Amy headed for the main entrance but Matilda stopped her.
‘What can you tell me about Samuel Bryce before we go in?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why did he end up back in prison?’
‘Life didn’t seem to suit him on the outside. As sad as it sounds, I think he’s happier now he’s back in prison. He has a short fuse—’
‘He’s quick to anger?’ Matilda interrupted.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. Whenever something goes wrong, he just gives up. He doesn’t look for a solution. When he lost his job in 2009 he took it as a sign that he wasn’t meant to improve his life and was always going to be a loser. He started drinking heavily again.’
‘Did you try and help him?’
‘Of course. I put him in touch with a rehab facility in Leicester, which seemed to work for a while. He was in therapy too. He found himself a girlfriend as well, which I thought would be a turning point for him.’
‘But it wasn’t?’
‘No. He didn’t tell me at the time but I later found out she was also a recovering addict. Only, her addiction wasn’t alcohol, it was drugs.’
‘And she got him hooked on drugs?’
‘She certainly did. Nothing heavy at first, cannabis, a bit of coke. Then he went on to crystal meth.’
‘Bloody hell! So what happened for him to get sent here?’ Matilda asked, nodding at the imposing building in front of her.
‘He started dealing. And he was eventually caught in Manchester.’
‘Manchester?’ Where the Hartleys lived.
‘Has anyone seen DCI Darke?’
It was the second time that afternoon Sian had heard that question. This time, she was reluctant to answer.
‘What’s the problem?’ she asked as Faith came over to her desk.
‘Not a problem as such. Well, it may be a problem. I’m not sure.’
‘You’re not making much sense, Faith. Have a seat.’
Faith pulled up a chair and perched on the edge. She flicked her hair back and began. ‘John Preston has a silver Vectra. Registration number VF51 CJS. He doesn’t have a garage and keeps it on the driveway. According to his neighbour, it hasn’t been outside his house for about a month. Anyway, I’ve had the number run through the ANPR and it was last seen here in Sheffield just over a week ago.’
‘Where?’
‘The A6102. Bochum Parkway.’
‘Please tell me he was travelling out of Sheffield.’
‘Sorry. He was heading for Sheffield.’
‘Starling House isn’t far from Bochum Parkway.’
‘That’s why I was looking for the DCI. If John Preston has been in Sheffield for the last few weeks or so, then surely he’s a possible suspect for the murder of Ryan Asher.’
Sian thought for a while. ‘Do we have a photo of John Preston?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
‘Try and get one. Let’s see who we’re supposed to be looking for.’
SIXTY-EIGHT
Matilda had visited Wakefield Prison many times in the course of her career. However, the sense of the occasion was not lost on her. It was the same with hospitals. Whenever she entered one she thought of James; the many scans and sessions of chemotherapy he’d had to endure. The memories came flooding back. As she entered the prison, she thought of the cases she had worked on over the years; the suspects who had been found guilty and sentenced. She knew some of them would be here in Wakefield Prison. She often wondered about them. Another reason for her sleepless nights and heavy mind.
For security reasons, Matilda and Amy had their phones, keys, wallets, and anything else in their pockets locked up in reception and were then shown into the Legal Visits Room. As Matilda saw her phone being locked away she wondered if she doing the right thing in putting Thomas Hartley before the Starling House case. What if she was needed urgently? She wouldn’t know of anything happening until she left the prison.
Minutes went by slowly, which did not help Matilda’s anxiety at all. Anything could happen in a prison, and, knowing Matilda’s luck, it probably would. Her mind was charging full speed ahead as it conjured up the many dangerous scenarios – a riot, fire, explosion, lockdown, revolt. She wanted to recite her list of Prime Ministers. She needed the comfort of banality to settle her nerves but she couldn’t allow a detective sergeant she didn’t know to see how fragile and pathetic she was.
Matilda looked over at Amy whose face was blank. She was chewing her bottom lip – was that her way of controlling her own anxieties or was she just bored of being kept waiting?
Pull yourself together, for crying out loud.
The door was unlocked and in walked Samuel Bryce, formerly known as Wesley Brigstone. He was followed by a female prison guard who showed him to a seat opposite Matilda and Amy. Once he was sitting, she unlocked his handcuffs from behind his back. He placed his hands on the table and knitted his fingers together.
The only photograph Matilda had seen of Samuel was taken more than thirty years before when he was still called Wesley. Then, he was a fresh-faced thirteen-year-old boy wearing his school blazer and smiling his cheeky smile directly to the camera. The blue eyes were bright, his cheeks had dimples, and his hair was soft and flowing. Now, time, alcohol and drugs had ravaged his body. He had the harsh look of a man on the edge of life. His dull blue eyes had sunk into his face. He looked tired and drawn. His once shiny hair was lifeless and cut short. His uniform of navy trousers and sweater were old and stained and at least one size too big for his skeletal frame. He looked more than a decade older than his forty-four years.
Amy cleared her throat and introduced them both. The silence returned. It was time for Matilda to take over and begin the interview.
‘I’d like you to tell me about what happened once you were released back in 1995.’
‘She knows,’ he nodded in Amy’s direction. His voice was quiet and gruff
