A Good Death Page 5

  Before picking up the phone he mentally composed his argument for securing one of Inspector Pete Stone’s officers; Stone would naturally fight losing one of his team at a time when they were all hard pressed, and he could be an awkward bugger. But when it came to it, very little persuasion was needed. ‘Just let me check the roster,’ said Stone. He was back in less than a minute. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the just the bloke for you. You can have Brown.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mariner replaced the receiver thinking that had just been too easy. Ten minutes later, as he was beginning the briefing, his colleague’s generosity became clear, when Brown appeared, making the kind of entrance that put Laurel and Hardy in the shade. ‘Hello,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I’ve been sent up from uniform, I was told to—’ He faltered, realising then that he was interrupting a meeting in progress. Heading for the nearest vacant office chair, which happened to be Vicky Jesson’s, he stumbled, sending it skating away from him, and grabbing on to the adjacent desk to steady himself, knocked a pot of pens and paperclips flying through the air to scatter all over the floor. ‘Sorry.’ He scrambled to pick them up. Having retrieved them, with the help of a couple of the admin staff nearby, he finally managed to sit down and, having retained one of the pens, sat clicking the mechanism on and off, until Mariner stopped him with a glare.

  ‘Well, I would say welcome, PC Brown,’ said Mariner, beginning to understand Stone’s easy compliance. ‘But you’ve already made yourself at home.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you have a first name?’

  ‘Kevin.’

  ‘OK.’ Mariner began the briefing, with his team of what seemed mostly to be support staff, by going over the events of Saturday night and the background information they had garnered so far. First he invited Ralph Solomon to go through the main points of what had been learned from the house-to-house. ‘We have a witness who saw someone walking along the street and past the Shahs’ soon after midnight,’ he said. ‘But we have to keep in mind that this is a through route to get to the Nansen estate. And the witness is keen to make it clear that this person was walking quickly, not running, as in running away. Several vehicles were also seen coming and going through the evening, until quite late, but nothing unusual has so far been recorded at around the time when the fire started.’

  The office door opened again and Mariner glanced round as Vicky Jesson hurried in. There was a Three Bears moment as she registered, with noticeable disapproval, that Brown was sitting on her chair at her desk, but then she walked over to the only other available seat, kicking over a waste bin along the way. It began to feel to Mariner as if he was managing a class of eight-year-olds. ‘Might be what a smart person would do,’ he answered Solomon, while watching Jesson cross the room. ‘Running tends to draw attention.’

  ‘He was also wearing hoodie, with the hood pulled up, even though it was a dry, mild night,’ said Solomon.

  ‘Mild?’ said Vicky, tuning in. ‘Where are you living?’

  ‘Obviously it’s not in itself incriminating, but it would be helpful to track this individual down and talk to them,’ Solomon went on. ‘I’ve asked the press office to revise the appeal for witnesses to include a specific reference to this individual.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mariner. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘One of the neighbours mentioned a bit of trouble between the Shahs and another family in the street. She didn’t know exactly who, but Mrs Shah complained to her about it.’

  ‘OK,’ said Mariner. ‘Brown?’ Brown looked up, pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose and blinked hard. ‘You’re on restricted duties, is that right?’ said Mariner.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ve got a metal plate up here,’ he said, tapping the back of his skull.

  Hint of an accent there, though Mariner couldn’t quite place it. ‘You’ve been a nominal before?’ he asked. Brown looked blank. Christ, did he even know what that was? ‘Have you ever run a policy book?’ Mariner added, to help him out.

  ‘Oh right,’ said Brown. ‘Gotcha.’

  That was something then. ‘I want you to start collating and indexing the intel as it comes in,’ Mariner told him. ‘Witness statements – civilian and fire crew – officers’ pocketbook notes, all of that. It needs to be done carefully and methodically, cross-referencing where necessary, so that we don’t miss anything. Think you can do that?’

  ‘I’ll give it a go,’ said Brown brightly.

