Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(50)

Mason is gaping at me. ‘That’s a lie – I never went near anything like that. I’m not into kids, for fuck’s sake. That’s disgusting – perverted – ’

‘Barry Mason, I am arresting you on suspicion of the illegal possession of indecent images of children, contrary to Section 160 of the Criminal Justice Act 1988. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. You will be required to surrender the phone in question, so that it can be examined by forensics officers – ’

‘Well, I can tell you now you won’t bloody well find anything – I’ve never even used the bloody camera – ’

‘You will now be taken to the cells. Interview terminated at 11.17.’

Quinn and I get up and turn to go.

‘It was Sharon, wasn’t it?’ he says. There’s panic in his voice now. ‘She gave you that sodding birthday card. She had to. The rest of the bloody house burned down, thanks to you.’ He slams his fist on the table. ‘Aren’t you supposed to protect us from psychos like that? Isn’t that your job?’

‘You can rest assured that the Police Complaints Commission will ascertain exactly what happened.’

‘Can’t you see what she’s doing? She’s trying to frame me. She found out about the dating thing and she’s flipped her bloody lid.’

‘Are you suggesting she downloaded porn on your phone too?’

He opens his mouth and then closes it again.

‘I’ll take that as a “no”.’

I turn again, but he’s not finished.

‘I’m not joking – that woman’s mental – she’s got a screw loose somewhere. I’m not just talking about her temper – she’s even jealous of her own fucking daughter – can you believe that? It’s bloody unnatural, that’s what it is.’

Actually, I can believe it, all too easily. I sense Quinn glance at me, and I know why. The man’s playing us our own scenario. Just without him in it.

‘What are you saying, Mr Mason?’ I say evenly.

‘I’m saying that if anyone did anything to Daisy, it was her, not me. I mean – it happened before, didn’t it?’

He looks from me to Quinn, at our blank, uncomprehending faces.

‘You do know about her, right?’

*

‘My boss is going to have my hide for giving you this.’

It’s an hour later, and inside the cramped Sky news van, Paul Beaton is sitting in front of a bank of screens. At his side is Acting Detective Sergeant Gareth Quinn.

‘I’m sure you’ve been at this game long enough,’ says Quinn, ‘to know that cooperating with the police is always the best policy. Especially in a murder inquiry.’

Beaton looks at him. ‘Is that what it is? I didn’t think you had a body?’

‘We don’t. But we don’t need one – not necessarily. You didn’t hear it from me, but it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Any chance of a heads-up before you go public with that? For being so helpful and cooperative?’

Quinn smiles. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got first.’

Beaton taps the keyboard. ‘Something tells me you’re not going to be disappointed.’

The footage appears on the screen. It’s clearly a hand-held camera – the image lurches wildly before settling on the Mason house in darkness. The time-code at the bottom says 01.47.

‘I was woken up by this huge bang,’ says Beaton. ‘Got my camera on before my kecks. That’s what ten years on this job and three tours of the Middle East does to you.’

‘Tell me about it,’ says Quinn, who’s not been any further than Magaluf.

At 01.49 the door to the house bangs open and Sharon Mason comes out. She’s wearing a white lace negligee and has her handbag in one hand. She stares around, blinking and swaying unsteadily, then starts to totter across the gravel towards the house next door, where she rings the bell several times. It’s 01.52 before the door is answered.

‘At this stage I still had no idea what had happened. As you can see, she gets the neighbours out of the house, and then you see the fire for the first time.’

The shot veers skywards to show flames rising from the roof. Then the camera is on the move – the floor, the cameraman’s feet, the door of the van, then a wild swing up to the house again. A man in pyjama bottoms is disappearing into the front door. Sharon Mason is sitting on the wall, her head between her knees. There are two little girls with her and a woman. The cameraman says something to Sharon, but it’s too muffled to make out.

‘That’s when I asked her if she’d called 999.’

The shot swings again to the Masons’ front door, which is open. And then up above, to where the first-floor windows are glowing a furious orange. The curtains are already alight.

Quinn sits forward. ‘Where’s Leo – where the fuck’s her kid?’

‘I wondered when you’d ask that. Keep watching.’

The shot tilts back to the front door, just in time to see the neighbour career out of the house, pushing Leo ahead of him. Both are smeared with soot and they’re only yards from the doorway when the first-floor windows explode in a shower of sparks and glass that rains down on the drive. Man and boy are hurled to the ground. The time-code on the screen says 02.05.