by Michael Wood
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Jonathan said.
Ben Hales looked harassed; he had the weight of the world’s problems on his shoulders. His face was drawn and his eyes drooped like sleep had eluded him for weeks.
‘Where were you on Monday night?’
‘I was at home.’
‘All night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can anyone vouch for that?’
‘No. I live alone.’
‘Did you have any visitors?’
‘No.’
‘So you came home from work and didn’t see another soul until you went into work the following morning?’
‘I didn’t go straight to work the following morning. My childhood home was being demolished. I went to see it come down.’
‘Did you know your brother was in Sheffield?’
‘No.’
‘He didn’t contact you beforehand, or even on the day itself, telling you he was planning to come back to Sheffield?’
‘No.’
‘I find that very hard to believe.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you. I honestly cannot remember the last time I heard from my brother. I had no idea he was back in Sheffield.’
Ben leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. He looked at Jonathan for a while in complete silence, studying him. ‘What I don’t understand is how two brothers could be so estranged following such a horrific event. Your parents had been murdered, brutally so, yet you didn’t forge a bond. There was no brotherly love. You just went your separate ways. Why did you do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jonathan answered.
‘Surely you must agree that it was strange; the final two members of the Harkness family being split up rather than uniting in your shared grief.’
Jonathan didn’t reply. He bowed his head. He really didn’t want to have to think about any form of relationship with his brother.
‘Does the name Aoife Quinn mean anything to you?’ Ben asked suddenly.
Jonathan frowned. ‘No. Should it?’
‘How about Andrea Bickerstaff?’
‘No.’
‘I am surprised. Surely you remember the name of the women who rescued you from your home on the night your parents were murdered.’
‘Oh.’
Jonathan looked down at the scratched table in front of him. He wondered how many people had sat here under interrogation and how many of those were innocent, like himself. The table was covered in a pattern of coffee rings, some relatively fresh, some faded long ago.
‘Oh indeed. Do you remember them now?’
‘Yes,’ he said to the table.
Their faces came back to the front of his memory. He remembered being picked up by a friendly smiling face, though the eyes looked terrified. He remembered the strong smell of a cheap perfume as he was held tightly to someone’s chest and carefully led down the stairs. He remembered clinging to his saviour as a red blanket was wrapped around him and the same woman carried him into the back of an ambulance.
‘Would it interest you to know that they both remember every single detail of that night? I’ve tracked them down. I’ve interviewed them. I’ve talked to other people who were in your life around that time too; your head teacher, your babysitter. They all remember you in glorious technicolour.’
He opened a brown folder and lifted out its typed contents. ‘Aoife Quinn calls you a strange boy. She said you’d just stare straight through people. You used to play with her son but she had to put a stop to that after you bit him on the arm and drew blood.’ He looked up at Jonathan, as though searching for a reaction.
‘Andrea Bickerstaff says there was an incident with you at school where you held a young boy’s head under water. Do you remember that?’
Jonathan didn’t reply. He continued to look straight ahead of him. He wished Matilda Darke was here. He didn’t like this man with his frightening eyes and his constant fidgeting. He was like a caged animal waiting to pounce. Jonathan started scratching his hand again.
Ben continued. ‘Your head teacher was even making preparations to have you removed from school as you were disruptive to other children, some of them were afraid around you.’
‘What does this have to do with my brother?’ Jonathan asked.
‘You never got on with him did you? He resented you and you hated him. I suppose it’s just pure luck I’m talking to you and not your brother. I think you killed him before he had the chance to kill you.’
‘What?’ Jonathan seemed genuinely shocked to be accused of murder. ‘This is ridiculous. I had no idea my brother was even in Sheffield. I didn’t know where he was living.’
‘Do you know Holly Lane?’
‘Of course I do. It’s close to where I work.’
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s close to where a lot of people work. Look, I did not kill my brother.’
‘Really? I have a report here that says otherwise.’ He moved the witness statements to one side and pushed the report across the table to Jonathan to read.
PERSONALITY REPORT ON JONATHAN HARKNESS
BY CHARLIE JOHNSON
I have written extensively about Jonathan Harkness over the years and believe he is suffering from a number of mental and personality disorders which I have detailed below. It is my own personal view that Jonathan has been storing up his emotions and feelings rather than finding an outlet for them. He lives in his own world, content and safe, yet highly unstable. He is on the brink of self-destruction. Left alone, he could function to a degree of normalcy. However, if he was crossed, upset, confronted in any way, he would have the potential to be highly dangerous.
PERSONALITY DISORDER
A personality disorder refers to a class of personality type and enduring behaviour associated with significant distress or disability, which appear to deviate from social expectations particularly in relating to other people.
Behavioural patterns in personality disorders are typically associated with substantial disturbances in some of the behavioural tendencies of a person, usually involving several areas of the personality. They are nearly always associated with considerable personal and social disruption.
