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 . . .’