  It wasn’t a response that immediately instilled confidence, but Mariner wasn’t in a position to be choosy. ‘You can use Charlie Glover’s desk for now, over there in the corner.’

  This was Vicky’s big moment. ‘Do you want me to—?’ she began to volunteer, but Mariner cut her off with a raised hand. ‘While Charlie’s away I’ll be taking the lead on this, at least until we have more information from Fire Investigation and know exactly what we’re dealing with.’

  Vicky hadn’t meant to tut and she certainly hadn’t intended it to be loud enough for everyone around her to hear. A couple of people turned her way. She couldn’t help it; it was a reflex reaction to her disappointment, both in her failure to secure the fire investigation, but also in the boss. Never meet your idols, they always say, but she really hadn’t expected this of Tom Mariner.

  Her feelings about him had always been complicated. Before the service reorganisation had brought her to Granville Lane she’d known him by reputation, and he was pretty much the personification of everything she aspired to be. She admired and respected him, and if she was honest with herself, she’d have admitted that she’d fancied him a bit too, until ambition and professionalism had eclipsed any other feelings she might have had. Besides which, she’d quickly come to realise that there were certain aspects of Mariner’s personality that would drive her to distraction if she had to live with him. She had no idea how his other half, Suzy, put up with it. But then maybe she didn’t, because lately Vicky thought she had detected definite signs of tension there.

  In the past Vicky had been in plenty of situations where she’d been overlooked in favour of male colleagues; she’d come here to get away from some of the gits who allowed that to happen. But the last few minutes seemed to confirm her growing belief that Mariner might be one of those gits too. As the group broke up, so deep was Vicky in these thoughts that at first she didn’t hear her name being called. When it did seep through to her consciousness, she realised it was Mariner who was addressing her. He flicked his head towards his office. ‘Can I have a word?’

  Oh hell. Was this because she’d been late, or was the chippiness starting to show? She followed Mariner along the corridor. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked, hurrying to keep up, and aware as she said it that she was sounding aggressively defensive. Mariner turned, slightly startled by her tone, but said nothing. Having arrived in his office, he didn’t sit down so neither did she, leaving them standing on either side of his desk as if they were about to start a game of ping-pong.

  ‘You OK?’ Mariner asked, picking up his phone and pocketing it.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Jesson tightly. ‘Something I had to take care of at home.’

  Mariner nodded, going for his coat. ‘I know you’re keen to get your teeth into this fire, but I don’t think now is quite the right time. However, it may be one for you to take over, further down the line. According to Solomon we don’t need an interpreter, so are you all right to take the lead as family liaison, and start with leading the questioning with Mrs Shah?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’ll meet you out front in five minutes then, after I’ve checked that PC Brown actually knows how to switch on a computer.’

  Walking back to the main office Vicky Jesson’s feelings were in turmoil; glad that she hadn’t blown it, but now annoyed with herself for having been so distrustful. It was just the kind of feminist crap the blokes resented and succumbing to that wouldn’t do her any favours. And Mariner? Well, at some point she may allow him to cli
mb back up on his pedestal.

  Having checked on Brown, as he descended the stairs to follow Vicky out to the car park, Mariner remembered to text Suzy good luck on her first day too.

  SIX

  Salwa Shah and her children were still at the Queen Elizabeth hospital, being treated for minor injuries and the effects of smoke inhalation, though when Mariner and Jesson tracked them down to a sunny playroom off the children’s ward, there didn’t seem any doubt that they would all make a full physical recovery. Psychologically it might take a little longer to deal with the trauma, and Salwa Shah was evidence of this, leaning forward in her seat and rocking gently, a handkerchief clutched tightly in one fist. Bandaging on the other hand went halfway to her elbow. The room was stuffy, and she must be hot in her black abaya and hijab, but it didn’t show. Her children seemed oblivious, the little girl sitting beside her, quietly drawing, whilst her son lay on his stomach on the floor, constructing some elaborate imaginary game with a range of emergency and other miniature vehicles. He had a dressing wrapped around his left knee. Salwa turned anxious eyes on Mariner and Jesson as they went in.

