Page 121 of Too Close To Home

Harrison’s expression didn’t change despite his rampant heartbeat. “So your belief is that Robyn Whitton became pregnant by her own father.”

“Aye.”

“And that’s why she disappeared.”

“She knew what that family were.” Andy’s voice grew louder. “Knew what sort of filth that house were built on.”

“My client is speculating,” the solicitor interjected. “I advise him not to continue and take a break.”

“I don’t need a fucking break!” Andy snapped. “Cause that Jake?” He pointed across the table. “You think he could let all that come out? Him off chasing his fancy music career. Imagine the headlines.”

Harrison waited.

Andy mistook the silence for encouragement.

“Then she disappears and suddenly everyone’s looking at me.” He slapped the table. “Jake made sure of that. Needed someone else to carry it.”

Harrison spoke as evenly as before. “So you’re alleging Jake Whitton murdered his own sister.”

“I’m saying, look at it!” Andy’s eyes were wild. “Where’s Teddy’s dad, eh? Soon as she went missing, suddenly the father of the baby wants nowt to do with it. Wonder why, eh?”

Calder glanced at Harrison but kept writing.

“I told Jake.” Andy tapped his own chest. “Right to his face. Thirteen years ago. That’s why he nearly killed me. Because he knew I were right.” He then snatched up the CCTV still of Emily Fisher, crushing it in his fist. “And now this.” He shook the crumpled photograph. “Another chance to stitch me up. Make everyone think he were right all along. Clear his own name. Get his life back.” His mouth twisted. “Cause let’s face it... living in that shit-hole above an off license weren’t the rock-star future he planned, were it?”

The solicitor reached across and took the photograph from Andy’s grip. “My client is clearly distressed. I’m advising him not to answer further questions.”

Harrison watched him.

Carefully.

Because rumours like that didn’t appear out of nowhere. And sometimes the most dangerous thing about them…was that once they’d been spoken aloud, they were impossible to put back in the box.

Andy leaned back in the chair, chest heaving.

“Andy, those are serious allegations.”

“Aye, they are.” He folded his arms. “Funny how no one ever wants to look at them though.”

“Stopping the interview at twelve fifty-eight.” Harrison clicked the stop button on the recorder. “Andy, you’ll remain in police custody while we review the evidence gathered so far. I suggest you calm down before we resume.”

Andy held up his hands. “Perfectly calm here, Detective. I didn’t do it. Jake Whitton did. Go fucking arrest him.”

The solicitor tapped Andy’s arm as Harrison stood and Calder followed suit, them both stepping out into the corridor and leaving the uniformed officer to escort Andy back to the holding cells. Then they walked through the station towards the incident room, the usual background noise of ringing phones and murmured conversations like static in Harrison’s jumbled mind.

Jake Whitton. Donald Whitton. Abuse. Murder.

The rumour sat there like grit under his skin.

By the time they reached the CID office, the tension pressed behind Harrison’s eyes, and he dropped the case file onto the desk to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Christ.

He hated cases at this stage. The point where every thread seemed possible and none of them felt solid enough to hold. When facts and speculation started tangling together, and the wrong word in the wrong ear could send the whole thing spiralling.

Behind him, Calder stopped. Said nothing. Watched him. Then, cautiously, “You alright, sir?”

Harrison dropped his hand to slap the desk. “Is there any possible shred of truth in what he said in there?”