Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the adjacent white plastic door with the shabbily
    scrawled ‘43’ that was written on in permanent marker. The door buzzer was hanging on by a thin
    wire but Jessica pushed it anyway, feeling the vibration in her finger as a low angry rumble echoed
    from inside. She waited for a few seconds and had already stepped away, ready to head back to the
    station, when she heard a chain unclinking as the door opened inwards.
    It took Jessica a few moments to realise that the person in the doorway was who she was after.
    ‘Toxic’ Tony Farnsworth was an alcoholic drug user who, despite having this flat, often lived on the
    streets. He had a long string of convictions, generally for low-level thefts, and had once been banned
    from every licensed premises in the city centre. Then he’d had shaggy unkempt hair, a track of razor
    nicks across his cheeks where he’d tried to shave and a thin nothingness of a frame from years of
    living on little but booze and the contents of a syringe. The man in front of her had almost the same
    features but everything was tidier. His hair was short and flat, his cheeks fuller and covered with a
    thin layer of stubble. Instead of the enormous coat he used to wear, Tony was in skinny jeans and a
    tight-fitting long-sleeved sweater. Although he was still lean, his chest and arms were larger and he
    no longer looked like a government warning poster for anorexia.
    ‘Tony?’
    His eyes widened. ‘Do I know you?’
    Jessica pulled out her ID card. ‘We’ve met before – quite a few times.’
    Tony squinted at her card and withdrew into the entrance of his flat, hugging his arms around
    himself. ‘I don’t exactly remember that much about the past few years. Daniel . . . Daniel . . .’ He
    rolled the name around his tongue a few times. ‘Did you once arrest me in an off-licence?’
    ‘Twice. One time you’d tried to steal some brandy from the top shelf, slipped and knocked yourself
    out on the ice-cream freezer; another time, the shopkeeper hit the panic alarm and left you alone in the shop. You’d panicked and—’
    ‘Pissed myself . . . I remember. You were blonder then, bit younger. Told me to stop fucking my life
    up or I’d end up dead or in prison.’
    ‘Sounds about right.’
    ‘You bought me breakfast another time too.’ Tony rubbed the back of his head nervously, making the
    hair stick up. ‘I’ve not done anything wrong. I know you lot used to be around all the time ’cos I’d
    been out nicking but I’m clean now.’
    ‘That’s not why I’m here.’
    At first Tony seemed confused but then his eyes widened. ‘Oh, it’s not me ma, is it?’
    ‘It’s to do with Anarky.’
    ‘Oh . . . you better come in.’
    Tony led Jessica up a flight of stairs into a flat that was bigger than Debbie’s but much emptier.
    Aside from a tiny portable television, a sofa and flat-packed ready-to-fall-apart coffee table, the
    living room was bare.
    Tony headed straight for the doorway at the back of the room. ‘Fancy a tea? That’s what you lot
    drink, ain’t it?’ Indeed it was – Jessica was drowning in the bloody stuff. A police officer’s opium.
    Tony continued without waiting for an answer, his voice echoing through the open door. ‘I’ve got
    ginseng, Earl Grey, Lung Ching, Bancha, mixed berry, Koslanda, Assam, Darjeeling, Covent Garden
    and a bit of Oolong somewhere. Any one in particular?’
    He’d replaced one addiction with another. Jessica didn’t know which was worse; she might even
    prefer the hard drugs. ‘Whatever you’re having.’
    Jessica would usually have had a poke around but there was nothing to poke at, so she sat on the
    sofa instead. A few minutes later, Tony returned with two dainty china teacups on a tray with a
    matching teapot.
    ‘I went for the Bancha,’ he said, putting the tray on the table and sitting on the floor. ‘Best leave it for a bit to let the leaves do their thing.’
    Junkie.
    ‘So, Anarky . . .’
    Tony glanced away towards the