‘He was a gentle soul, very troubled, and was concerned that the medication he had been prescribed made him feel very lethargic. There were a few times when he found it hard to have a coherent conversation. I did query it with his psychiatrist, but it was not my position to question what they had prescribed him.’
‘Was he ever violent in any way?’
‘No, never... on the contrary. In my humble estimation, Rodney was a very traumatised young man. His sisters dying in the fire, his mother leaving him... I believe his father was abusive to him; it all affected him. He didn’t warrant a custodial sentence but would have benefited from appropriate medical care.’
‘How old was he at this time?’
‘Just eighteen, that was my first encounter with him. Subsequently he was allocated to me when he was twenty-one and had committed an assault. By this time, he had been held at a young offender institute. He was released for medical assessment from another psychiatric department and was fearful about being prescribed even more medication that would make him feel ill. I believe he had been offered hypnosis.’
‘During any of your dealings with Rodney, did you have any concerns regarding his over-protective feelings towards young people, especially young girls?’
‘I’ve been asked that before; surely it’s understandable that he should feel protective, after what happened to his younger sisters?’
‘So, you never felt that it was a sign that he could have paedophilia tendencies?’
Thompson shook his head. ‘No, I did not. Not in any way. I know there was some complaint made against him, but Rodney explained to me that he was concerned for the children in the playground. He was frightened they could fall and hurt themselves if their parent wasn’t watching them.’
‘How do you feel about the fact that Rodney has just committed yet another vicious assault?’
Thompson waved his mug of tea, spilling some over his trousers and the carpet.
‘Whatever has occurred since my retirement isn’t my business. If you want my honest opinion, Rodney Middleton has been left to fall through the system without ever getting the proper treatment he needed, being passed from one psychiatrist to the other with no concrete or helpful diagnosis.’
Jack paused. ‘Mr Thompson, can I ask you what, in your professional experience, is wrong with Rodney Middleton?’
Thompson was wiping the spilt tea off his trousers with a crumpled napkin. He shrugged and leant forwards, his belly drooping between his fat thighs.
‘Have you met him?’
Jack looked embarrassed. ‘No, not yet.’
‘Well, when you do you’ll see why I have strong empathy for this young man. He’s a lost soul, and nobody has ever had the time to heal him.’
Jack stood up and signalled to Sara that they were leaving.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Thompson, you’ve been very helpful. I hope you enjoy your rugby match.’
It was clear that Sydney thought he would be questioned further, and he looked surprised as he hauled his bulk out of the chair. Sara walked ahead of Jack, who turned at the door.
‘Do you think that Rodney would be capable of murder?’
Sydney was bending down to pick up the tray, and he turned to face Jack.
‘I... well, in the end God only knows what people are capable of.’
They drove in silence as Jack followed his satnav directions to Brian Hookam’s address, which he had also put into Waze on his mobile.
They headed back towards Kingston, past the old Kingston Crown Court towards the A1, which would then be a straight drive to Cobham.
‘Sarge, what did you mean when you asked if Middleton was capable of murder?’
‘If you ask me, Middleton should have been sectioned years ago, and the Sydney Thompsons of this world had no idea what they were dealing with. The psychiatrists were treading on eggshells with their reports, passing Middleton from one clinic to another.’
‘What makes you feel that Rodney is capable of murder?’
‘Intuition, Sara. He’s manipulated the system, spending very little time in custodial environments, always being let off on medical grounds. He’s twenty-four and has lived off benefits all his adult life. He was protected by men like Sydney Thompson, who even encouraged him not to take his prescribed medication.’
‘He didn’t actually say that, but you don’t seem to rate probation officers very highly.’
‘I don’t. They’re not qualified doctors or psychiatrists... and just seem to act as enablers so that prisoners get released. Those prisoners then often end up going straight back into crime. I know your brother is a probation officer, and I don’t mean to lump everyone together, so I’m sure he’s an exception.’
‘He is, and he’s very dedicated. However, in defence of men like Thompson, you haven’t met Rodney Middleton yet, so you are assuming an awful lot based on your intuition.’
Jack gave her a side-long glance. He rather admired the fact she was feisty and was questioning him, but he didn’t have the patience to go into all his reasons for his suspicion that Rodney was a killer. He knew he could be wrong, but he was not about to admit it.
Satnav and Waze eventually directed them to a small mews courtyard off the main Cobham High Street. These were small workmen’s cottages, built close together with a small verge in front and a profusion of flowering tubs and hanging baskets around their front doors. They parked outside number 14, behind a Toyota with stickers supporting firefighters and a ‘Vote Labour’ sign.
Jack and Sara pulled their masks on as they stood and rang the doorbell. There was the sound of a small dog yapping then the door was opened. Brian Hookam stood, holding a bulbous-eyed Pekingese with a red scarf around its neck.
‘Don’t worry, he’s all bark, and anyway not many teeth left for him to bite with!’ Hookam said jovially.
Jack introduced himself and Sara as they were ushered into a small but comfortable-looking lounge, with thick-piled carpet and a flowered easy chair and a two-seater sofa. Elegant flowery curtains fell either side of a small, fabric-covered window seat.
Hookam was a huge, fit-looking man, standing at well over six feet. He had broad shoulders and was dressed in jeans and a black collared t-shirt. He seemed totally out of place with the décor of the room. He offered them tea or coffee, but Jack declined, saying he didn’t want to take up too much of his time.
Brian had loose false teeth, which made an odd whistling sound when he talked, and he was constantly sucking in air. The Pekingese remained snuggled in his arms as Jack and Sara sat side by side on the sofa. Brian excused himself for a minute, going out into the narrow hall and calling out.
‘Avril?’
Jack saw a tiny woman with mauve hair and a wrap-over apron approach, taking the dog from Brian’s arms.
‘Do you want a pot of tea?’
‘No, thanks, my love... just keep Judy out. I shouldn’t be too long.’
Brian came back in and closed the door. He was breathing heavily and gave a phlegmy cough as he sat down in one of the easy chairs. He took out a rather dirty handkerchief and spat into it.
‘Sorry, too much smoke inhalation over twenty-five years, as well as the fags! But I’ve given them up since I retired. If you ask me, I don’t think having that long-haired Peke does me any good, but it’s like her child. We have four of them — kids, that is, not dogs — but we haven’t been able to see them for over a year.’
Jack smiled. ‘Firstly, thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Mr Hookam, I really appreciate it. I’ll get straight to the point. It’s a bit of a test of your memory, I’m afraid.’
Brian nodded, sucking in a breath between his loose teeth.
‘So, there was a fire at Anthony Middleton’s property over five years ago. I believe you were the officer in charge of the fire investigation unit and were called to attend?’