He led them into a small sitting room which had a comfortable, if rather worn, sofa and two easy chairs. There was a coffee table with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, with sugar and milk and three mugs. Sydney eased himself into one of the two easy chairs as Sara offered to pour the tea, and they removed their masks.

  ‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Mr Thompson. I’m here to ask you a few questions about a young man called Rodney Middleton. I believe he was with you a few years ago,’ Jack began.

  Sydney stirred his mug of tea and took a long sip.

  ‘Obviously whatever I tell you is privileged information, but I’ll tell you what I can.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Mr Thompson. First off, can you give me your personal impression of Rodney?’

  ‘He was a gentle soul, very troubled, and was concerned that the medication he had been prescribed made him feel very lethargic. There were a few times when he found it hard to have a coherent conversation. I did query it with his psychiatrist, but it was not my position to question what they had prescribed him.’

  ‘Was he ever violent in any way?’

  ‘No, never . . . on the contrary. In my humble estimation, Rodney was a very traumatised young man. His sisters dying in the fire, his mother leaving him . . . I believe his father was abusive to him; it all affected him. He didn’t warrant a custodial sentence but would have benefited from appropriate medical care.’

  ‘How old was he at this time?’

  ‘Just eighteen, that was my first encounter with him. Subsequently he was allocated to me when he was twenty-one and had committed an assault. By this time, he had been held at a young offender institute. He was released for medical assessment from another psychiatric department and was fearful about being prescribed even more medication that would make him feel ill. I believe he had been offered hypnosis.’

  ‘During any of your dealings with Rodney, did you have any concerns regarding his over-protective feelings towards young people, especially young girls?’

  ‘I’ve been asked that before; surely it’s understandable that he should feel protective, after what happened to his younger sisters?’

  ‘So, you never felt that it was a sign that he could have paedophilia tendencies?’

  Thompson shook his head. ‘No, I did not. Not in any way. I know there was some complaint made against him, but Rodney explained to me that he was concerned for the children in the playground. He was frightened they could fall and hurt themselves if their parent wasn’t watching them.’

  ‘How do you feel about the fact that Rodney has just committed yet another vicious assault?’

  Thompson waved his mug of tea, spilling some over his trousers and the carpet.

  ‘Whatever has occurred since my retirement isn’t my business. If you want my honest opinion, Rodney Middleton has been left to fall through the system without ever getting the proper treatment he needed, being passed from one psychiatrist to the other with no concrete or helpful diagnosis.’

  Jack paused. ‘Mr Thompson, can I ask you what, in your professional experience, is wrong with Rodney Middleton?’

  Thompson was wiping the spilt tea off his trousers with a crumpled napkin. He shrugged and leant forwards, his belly drooping between his fat thighs.

  ‘Have you met him?’

  Jack looked embarrassed. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Well, when you do you’ll see why I have strong empathy for this young man. He’s a lost soul, and nobody has ever had the time to heal him.’

  Jack stood up and signalled to Sara that they were leaving.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Thompson, you’ve been very helpful. I hope you enjoy your rugby match.’

  It was clear that Sydney thought he would be questioned further, and he looked surprised as he hauled his bulk out of the chair. Sara walked ahead of Jack, who turned at the door.

  ‘Do you think that Rodney would be capable of murder?’

  Sydney was bending down to pick up the tray, and he turned to face Jack.

  ‘I . . . well, in the end God only knows what people are capable of.’

  *

  They drove in silence as Jack followed his satnav directions to Brian Hookam’s address, which he had also put into Waze on his mobile.

  They headed back towards Kingston, past the old Kingston Crown Court towards the A1, which would then be a straight drive to Cobham.

  ‘Sarge, what did you mean when you asked if Middleton was capable of murder?’

  ‘If you ask me, Middleton should have been sectioned years ago, and the Sydney Thompsons of this world had no idea what they were dealing with. The psychiatrists were treading on eggshells with their reports, passing Middleton from one clinic to another.’

