gases, then I’ll be revolting. Maggots will get to me…
I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. I’m having a heart attack. No I’m not, I’m too young, and I’m healthy. But shock. Panic. That can cause the heart to fail, can’t it?
‘You’re killing me!’ Through gasps, I manage to call out one more time but there is no answer, just the muffled laughter of my captor. Has my tormentor done this before? Will they do it again?
I can’t… I can’t… I can’t… think. My sentence won’t form. My chattering teeth. No sense made. My thoughts reaching out, no connections. Not connected. My mind – confused. Space, floating, dark. The cord has snapped.
Gasping and wheezing.
Can I hear? Only my own heartbeat.
It’s going. Gone. Gasp.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Now
Sunday, 1 November
‘Guv.’ Jacob burst into her office. ‘Uniform are on their way now – they saw someone coming back to the squat and they’re bringing him in.’
She held the file up and flicked it. ‘At last. I’m pinning my hopes on this person giving us something useful.’ She ate the rest of the chocolate bar that was her lunch and grabbed her notebook. ‘Let’s prep the interview room.’ Adrenaline coursed through her body.
As they hurried to the room, Gina felt her phone buzz.
‘Are they here?’ Jacob asked.
‘Yes. Kapoor is bringing the man through now.’ Removing her suit jacket, she placed it over the back of the chair. She passed Jacob a witness form on a clipboard and headed out to the main reception, meeting Kapoor as she reached the front desk.
‘DI Harte, this is Michael Dowler.’ Kapoor’s squeaky voice aggravated the underlying headache that Gina had felt coming on since she’d started eating the chocolate bar.
‘Mr Dowler, thank you for coming in. Follow me.’ She massaged her temples as they walked.
The man stared at her suspiciously, his mouth twitching underneath his stone-grey beard. He opened his mouth, revealing a gap where his two front teeth once were. Gina estimated that he was in his late forties but living rough had aged him way beyond his years. The layers of torn puffer jackets made him look plump, but Gina could tell from how stick thin his legs were that there was no weight to him whatsoever.
‘Is this about Al?’ Gina struggled to hear his gruff voice; it was as if he needed to clear his throat.
‘Alexander Swinton, yes. Thank you for coming in.’
He shrugged and wiped a clump of sleep from his left eye. ‘Didn’t have a choice, he was my mate.’
She opened the door to interview room one and pointed to the plastic chair. ‘Please, sit. Can we get you a drink?’
‘Tea, I’d love a tea.’
Gina poked her head out of the door and waved until Kapoor saw her. ‘Could you please get Mr Dowler a tea, please?’ The woman nodded and smiled. Gina sat next to Jacob.
‘I’m Mike, just call me Mike.’
After going through the basics of the form the tea arrived. Kapoor knocked and placed the plastic cup in front of Michael Dowler.
‘First of all, were you at the derelict house on Beckett Street yesterday, when we were there?’
He glanced back and forth between Gina and Jacob. ‘Nah, I was in Studley, sitting outside a shop hoping to gain a few quid for food.’
If it wasn’t their witness at the squat, who had come in through the back door before scarpering? ‘Mike, is this the man you referred to as Al?’ Gina slid the CCTV screen grab photo across the table.
The man took it and squinted a little as he held it closer to his face. ‘That’s him. That’s Al. Do you know who killed him? I heard about what happened and I’ve been terrified that someone is coming for me as well.’
Gina shook her head. ‘I’m afraid we don’t as yet. We were hoping that you can help us. Can you tell us a little about Al? Were you friends?’
The man unzipped his puffer jacket a little and took a sip of the tea Kapoor had brought in. A smoky waft filled the room and dust motes danced in the ray of light that came through the tiny window. ‘You wouldn’t believe how nice this tea tastes.’ The cup crackled in his grip. He placed it down and bit the corner of his filthy nail. ‘Yes, I suppose we were friends. We looked out for each other – you have to when you’re living on the streets. It’s hard out there. The kids give us hassle. They shout and call us names and Al,