Out of the Ashes

by Vicky Newham

  I studied the photo. It was exactly as I recalled it all those years ago when we used to go as kids. The glass display cabinet with all the bagels on trays. The racks of mouth-watering loaves. The sweet smell of baking. ‘It’s such a shame.’

  Her face clouded over and her whole energy shifted, tightened, as though something had prodded her into a different mental space. ‘Mum was telling me about the flash mob. It sounds frightening. Was it connected to the fire?’

  ‘Almost certainly. It’s partly what I wanted to ask your mother about.’

  ‘The young couple who ran the soup shop were kind to Mum. I met them a few times. Mum has had a few emergencies. The electricity went off once. It’s so damp downstairs, the fuse board keeps tripping when she uses the sockets. Another time, she got locked out. The husband came straight over and helped her. When she lost her keys, they took her into their flat and gave her soup.’

  ‘He was very charming,’ Rosa added.

  My thoughts slipped back to Agnieszka’s comment about someone pressurising her mother. ‘Who wants you to give up the shop, Mrs Feldman?’

  Rosa began humming, pretending she hadn’t heard me.

  ‘Mrs Feldman?’

  ‘Hmm?’ she said, feigning absent-mindedness. I recognised the signs of denial from Mum. Clearly it was a conversation Rosa had had many a time with her daughter, and didn’t want to repeat.

  ‘The freeholders, of course,’ Agnieszka blurted out. ‘They’re complete shits—’

  ‘Agnieszka.’

  ‘Na litość Boską. They are and you know it. They’re leaving this place to get more and more unpleasant for you so you’re desperate, and agree to hand it back to them cheap. Even Tomasz can’t get them to see sense. They’ll get you out and do exactly what they’ve done with that stupid soup place: give it an upgrade and flog it to some trendy outfit. You wait. We’ll have brioche-bakers selling a loaf full of sugar and butter for four quid. Or another vintage clothes shop.’

  Rosa was squirming in her seat, and her lips were moving, as though protests were forming and falling away.

  ‘They should fix the damp and install proper heating for you,’ Agnieszka continued. ‘It’s Dickensian. I mean it, Mum. Enough’s enough. Either let Tomasz help you, or sell up and move out. It’s what everyone else has done.’

  I was taking this exchange in. Rosa was nodding. She seemed to agree with her daughter but feel conflicted. ‘You said your brother has tried to help your mum . . . ?’ I looked at Agnieszka.

  She shook her head. Perplexed. ‘Dad and Tomasz had some weird father-son clash. Tomasz had loads of ideas for the shop, but Dad was infuriated by anything he suggested. He tried for years to get Dad to sort out the damp. When the freeholders were difficult, he said he’d send his guys in to fix it, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. I think it was pride.’ She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice to a whisper.

  It was what Tomasz had told me.

  ‘Mum wanted the work done and kept saying so, but since Dad died, Mum’s loyalties have become more complex. She seems to feel that if she doesn’t stick to Dad’s wishes, she’s dishonouring his memory.’

  I pictured Tomasz Feldman with his snappy clothes, his intense energy and generosity. Theoretically, Rosa was free to do what she wanted now. Except – I knew from my own mother that it often wasn’t as simple as that. The tentacles of the past often reached into the present.

  ‘She’s still grieving, and we all get that. But she’s in her seventies and this place is making her ill.’

  ‘You can talk about me all you like. I can hear you. I’m not deaf, you know.’

  ‘I want you to hear me, Mum,’ Agnieszka said, now even louder. ‘Someone needs to make you see sense. Tomasz has given up, and I don’t blame him. You know what I think about this stupid shop. It’s a millstone round your neck. If you’re not careful, your stubbornness will be the death of you.’ She picked up a pair of children’s shoes and put them by the wall. ‘What gets me is that Mum wants to be here even after the fire.’

  I got the impression that Agnieszka wanted me to agree with her in front of Rosa, to persuade her mother to see sense. But I also felt her mother’s helplessness, her fear and frustration. And for a moment, I felt torn. What should I say? It wasn’t my business but if it were Mum, would I want her grafting away in a cold, damp shop, surrounded by memories and determined to continue to be independent? I could relate to the stubbornness that Rosa exhibited. Like Mum, it came from strength of character and having had to overcome some dreadful experiences in life, and I was sure it was keeping the two women alive. ‘I can understand your concerns but . . . ’ I frowned an apology.

