Chapter 38

Gareth spoke freely and confidently, making Anik feel like he was racing down the final straight of their lengthy investigation. But, for Ridley, nothing felt right. Why wasn’t he just “no comment”? The answer to that was because Gareth was streetwise enough to give them plenty so he could be noted as co-operating, but nothing of importance. For now, Ridley allowed the interview to continue in the hope that Gareth might slip up.

“Dad drank with some of his buddies from the bad old days, but they was even more past it than he was. I mean, as in, ‘doolally.’ Dad was all there in the head—it was his body that let him down. I never knew anything about him still forging, on my life I didn’t. I thought he was up there, sticking labels on flyers!” Gareth smirked. “Makes me kinda proud of the old bastard.”

“Tell me about Angela Dunn.”

Anik’s tone was serious and to the point. Ridley would have been impressed if he hadn’t already decided that this interview was going to be a waste of everyone’s time.

“She used to clean for my parents. When Mum died and Dad went into the care home, Ange still popped round every now and then—had a cuppa with him, chatted about Mum. Ange knew Mum better than me in truth, so I liked her visiting. She made curtains. Cushions, that sort of thing. I don’t know what else I can say about her.” Then, Gareth very cleverly turned the tables. “You can’t really think that little girl had anything to do with that train robbery?”

Ridley rolled his eyes, but Anik was being sucked in.

“Hard to believe.” Gareth shook his head. “I mean, Dad and his mates were guessing left, right and center about who it could be. Someone even thought old Buster had snuck back, done the job, and buggered off again.”

“On the night your dad died, you said he was visited by a man claiming to be a policeman . . .”

“That’s right. Big fella. Dark hair. Bit smaller than me. We don’t have CCTV on them back stairs, so I can’t tell you much more than that, really. Dad was a very sick man in those final months. Anything could have caused an angina attack at any moment. But, well, he had a massive stroke on top of it, so . . . no chance. I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than that, I really am.”

“Death of a Salesman!” Penny shrieked.

Maggie moved on to miming the last word in War of the Worlds and wondered how the hell this game of charades was ever going to end. Jack watched Charlie sleep. He was in a recliner, feet up, blanket over his knees. The heating was on full blast, but Charlie really felt the cold now. His head had lolled to one side, and the skin on the lower side of his face seemed to have slid down his skull—he just had no muscles left to hold it all up.