  Showing Salwa her warrant card, Vicky made the introductions and sat down across from her.

  Salwa studied Mariner for a moment. ‘You’re the man who helped us from the roof,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ Mariner showed her his warrant card. ‘I’m also the police officer who will be leading the investigation. But right now, my colleague would like to ask you some questions.’ Taking out his notebook, he took the seat next to Jesson.

  ‘Do you know who it was?’ Salwa asked straight away.

  This was an interesting start, and caught Jesson off guard. ‘Who what was?’

  To Salwa Shah it was obvious. ‘The people who did this to us.’

  ‘You think the fire was started deliberately?’

  ‘It has happened before.’

  Mariner and Jesson exchanged a look. Had it? That wasn’t quite what they’d been told. Mariner made a note.

  ‘We’re working very closely with the Fire Investigation team,’ Jesson said, smoothing things over. ‘And until their findings are conclusive, we have to keep an open mind. Now, I appreciate that this is difficult,’ she went on, ‘but we just need to hear your version of the events on Saturday night.’

  Carefully cradling her injured hand, Salwa closed her eyes for an instant, as if the act of remembering was almost too much. ‘It was an ordinary evening,’ she began. ‘My husband is away, so we were on our own for dinner then the children watched TV while I tidied the kitchen. My father went to bed early; he likes to go up and read, where it’s quiet, away from the television. I have to help him up the stairs.’ Her English was faultless and clearly articulated.

  ‘What time was that?’ asked Jesson.

  ‘I’m not sure, perhaps a little after seven.’ As she relaxed she became more fluent. ‘I watched a couple of programmes with the children – they like the talent shows – and then at about nine o’clock I took them up to bed. When I went up later, at about ten-thirty perhaps, I could hear Yousef, muttering in his sleep. He seems to so often have nightmares at the moment.’ Her son looked up at her and said something in Arabic that Mariner didn’t catch, but it made Salwa smile. She reached down to touch his head. ‘Ana aasif, I know, you can’t help it,’ she said. She turned back to Jesson. ‘I didn’t want him to wake his sister, so I went to sit with him for a while, to comfort him. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember was waking up very suddenly. I don’t know why. I think I was disturbed by something, a loud noise.’

  ‘What kind of noise?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She frowned. ‘Like a crashing sound.’

  Mariner signalled for Jesson to go on. ‘And what time was that?’ she asked Salwa.

  ‘I’m not sure. It felt like the middle of the night. I knew straight away that something was very wrong. It seemed darker than normal and then I smelled the smoke, it was so strong, so I knew there must be a fire, and my father …’ She tailed off. ‘I opened the children’s bedroom door a little and squeezed on to the landing, but the smoke gushed at me like a solid wall. It was so thick that it felt like … like I was breathing wool. I tried the light switch but nothing happened, so I wrapped my scarf around my face and keeping low, as I know you should, I felt my way across the floor to my father’s door. But when I grabbed the handle it was so hot my skin stuck to it.’ She winced at the memory. ‘I couldn’t turn it. I shouted to him as loudly as I could, but the smoke alarms were going and I couldn’t hear him.’ There was desperation in her eyes, and the fingers of her bandaged hand curled involuntarily. ‘The smoke was making my head feel strange. I was afraid I might pass out, and then what would happen to my children?’ She sniffed, and Mariner glanced up from his notebook to see tears running, untended, down her cheeks. ‘I found my way back to their bedroom and shut the door behind me.’ Sniffing again, she wiped her face with the handkerchief, taking in the enormity of that decision.

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Jesson soothed. She waited a moment. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘By now Yousef was becoming hysterical and Athmar had woken too,’ said Salwa. ‘I had to get them out. That part was easy. I climbed out of the window first and lifted them on to the roof below. I didn’t know if it would hold our weight. I couldn’t see much in the dark, except the flames coming out of the downstairs windows, but I knew if we could go to the edge, we could get down from there.’ She looked across at Mariner. ‘That is when we saw you in the garden and you helped us down. You know what happened after that.’

