We’re innocent. We didn’t do it, my brother and I. Framed. Unlike the rest of the guys here, we really are innocent. We were visiting our old mum at the time. Ask her, she’ll tell you.
They picked us up at the Dog and Duck just off Brick Lane two days after the fire. We were still sober. “Did you do it?” they asked.
“Do what?” we said.
“Start that fire,” they said.
“Which fire?” we said.
“The warehouse, Lucky Lampton’s warehouse. That fire,” they said.
“Oh, that fire,” we said, “No. Definitely not. Why should we?”
We used the phone. Our lawyer said, “Play smart. Play good criminal, good criminal.”
Trouble is, they played bad cop, bad cop. They patched our prints onto the warehouse door; they sprinkled our DNA around the place; they planted some cans of petrol in our lock-up; they so confused our mum that she couldn’t remember our visit. They fabricated a motive – revenge for Lucky burning down our casino.
That’s cheating. Definitely against the rules.
“Three years,” said the judge. “Each.”
Sometimes you just can’t win.