod off, is it.’

As they reached the main road, Jessica could see at least three more police cars had arrived. Their blue lights were silently spinning as if to remind people that, if the fire engines and flames weren’t enough of an indication, there had been a blaze.

They began walking along the adjacent driveway but it was clear the fire was either out or close to it. Only one of the hoses still appeared to be in use and most of the fire officers who had been tackling the blaze were now leaning against the side of one of the large vehicles sheltering from the rain and ash-like debris which was drifting on the breeze.

Jessica heard the car approaching before she saw it. She turned to see a large grey vehicle screech on to the driveway and accelerate past them before squealing to a stop close to the fire engines and police cars. She saw the various officers jump to attention almost as one and, without knowing what he looked like, Jessica had no doubts the man who got out of the car was Harley Todd.