  ‘Oh sorry, Inspector. It’s not your problem at all. I’m just desperate to get Mum out of here and am being indiscreet and unfair.’ Agnieszka’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea? You said you needed to talk to Mum about the flash mob?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. Don’t worry about the tea though.’ I smiled appreciatively and turned to Rosa, hoping Agnieszka would now go. ‘Mrs Feldman, did you see Indra leave the shop yesterday?’

  She was pensive. Eyes screwed up, head cocked to the side. ‘Yes. I was opening up. Would’ve been around nine o’clock.’

  ‘Did she go back in at any point?’

  ‘Not that I noticed. But I wasn’t at the window all the time. I was trying to put some of the new stock out.’

  ‘Anyone else go in? Or Mr Gudelis leave?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What were you doing in the morning? Can you think back?’ I didn’t want to lead Rosa.

  ‘I had a delivery. Tomasz came and carried the boxes for me and I began unpacking them. But I was cold, and I had out-of-date stock which I needed to dispose of. Ah. That’s it. The husband came into the shop. He asked for Lemsip and Nurofen. Said he had flu and was going to go to bed and sleep it off.’

  ‘What did you say?’ That was interesting. I didn’t know whether Simas had actually been ill yesterday, or whether the flu remedies were a cover.

  ‘Nothing.’ She opened her hands wide. ‘I sold him the remedies. I wasn’t sure why he was telling me what he was going to do. It wasn’t as if we knew each other that well.’ She frowned. Confused. ‘Does that mean I was the last person to see him alive?’

  ‘I’d imagine that was the person he was with.’

  ‘Golly, that’s a relief. It would feel a bit strange otherwise. The last person to see him before he was killed?’ She shuddered. ‘I feel stupid now for being duped. Cavorting around in the street like an idiot while someone was setting light to their shop.’ She was trembling.

  ‘If you were duped, you weren’t the only one. And we have a feeling that was the intention. The people who set up these flash mobs know exactly what they’re doing. Don’t give yourself a hard time. You weren’t to know.’ I tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  Dan was beside me now. He was holding out his phone screen so I could read an email he’d just received. Indra Gudelis had been rushed back into hospital with internal bleeding.

  ‘OK,’ I said to him. Poor Indra. It’d been one thing after another. ‘Mrs Feldman, we’ll be off now.’

  ‘OK, dear. Neska, the detectives are leaving,’ Rosa shouted to her daughter. ‘We’ll see you out.’

  ‘You don’t need to—’

  ‘Nonsense. I won’t hear of it.’

  Dan chuckled behind me as we all filed down the narrow stairs and through the shop to the street.

  As soon as we were outside, I turned to Rosa. ‘You go in, back in the warm.’

  But she wasn’t listening.

  Her attention was fixed on the front of her shop and she was studying a patch of masonry above the door. With the lights on inside, the brickwork seemed lighter than I’d seen previously, and a Star of David was clearly illuminated, etched into the surface with a sharp instrument.

  ‘I thought anti-Semitism was on the wane,’ said Rosa. ‘Look. They’ve scratched it into the
brick.’ She was shaking her head in horror and disbelief, and pointing at the symbol. ‘I hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to have the windows smashed again.’ She put her hand out to steady herself. ‘I don’t think I can cope with much more.’

  The star was the height of one brick, so not huge, but it was visible and striking. I certainly hadn’t seen it before. ‘Is this the first time you’ve noticed it?’

  ‘I think so.’ She looked over her shoulder at me. ‘But I don’t tend to stand out the front and face the entrance. My mind’s usually on the till or I’m carrying a heavy load, so generally I’m rushing in or out. I’m not usually looking that high up.’

  ‘I haven’t seen it either, but Mum’s not been here for a couple of days.’ Agnieszka had followed us downstairs and overheard. ‘Maybe someone did it then? When I arrived with the kids earlier, I let us in and bundled them upstairs. I didn’t notice it, but we were in a hurry to get inside.’ Concern pulled at the muscles round her eyes. ‘I know you’re Jewish, Mum, but why would someone suddenly decide to scratch a Star of David outside the shop?’