A person is classified as having a personality disorder if their abnormalities of behaviour impair their social functioning. Their behaviour may result in maladaptive coping skills, which may lead to personal problems that induce extreme anxiety, distress or depression. The onset of these patterns of behaviour can typically be traced back to childhood, early adolescence, and the beginning of adulthood. It is no secret that what Jonathan went through as a child would be the basis for the shaping of his future character. The fact he has refused to be interviewed and had no significant therapy could reveal his coping mechanisms are seriously impaired. This is abnormal in the everyday function of an individual.
SELF-DEFEATING PERSONALITY DISORDER
The person affected may often avoid or undermine pleasurable experiences, be drawn to situations or relationships in which he or she will suffer, and prevent others from helping him as indicated below:
Choose people and situations that lead to disappointment, failure, or mistreatment even when better options are available;
Rejects or renders ineffective the attempts of others to help;
Following positive personal events, responds with depression, guilt, or a type of behaviour that produces pain;
Incites angry or rejecting responses from others and then feels hurt, defeated, or humiliated;
Rejects opportunities for pleasure or is reluctant to acknowledge enjoying himself despite having the capacity for pleasure;
Fails to accomplish tasks crucial to his personal objectives despite demonstrating the ability in which to do so;
Uninterested in or rejects people who consistently treat him well.
I am unaware if Jonathan is currently taking any medication for depression or anxiety and I doubt, after all this time, if he has suddenly decided to
seek therapy. If this is the case then his personality disorders will be prevalent in the make-up of his character. What Jonathan witnessed as a child will still be with him and he has yet to come to terms with it. He is still trapped as a frightened child. He has not yet made the transition to a well-adjusted adult.
DCI Hales waited until Jonathan had finished reading the report before he continued with the interview. He looked at his watch; it was incredibly late. The station was quiet and a skeleton staff was operating during the night-time hours. He hadn’t called his wife since yesterday lunchtime, he didn’t even text to say he wouldn’t be home, not that she would have noticed.
‘Well?’ Hales asked. He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms.
‘This is just…it’s…how can you take the word of a man who has never even met me? I have never even spoken to Charlie Johnson. My aunt refused to allow him to meet me when I was a child and I’ve refused all interviews with him since. What he has written is baseless and untrue. He’s not even a qualified psychologist; this is just the ramblings of a hack.’
‘You weren’t well behaved at school though, were you?’ Hales asked, moving the psychological report out of the way and placing the witness statements on top.
‘Taken out of context anything can be made to look worse than it is. Yes I bit Joseph Quinn on the arm, but that was because he had me on the ground; he was trying to choke me. The only thing I could do to get free was to grab his arm and bite him. I don’t have any memory of holding a boy’s head under water.’
‘What about the statements from your neighbours calling you a loner and weird?’
‘I was a loner, so what?’ He shrugged. ‘My parents didn’t have any time for me, Matthew was out living his own life, so who did I have to hang around with? Nobody. I had to look after myself. Your so-called evidence carries no weight whatsoever.’
Hales was defeated. He was sure he could prove Charlie Johnson’s report if he had a psychologist talk to Jonathan. He would have to speak to the ACC in the morning for permission.
‘Tell me about the night your parents died.’
‘I thought you arrested me for killing my brother? What, you’re now accusing me of killing my parents too? I was eleven years old.’
‘Answer my question,’ Ben said with deep determination in his voice. He was beginning to lose patience with Jonathan. His hands were flat on the table, his arms tense as if in a position to pounce.
‘You know it all. There is nothing I can say that will add anything new. I can’t do this any more.’ His voice broke and he was almost crying.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it hurts,’ he yelled. ‘I have to live with this every single day. How can I move on with my life when I’m being constantly asked to go over it again and again and again? You have files, you have statements, you have Charlie Johnson’s bloody book. You know everything I do.’
‘Oh come on. Do you honestly expect me to believe everything that went on in that house is in the public domain?’
‘I’m sorry but it’s true.’ Jonathan leaned on the table and put his head in his hands. He appeared to be shattered – both mentally and physically.
‘Tell me again about your brother.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Oh come on, he’s your last surviving relative, or was, surely you remember the last time you met.’
‘I don’t. It was years ago.’
‘How many?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So you didn’t see him on Monday night, the night he was killed?’ He was asking the question for a second time, hoping for a different answer than before.
Jonathan paused. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me who Dawn Marwood is.’
Jonathan’s face looked blank. He was too tired to think properly yet he knew the name from somewhere. ‘She’s a woman who lives in my building.’
‘Which apartment number?’
‘Number one.’
‘That would be the first apartment on the ground floor?’
‘Yes,’ Jonathan sighed.
