Anthony grinned, showing his discoloured yellow teeth. ‘You know what happened. You told me. I beat him into hospital.’

‘Who?’

‘You know. Him.’

Jessica could feel the inspector tensing. In her own mind, she was counting to ten.

‘Martin Chadwick?’ Reynolds persisted.

‘Yes.’

‘So you beat him up?’

‘Yes.’

‘What exactly did you do to him? Did you punch him? Kick him? Hit him with a weapon?’

‘All of them.’

‘What kind of weapon?’

Anthony scratched his head, as if thinking. He stuck out his bottom lip before smiling again. ‘I don’t remember. You tell me.’

Jessica knew they were wasting their time. Anthony hadn’t attacked anyone, he was simply enjoying hearing the details of how Martin had been attacked.

‘Did you hit him from the front or the back?’ she asked.

If Reynolds was annoyed, he didn’t flinch.

‘I don’t remember.’

Jessica was going to speak again but the inspector beat her to it. His voice was raised and frustrated. ‘Answer the question. You’ve got a fifty per cent chance of getting it right. Front or back?’

Anthony pushed his chair back, leaning into it. ‘Front. I caved that fucker’s head right in.’

Reynolds looked to Jessica and raised his eyebrows before turning back to Anthony. ‘You do know we could charge you with wasting police time?’

The man shrugged. ‘Do it.’

Jessica knew it wouldn’t happen, largely because they were already in a battle of sorts with the media. Considering the coverage Martin’s original release from prison had generated, the last thing they wanted was everything being blown up further by charging Anthony.

Reynolds shunted his chair backwards with a noisy scrape. He announced formally that the interview was over, adding dismissively: ‘Go home, Mr Thompson.’

Jessica watched the man turn from Reynolds to stare at her. It didn’t seem as if he was going to move. She reached across and stopped the tape recording.

‘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.