‘Are you aware of anyone causing problems in the area, antisocial behaviour, that sort of thing?’ Janet said.
‘You always get a few.’ She grimaced.
‘Can you think of anyone we should be talking to?’
Her expression altered slightly, becoming guarded, suspicious. ‘No,’ she said.
Janet wasn’t sure whether she resented the implication that she might know criminal elements in the area or whether she did know and was frightened to say so.
Rachel spoke to the residents at numbers six and eight Low Bank Road, all of whom had seen the blaze but nothing else. She recognized the woman at number six, she’d been there with the buggy and all her kids. The bloke at number ten, Mr Hicks, was housebound. He thought he had seen someone going down the side of the chapel. Running. ‘I think there were two of them,’ he said.
As soon as she asked for more details he faltered.
‘Men?’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Black, white?’
‘More likely Pakis round here,’ he said.
‘Could you tell?’ asked Rachel.
‘No.’
‘Height?’ Thinking of the victim who was six foot tall. Might he have seen the victim and someone chasing him?
‘Couldn’t say,’ Mr Hicks replied.
‘What were they wearing?’
His rheumy gaze brightened, like some part of his brain had coughed into life. ‘Them jackets.’
‘Jackets?’ Rachel said. ‘What like?’
‘Football,’ he said.
‘Football strip?’ Hardly counted as jackets.
‘No,’ he sneered. ‘American football.’ What the fuck did American footballers wear?
‘Wi’ hoods.’
Hoodies? Rachel’s sense of progress evaporated. ‘You mean hoodies?’ That would rule in most of the local youth and half their parents.
‘Like…’ he waved one crabby fist, thumb and fingers together as though holding the answer, ‘… baseball.’
Make your mind up.
‘Wi’ numbers on,’ he said.
Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. The couple she’d seen in the alley, puffing billies. Class of 88. ‘Both of them had these jackets?’ she asked.
‘One did, the other was further away and these glasses aren’t so good, need a new prescription from the optician. But how am I supposed to get there? They expect me to fork out for a taxi?’ Shit eyesight didn’t exactly make him prime witness material but still.
‘You make out the numbers?’ Rachel said.
‘Two fat ladies.’
‘Eighty-eight,’ Rachel supplied.
‘Right,’ he said.
‘What time was this?’
‘About half past seven. Half an hour later it’s all on fire.’
Rachel left him and headed for the shops, the buzz that comes with a promising lead simmering beneath her skin.
She found Janet at the parade. ‘Witness sighting of intruders in the chapel grounds,’ Rachel said. ‘The description matches two lads I saw down here last night. Wore hoodies with matching numbers on the back.’