  ‘What makes you feel that Rodney is capable of murder?’

  ‘Intuition, Sara. He’s manipulated the system, spending very little time in custodial environments, always being let off on medical grounds. He’s twenty-four and has lived off benefits all his adult life. He was protected by men like Sydney Thompson, who even encouraged him not to take his prescribed medication.’

  ‘He didn’t actually say that, but you don’t seem to rate probation officers very highly.’

  ‘I don’t. They’re not qualified doctors or psychiatrists . . . and just seem to act as enablers so that prisoners get released. Those prisoners then often end up going straight back into crime. I know your brother is a probation officer, and I don’t mean to lump everyone together, so I’m sure he’s an exception.’

  ‘He is, and he’s very dedicated. However, in defence of men like Thompson, you haven’t met Rodney Middleton yet, so you are assuming an awful lot based on your intuition.’

  Jack gave her a side-long glance. He rather admired the fact she was feisty and was questioning him, but he didn’t have the patience to go into all his reasons for his suspicion that Rodney was a killer. He knew he could be wrong, but he was not about to admit it.

  Satnav and Waze eventually directed them to a small mews courtyard off the main Cobham High Street. These were small workmen’s cottages, built close together with a small verge in front and a profusion of flowering tubs and hanging baskets around their front doors. They parked outside number 14, behind a Toyota with stickers supporting firefighters and a ‘Vote Labour’ sign.

  Jack and Sara pulled their masks on as they stood and rang the doorbell. There was the sound of a small dog yapping then the door was opened. Brian Hookam stood, holding a bulbous-eyed Pekingese with a red scarf around its neck.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s all bark, and anyway not many teeth left for him to bite with!’ Hookam said jovially.

  Jack introduced himself and Sara as they were ushered into a small but comfortable-looking lounge, with thick-piled carpet and a flowered easy chair and a two-seater sofa. Elegant flowery curtains fell either side of a small, fabric-covered window seat.

  Hookam was a huge, fit-looking man, standing at well over six feet. He had broad shoulders and was dressed in jeans and a black collared t-shirt. He seemed totally out of place with the décor of the room. He offered them tea or coffee, but Jack declined, saying he didn’t want to take up too much of his time.

  Brian had loose false teeth, which made an odd whistling sound when he talked, and he was constantly sucking in air. The Pekingese remained snuggled in his arms as Jack and Sara sat side by side on the sofa. Brian excused himself for a minute, going out into the narrow hall and calling out.

  ‘Avril?’

  Jack saw a tiny woman with mauve hair and a wrap-over apron approach, taking the dog from Brian’s arms.

  ‘Do you want a pot of tea?’

  ‘No, thanks, my love . . . just keep Judy out. I shouldn’t be too long.’

  Brian came back in and closed the door. He was breathing heavily and gave a phlegmy cough as he sat down in one of the easy chairs. He took out a rather dirty handkerchief and spat into it.

  ‘Sorry, too much smoke inhalation over twenty-five years, as well as the fags! But I’ve given them up since I retired. If you ask me, I don’t think having that long-haired Peke does me any good, but it’s like her child. We have four of them – kids, that is, not dogs – but we haven’t been able to see them for over a year.’

  Jack smiled. ‘Firstly, thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Mr Hookam, I really appreciate it. I’ll get straight to the point. It’s a bit of a test of your memory, I’m afraid.’

  Brian nodded, sucking in a breath between his loose teeth.

  ‘So, there was a fire at Anthony Middleton’s property over five years ago. I believe you were the officer in charge of the fire investigation unit and were called to attend?’

  ‘Yes, I was at the scene . . . it was a night that isn’t easy to forget. They never are, particularly when there are fatalities . . . and in this case those two little girls.’