  ‘Anti-Semitism.’ Rosa’s voice was a whisper. ‘We had it for years before you and Tomasz were born. It came in waves. Several spates of it when you two were kids. Your father wouldn’t have it. He scrubbed it off. But it was often a sign of things to come.’

  Agnieszka glanced at me and I caught the worry in her eyes. ‘It’s probably just bored kids mucking about. Thinking they’re clever.’ She adopted a calming tone. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, Mum. We can—’ She broke off, as though something had dawned on her. ‘Hang on. Wasn’t there something in the newspaper recently about people marking premises when they plan to steal a dog?’

  ‘But I haven’t got a dog.’

  ‘I know. People do similar recces for places to burgle. They mark them to come back to. Maybe that’s what this is.’ She turned to me. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ The scratched symbol looked new. ‘It could be any of those things or a coincidence.’ As I heard the words leave my mouth, I was aware I didn’t believe them.

  Rosa’s laugh feigned courage and although she was trying to make out she’d recovered her composure, she was trembling. ‘They won’t find much worth stealing in there but I’m not keen on being bashed over the head or having my precious photographs damaged. They’re all I’ve got left of your father.’

  ‘I don’t like you living here on your own, Mum. Thank goodness we’re staying with you.’ Agnieszka faced her mother, as though she was hoping she’d realise something. ‘But we can’t stay forever.’ She gestured to the upstairs bedrooms. ‘The kids need more space and Olaf misses them. I do wish you’d come and live with us for a bit. Sell this bloody shop.’

  My thoughts were spinning. I didn’t know what to make of the star. Hopefully Rosa was safe with her daughter staying for now, and this was family business. I needed to leave them to it. But as Dan and I walked away, I couldn’t shift the nagging suspicion that there was more to the symbol than a few kids messing around.

  Maya, 4.30 p.m.

  ‘Yes, it’s neighbourly to call Indra and tell her the shop’s on fire, but something feels off,’ I said to Dan.

  We were in Shoreditch to interview Tomasz Feldman.

  ‘He doesn’t really know her or Simas. How has he got her number? And why?’

  ‘You’re the one that knows him,’ Dan replied.

  Trendy and upmarket, this part of London was packed with clubs and bars. Whereas many places were struggling to get customers through the door, Tomasz’s champagne bar, restaurant and nightclub clearly wasn’t having difficulty attracting customers. A string of affluent trendies was filing into the building’s plush entrance.

  As we entered the premises, I immediately noticed how different the atmosphere was from Artem’s strip club. Here, security cameras were attached at different vantage points, all extremely high-tech. Walls were spotless in brilliant white. The front desk was made of black marble. There was no glass or mirrors, just a huge expanse of black and white with low lighting at various angles. The floors had been stripped, sanded smooth and painted. The combination of natural wood surfaces and white walls lent the place a sense of elegance and sophistication.

  ‘Could you tell Mr Feldman the police are here?’ I said.

  The girl on the front desk was coiffed and manicured, and she spoke in Polish through plump lips covered with frosted pink lip gloss. ‘Policja jest w recepcji,’ she said into her headset with a bored expression. Then, to us she said, ‘He’s in a meeting. I’ll show you into the bar. He’ll collect you from there.’ She led us across the lobby, down carpeted steps and through double doors into a vast room.

  The space was divided up into bar and seating areas, a restaurant and a stage. The interior, with white walls and modern furniture, wasn’t warm or feminine but it was a high-end design with an extremely stylish finish. Men and women, ranging from spotty twenty-year-olds to tubby middle-aged men, stood around in huddles at the various tall bars, their pink faces glowing under the lights, dousing oysters with tabasco and vinegar and chucking them down their throats. Dotted at intervals on the shiny bar surface, bottles of champagne arrived in buckets of ice, and were drained and replaced. In a corner, a gaggle of girls sipped cocktails, already half cut and doubled-over in giggles. Towards the end of the main bar was a large silver-service restaurant which was almost fully occupied. With main courses at twenty-five quid, and the cheapest bottle of wine a bit more than that, Tomasz Feldman had clearly pitched his establishment at the upper end of the market.