  ‘We need to hear your version,’ said Jesson gently. ‘You may have seen or heard something that will help.’

  ‘We were waiting for the ambulance,’ Salwa went on. ‘I kept hoping that I would see my father, that he had somehow— I think the firemen tried to get to him too, but the fire was too much. And then the roof fell in,’ her voice caught, ‘and there was nothing we could do.’ She stared out of the window, lost in her thoughts.

  ‘We’re very sorry for your loss,’ said Jesson. After a moment she said: ‘You seemed to suggest that the fire was started deliberately. Do you know someone who would want to harm your family?’

  ‘There have been incidents since we came to the house,’ said Salwa. ‘Some people didn’t exactly make us welcome in the neighbourhood. We moved out from Sparkhill three years ago. We wanted our children to go to schools with children from lots of different backgrounds. My sister-in-law said it was a mistake,’ she added, ‘and that we should have stayed nearer to our community. She was right.’

  ‘Where is your husband now?’ Jesson asked.

  ‘He is in Sana’a on business,’ said Salwa. ‘He was on his way home, but now— He will travel first to my father’s village to pay his respects and to make the arrangements for him to be returned. Then he will come home.’ She looked up at Jesson. ‘When will we be able to have my father’s body? We have to perform the ghusl mayyit, and say prayers at the mosque, before he can be flown home for burial.’

  ‘We understand that,’ Mariner said. The body would be washed and wrapped in white cloth, before burial in an L-shaped grave. ‘But I’m sure you also realise that in the event of sudden and unexpected deaths such as this one, we also have procedures to follow.’

  Salwa nodded assent. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘What kind of man was your father?’ Mariner asked Salwa, as they prepared to leave.

  ‘He was kind and clever. Like many of the older men at the mosque, he was respected for his wisdom. He urged moderation at a time when many of the young men feel they should take action. His views weren’t always popular. But one of the reasons he brought his family to this country is because it is possible to express views freely, without persecution.’

  ‘He was in good health?’

  She looked away, tears threatening once more. ‘He was recovering from a virus that had laid him low, but that is all. Do you know when
we will be able to go home?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jesson. ‘That’s something the doctors will decide. And it will be some time before you’ll be able to return to the house. Is there somewhere you can stay?’

  ‘We will go to my sister-in-law’s. It will be crowded, but we’ll manage.’

  They stood up to go. ‘It would be helpful if we can also talk to the children,’ said Mariner. ‘Perhaps in a day or two?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Before they left Mariner wrote down the address of the sister-in-law’s house in Sparkhill and Jesson gave Salwa her card. ‘In case you have anything you would like to ask, or if you remember anything more about Saturday night.’

  They also sought out the nurse who treated the Shahs on arrival. ‘We’ll be allowing them home later today,’ she told them.

  ‘And Mrs Shah’s hand?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘She has severe burns and blistering to the palm, consistent with what she told us – that she tried to open a red-hot door handle. She must have held on for several seconds,’ said the nurse. ‘But sometimes there’s a delay before the body reacts to the pain of the damage being done.’

  On their way back to Granville Lane, Mariner and Jesson stopped by at Wellington Road to catch the midday briefing with the Fire Investigation team. It had been raining on and off all day and now a tent had been erected in the front garden to protect any retrieved evidence from the elements. When he’d finished updating the crew, Mariner introduced Vicky Jesson to Docherty.

  ‘The good news is that the body has been recovered and we can finally get going,’ said Docherty.

  Jesson surveyed the devastation. ‘God, where do you even start on something like this?’ she asked.

  Docherty was philosophical. ‘This is nothing, compared with some of the incidents we get called to. Factory fires can cover acres. But whatever the size of the fire, rigour is the key. It’s counter-intuitive, I know, but I’ll actually start from the point that’s furthest from where we believe the seat of the fire to be, and excavate it meticulously, bit by tiny bit.’ He held up a hand-trowel, no more than six inches long.