  ‘There was an investigation to determine the cause of the fire, as arson was suspected?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct. It was a very thorough enquiry. No chemicals were found . . . by that I mean no accelerants, and the team were eventually in agreement that the fire was accidental. Let me show you.’

  Hookam stood up and went over to a small bureau, opening a drawer. He searched around and brought out a thick, worn notebook. He opened another drawer and took out a pen, lowering the felt covered writing shelf. He began to draw on a blank page in his book. Jack sat patiently, listening to Brian’s laboured breathing.

  ‘Right, come on over and have a look. I’m no artist but what I’ve drawn is the house, the ground floor, the staircase and the bedrooms on the landing. Where I’ve put a cross, that was the first gasoline heater, which was an old model and no longer sold. The girls’ bedroom was at the back. The window was barred and was obviously not facing the street where the fire engine had access. There was a second gasoline heater, a more modern one, against the wall by the bedroom door. It was determined that one of the children had put a synthetic duvet over the top of it. This is where the fire was started, and as the door had been left open, once the fire caught it started to spread very quickly onto the landing. Then the second heater caught fire, creating a fire ball. The banisters had been filled in with chip board, so the fireball was channelled down the stairs.’

  Jack looked at his drawing. ‘So, the children were totally trapped, unable to get out of the window or make it out onto the landing?’

  ‘Correct, and the smoke was incredibly thick . . . by the time we arrived, the blaze was very intense and spreading all over the ground floor.’

  ‘How long before you could get it under control?’

  ‘It would have been fifteen to twenty minutes, with two fire trucks and hoses. It was impossible to gain entry in order to get up the stairs to the children; the girls were eventually brought out, but it was too late.’

  Hookam gave a long, deep sigh and sat down in the easy chair again.

  ‘Can you now tell me who was present on the scene when you were called out to the fire?’

  ‘Yes, there was a young teenager. He had tried to get into the house . . . he was hysterical. He had to be held back as his clothes were already burning. He had to be hosed down. Then his – very drunk – father arrived; we thought he would try to calm his son, but instead he began punching and kicking him until he fell down. It was very unpleasant . . . we had to drag them apart. The father was screaming that his son was to blame. He tried to get into the house and had to be held back as well. He suffered some burns but by this time we had an ambulance there and they were attending to the lad, who was sobbing. I think his father had broken his nose. Then a taxi pulls up with the girls’ mother inside. She was screaming, and when they brought out the bodies she collapsed and had to be taken into the ambulance.’

  Jack held up the drawing. ‘Did you know where the son, Rodney, was in the house when the fire started?’

  ‘I found out later, when he was questioned during the investigation. Apparently, he had been in the front room working on his laptop. He maintained that he had only become alarmed when he smelt smoke. He said he’d tried to go up the stairs, but the heat was too intense, and the fireball started moving down the stairs. Then the fire trucks arrived.’

  ‘Who called the fire brigade?’

  ‘A neighbour, I believe.’

  ‘So, Rodney was downstairs and by the time the smoke had alerted him to the fire, it had already taken hold. He tried to move up the stairs, but they were on fire. Was he wearing headphones?’

  Hookam looked perplexed.

  ‘It’s just that if he was and the girls were screaming, he might not have heard.’

  Hookam shook his head. ‘I can’t recall, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Did you, at any time, think it could have been arson?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Well . . . I heard the father accusing the boy, but that could have been the shock at seeing the house ablaze, and because his son was supposed to be taking care of the girls. Mind you, the mother was also telling the police to arrest Rodney, saying that he had set fire to the house. She was in a very hysterical state and had to be sedated. But you know a fatal fire is always thoroughly investigated. Any allegations against the young boy would have been properly evaluated.’

  ‘So, it was judged to be accidental. But were there any questions about how or why the duvet had been placed over the gas heater?’

  ‘I believe it was thought that one or other of the girls could have thrown it off their beds because they were hot. It was a very small room, more like a box room.’