  The girl led us to a table. ‘Mr Feldman won’t be long,’ she said, and left us.

  ‘Jeez.’ Dan gestured to the Cristal champagne on the bar. ‘That stuff is big bucks. They’re getting through it like water.’

  My eyes raked the room.

  ‘I’ve checked their licence and record.’ Dan kept his voice low. ‘Nothing about drugs. Seems Mr Feldman runs a clean business.’

  ‘That or he’s got systems in place. Are you telling me none of these people go to the loo to sniff a line of coke or pop a pill?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘I’m sure they do. I’m simply saying that I can’t see any record of drugs being reported here, and . . . ’ He broke off as Tomasz came into view, striding towards us.

  ‘Detectives. Sorry to keep you waiting.’ Tomasz straightened his jacket and gave us a welcoming smile. ‘Please come with me.’

  We followed him across the room.

  Once in his office, he walked over to a cluster of chairs by his desk and sank into one. ‘Please. Have a seat. Mum hasn’t gone walkabout again, has she?’

  ‘No, no. She’s at the shop with your sister.’ I sat down, leaving Dan by the door.

  ‘I’ve offered to put her up in one of my flats but she won’t hear of it. At least Agnieszka can keep an eye on her there and she’s not going to toddle off. I’ve been running out of ideas for how to help her. It’s distressing to see her struggle needlessly.’ An air of unease had come over him. ‘So, how can I help?’

  ‘We’re here to get some background information.’ It was strange seeing the boy I’d known from the newsagent’s. It was as though we were back there, and I was someone different from the person I’ve become.

  He looked at me properly for the first time. The hair at his temples was sprinkled with grey, and I caught a glimpse of the same kindness and patience in his eyes I recalled.

  He laughed. ‘I remember you asking lots of questions. I’m not surprised you became a cop.’ He looked embarrassed briefly.

  ‘Do you mind explaining why you called Indra about the fire at the soup shop? Is there a connection between the two of you?’

  Tomasz shook his head. ‘Someone rang and told me, so I wanted to let them know. I was at Mum’s yesterday morning and noticed the shop was shut. I tried Simas’ phone and it went straight to voicemail. It made sense to ring Indra and Marta.’

  What he said was plausible, but i
t occurred to me that I didn’t know if Tomasz was married, and if something was going on between him and Indra . . . ‘You just happened to have her number?’

  He laughed. ‘I have Indra and Simas’ numbers because their shop is opposite Mum’s. It’s useful to be able to contact them sometimes if I can’t get hold of her. I’ve got lots of her neighbours’ numbers. I have Marta’s because she works in the bar here.’ He hesitated, as though he had forgotten something, or thought perhaps I had. ‘It’s how Brick Lane works.’ He held my gaze fleetingly. ‘Or – it was.’

  Maya, 5.30 p.m.

  Dan and I were back in the street outside Tomasz Feldman’s bar. Black cabs and double-deckers thundered along the bus lane on Hackney Road, while lorries and cars sniffed each other’s bumpers and waited for a gap to jump ahead.

  ‘D’you think we need to consider Tomasz a suspect?’ I was trying to reconcile the man of today with the boy I knew growing up. I’d left the bar feeling more confused than when we arrived.

  ‘I can’t see what motivation he’d have for setting light to the soup shop,’ said Dan. ‘Like I said, I’ve checked his record. He’s clean.’

  ‘I can’t either.’ I watched a group of twenty-somethings bundle out of a cab, all well-oiled and chatting loudly about their recent deals. Advertising executives, probably. Brokers at a push. ‘When we were growing up, my sister and I had a crush on him. He seemed so cool. And whenever we went into Rosa’s newsagent’s, he was always friendly and . . . nice.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’ Dan spun round. ‘You had a crush on him? You wait ’til I tell the team.’

  I laughed. ‘It was a long time ago. I’d forgotten all about him until yesterday. Jasmina and I didn’t think of it like that at the time, but I guess that’s what it was. We were younger than him but he never seemed to look down on us.’

  ‘It’s interesting that Rosa has maintained a Jewish identity and lifestyle,’ Dan said. ‘I wonder how she feels about that not mattering to either of her children.’