‘On Monday night, Dawn Marwood was in a lot of pain and couldn’t sleep. She suffers with arthritis and the cold weather leaves her joints stiff. She was awake until the small hours of Tuesday morning. She was in her living room reading a book when the sound of shouting distracted her from her book. Do you know where the shouting was coming from?’
Jonathan didn’t reply. He continued to look straight ahead. He could see the enjoyment on Hales’s face.
‘The shouting was coming from your apartment, Jonathan. At first Ms Marwood thought it might have been the television but then remembered you don’t have one. When she heard the sound of breaking glass she decided to investigate. As luck would have it, Ms Marwood isn’t a fast walker and she took some time getting to her front door, when she did and she looked through her spy hole, do you know what she saw?’
Hales’s smile was almost smug. Jonathan saw the light dancing in his eyes. He was enjoying himself.
‘She saw a man leaving your apartment and exiting the building. She gave quite a good description too. He was your brother wasn’t he?’
History was beginning to repeat itself. Jonathan was back in a room in a police station made to look like an ordinary living room. He was on the floor with a large drawing pad and a bucket of wax crayons. While creating a picture a woman was chatting to him, asking him how he was feeling, what he had seen in his house, was there anybody in the house who shouldn’t have been? Now, twenty years later he was reliving the horror. This time, however, there would be no kid gloves.
‘This isn’t happening,’ Jonathan said, barely above a whisper.
‘What isn’t?’
‘I don’t think I can go through with this. Can I go? I want to go home.’
‘I think it’ll be a while before you see your home again. Now, why did you lie when I asked you about your brother, and what was he doing at your apartment on Monday night?’
‘I have a headache.’ He felt like his head was going to explode.
‘Answer my questions.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want anyone to know.’ His bottom lip began to quiver.
‘Know what?’
There was a lengthy silence. Jonathan curled up on his seat, cradling his head. He sniffed back the tears and looked up.
‘All right, Matthew did come to see me on Monday night. It was the first time I’d seen him in years. I recognized him straightaway though. God only knows how he knew where to find me.’
‘What was his reason for visiting?’
‘The demolition. He’d come to see the house get knocked down.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Our parents, mostly. He kept asking me to go over that night again and again, all the details. It was like he enjoyed it. He kept smiling at me.’
‘Did you tell him?’
‘I had no choice. He scared me. He always scared me.’ Jonathan hugged himself, protected himself.
‘In what way did he scare you?’
‘He was angry, volatile. I thought he was going to hit me.’
‘Did he?’
Jonathan suddenly lost it. It was as if his spine had been torn out of his body and he just slumped on the table. His grip on his emotions went too, and out came a torrent of tears and wailing that resounded around the cold room.
Hales took a cotton handkerchief out of his inside pocket and handed it to him. ‘Here, take this. It’s crumpled but it’s clean.’
He took the proffered handkerchief and began wiping his eyes and his nose. The tears still came.
‘What happened?’ Hales asked when there was a brief gap in the sobbing.
‘Matthew kept staring at me, staring through me really. I knew
something was going to happen, something horrible, but I had no idea…’ He couldn’t finish his sentence; the tears were overwhelming him.
‘Take your time Jonathan. Take deep breaths.’
‘He lunged at me and grabbed me by the throat. He squeezed hard and I couldn’t breathe. I tried to scramble free, but he was too strong. I thought I was going to pass out, but just before I did he released his grip, he pushed me and I fell into my coffee table. My head broke the glass and I hit my head on the floor. That didn’t stop him though. I honestly thought he was going to kill me. I looked up at him and he was smiling. He was just standing there and had this huge smile on his face. He was enjoying himself. He said that if he knew how fragile and fucked up I was he would have come round to see me much sooner.’
‘What did you say?’
‘There was nothing I could say. I was having difficulty breathing. I just wanted him to go. I thought that if he was going to beat me up then just let him do it and go.’
‘Why was he doing this to you?’
‘Because he could. He always hated me, right from birth. I thought I was free from him when I moved to Newcastle and when I came back I had no idea he’d find me and do this to me.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He picked me up from the floor. He held out his hand for me to take and helped me up. He dusted the broken glass out of my hair and pulled me towards him in a hug. He had a powerful grip. He whispered in my ear that we’d never hugged before and that brothers should always hug. He said that we’d had a lousy childhood and lousy parents who had never shown us love and attention. He released me and I looked into his eyes and I just saw pure evil. I knew what was coming…’
Chapter 32
Sian Mills was having difficulty sleeping. Next to her, hogging most of the duvet, was her husband whose latest device for helping him to stop snoring wasn’t working. She tried to roll him over onto his side but it was no use, he was far too heavy for her. The sound of her mobile ringing was music to her ears. She didn’t mind if it was someone from India wanting to talk to her about her broadband supply; she’d happily have the conversation.
‘Hello?’ she asked, not lowering her voice. She didn’t care if she woke her husband. It would make a change from it being the other way round.