  Jack stood up and asked if he could keep the drawing. Hookam nodded, and Jack thanked him for his time. Sara shook his hand and walked behind them to the front door. They didn’t see his wife again, but they could hear the dog barking from the kitchen. Brian laughed as he gestured to the small sign on the front door: BEWARE OF THE DOG.

  Brian remained standing at his front door as they drove off.

  He sighed, remembering that clasped in the eldest daughter’s little charred hand was a doll, the pink plastic face melted into her skin. Sights like that, he knew, never leave you.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jack and Sara did not talk on their way back to the station. Both of them were mulling over what they’d learned during the interviews, and Sara intuitively sensed that Jack did not want to talk.

  Eventually Jack spoke. ‘I want you to see what you can find out about Karen . . . any relatives I can talk to. I think Anthony Middleton said something about being contacted by an aunt?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not sure who Karen is?’

  ‘Middleton’s second wife, who died of a heroin overdose. She was Rodney’s stepmother.’

  ‘Oh, right, sorry.’

  ‘I’ll make out a report on today’s interviews, just so that our anally retentive DCI knows what we were doing and where . . . and I need to grab a bite to eat in the canteen.’

  By the time they had parked and gone up to the CID office it was almost two o’clock. Jack decided to miss lunch in order to make out a report, and then go out to talk to Amanda Dunn.

  There were a few messages on his desk from Clarke regarding other cases, which Jack had to deal with before he did anything else. Leon came over to his desk, carrying Jack’s laptop. ‘I just spoke to Sara. She said you were planning to visit Amanda Dunn at the hostel this afternoon. I called to make sure she was available and was told that she checked out before lunch.’

  ‘Shit . . . did she leave a forwarding address?’

  ‘No. Mrs Thornton said that they had no reason to hold her there and it was her decision to leave. She thought she might have gone to Liverpool to see her parents.’

  ‘Go back to Mrs Thornton, see if you can get a phone number for them. If not, call Mrs Delaney, the landlady at Middleton’s basement flat, to see if she’s turned up there.’

  ‘Yes, sarge. Also, I’ve had no luck in tracing anyone by the name of Sandra Raynor just on her age and description. I added a few years just in case, but can’t find any relevant births or deaths registered in that name. I also checked with the DVLA and there’s no licence in her name. I earmarked some women with that name in the London area, but they don’t fit the description. I’ve listed them here anyway.’

  Leon handed Jack a single sheet of typed paper. He glanced down at it. Several were married with children and two were over sixty years old.

  ‘OK, these don’t fit so I think we can assume she was using a false name. I’ll take this back, but thanks anyway.’ Jack took his laptop and placed it on his desk.

  ‘Is this connected to the Rodney Middleton enquiry?’ Leon asked.

  Jack briefly nodded just as Sara walked up. ‘Thought you might be hungry . . . and I’ve put extra sugars in your coffee. I noticed how many you heaped in your tea.’

  ‘Very observant of you, Sara, thank you.’

  ‘Do you want me to accompany you to talk to Amanda Dunn?’

  ‘I would if she were there, but she checked out of the hostel. Leon is trying to track her down.’

  Jack waited until Sara had gone back to her desk before he took a bite of his ham sandwich.

  He then unlocked his desk drawer and took out the small envelope, and the note. He removed one of his burner phones from his pocket and dialled the mobile number. It rang for at least a minute before it was answered.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is that Sammy Taylor?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  Jack took a quick look around the room and lowered his voice.

  ‘I’m Jack Warr. Simon Ridley gave me your contact number. I need to see you urgently.’

  ‘Do you? Did he give you anything else?’

  ‘Well, your address.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Your name obviously. Are you Sammy?’

  ‘I could be.’

  Jack suddenly remembered. ‘Badger.’

  There was a short throaty laugh. ‘Can you make it in an hour?’

  ‘That might be a bit difficult.’

  ‘You said it was urgent, so make up your mind. I’m not available tomorrow.’