Trial by Fire

by David W Robinson

  “Sanford sounds like those remote Scottish islands where everyone knows everyone else.”

  “Similar,” Joe agreed. “But in our case it’s coal, not fishing, sheep or cattle farming that binds the community.” He frowned as they entered the frozen food shop. “I never thought it was a bad thing. Community. You know. But they’re falling apart fast these days.”

  “Middle age, Joe. It’s catching up with you.”

  The shop, like most others, was almost empty. At the two checkouts, attendants appeared bored, ready to knock off and go home. Joe purposely did not rush, but hurried Denise along when she opened the lid of a ready meals cabinet and suggested a chicken and mushroom risotto.

  “Not fond of Italian,” he told her, and lifted the next lid, from where he took out a frozen dinner for one of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

  “Good for me,” she told him.

  “You might find the beef is a bit bland,” Joe said, turning the carton on its side to study the cooking instructions. “It always is with these frozen things.”

  Screwing up his eyes, he held the carton at arms’ length, then close up, then even closer, then at arms’ length again.

  “I think it’s time I was getting reading glasses,” he muttered. “Either that, or they should print the instructions a bit larger.”

  Denise laughed, took it from him and turned it over. “You’re trying to read it upside down, you barmpot.”

  Joe grinned and took the box from her again. And as he began to read, his eyes widened. A look of realisation spread across his tanned features.

  “Upside down. Of course. That’s it.”

  “What?” Denise asked. “You’re going to turn it over in the microwave?”

  “What? Come again? No, not the bloody dinner.” His eyes burned into her. “Denise, I know who did it. I know who murdered Vaughan.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a nervous Joe who answered the door.

  On the journey from Sanford town centre to Joe’s flat, Denise had repeatedly asked if he was sure of his facts, and Joe repeatedly explained how he came by his conclusion.

  “But I have no proof, and if we give it to Ray Dockerty, it’ll lead to a series of interviews and a string of denials. There are any number of explanations and they’ll come streaming out. We need a confession.”

  “And how do you propose we get one?”

  It was a problem that dogged Joe as he chewed through the bland, largely tasteless TV dinner. Sat at the table under the open window, the fresh, summer air carried in on a light breeze did nothing to lift his spirits. It might just as well be the depths of winter.

  “It’s risky,” he explained while they washed, dried and put away the dishes. “He’s a big bugger, and I guarantee he won’t be alone, but if we can get him out here, and record everything, we’re in with a shout.”

  “Record it how?” Denise asked.

  Joe held up his smartphone. “This has a voice recording app.”

  “Test it,” Denise instructed.

  Activating the application, Joe placed the phone on the windowsill and pulled the curtain across an inch or two to hide it.

  Coming away from it, to the middle of the room, he said, “Mary had a little lamb its fleece was white as snow. Mary went up the hill with Jack and Jill, eating kebabs on the go.”

  Denise did not find it remotely amusing and when they played it back, although it was audible, it was difficult to hear. Even running the recording through Joe’s computer made it only slightly clearer.

  “The police could enhance it,” Denise agreed. “But our man is likely to suspect something like this Joe.”

  “No sweat,” he said, and brought out his netbook. “This has an inbuilt webcam. He’ll probably spot it and shut it down. That should make him feel safe.”

  Denise chewed her lip. “I’d be much happier if we brought Dockerty in on this.”

  “He’ll screw it up.”

  “You mean you want to show him how much smarter you are.”

  “By not screwing it up.” Joe nodded. “Come on, Denise. You’re an ex-cop. You know how to look after yourself.”

  “Yes, but when I was a cop, I usually had backup, and according to everyone, when it comes to fighting, you’re as much use as a chocolate teapot.” She made an effort to seriously stress her worries. “Dockerty warned us about him on Saturday, Joe, and I have no reason to disagree with Ray. This man has killed once. What makes you think he won’t kill again? As in kill us?”

  “I think he may have killed Vaughan in the heat of the moment. I don’t see him as a serial nutter. Trust me, Denise, I know this man. I’ve known him years.”

  “Yes, and he still murdered Vaughan – assuming you have it right, so that shows you how well you really knew him.”

  “Yes, but if you phone Dockerty, he’ll tell you not to do it, and that gives our man the chance to dream up even more excuses. Denise, our only chance is a confession. We have to pin him down or he’ll get away with it.”

  “Could we not call Sheila or Brenda and tell them to keep the line open so they can overhear?”

  “Well, we could, but they’re more technologically backward than me, so there’s no guarantee the line would stay open. And they would never get their heads round trying to record it. I don’t think I would, come to that. It would be our word against his. We need a confession and we need it recorded. I have to have him here to I can push him.”

  At that point, she capitulated. “All right. But we keep them between us. That way if they go for either of us, the other is there to intervene.”

  Joe picked up his phone and dialled.

  “It’s Joe Murray. You have some explaining to do, and you’d better get over to my place to do it before I call the cops.”

  There were protests from the other end, but Joe cut off the call without listening to them.

  They spent the next twenty minutes setting up the trap, and then watching TV, until the doorbell rang. Joe started the webcam on the netbook, and the voice recorder on his smartphone and hid the phone while leaving the netbook in clear view on the table. Closing the window to avoid giving their man the temptation of leaning over and spotting the phone, as the doorbell rang a second time he took a deep breath and made his way along the hall to answer it.

  Brad Kilburn smiled as the door opened. Joe did not. He stood back to let Kilburn in, and allowed Alan Corbin, who was carrying a small hold-all, to follow. Closing the door, Joe led them to the living room, where he risked a glance at the window and the hidden smartphone, praying that the voice recorder was still working.

  Joe joined Denise on the settee, picked up the TV remote and witched the set off. Fixing Kilburn’s stare, he said, “We know everything.”

  “Fine,” Kilburn replied with a grin. “Can you tell us what’s going to win the Ebor Handicap?”

  “Funny. Ha-ha. You should be on the telly. You’d look good next to a picture of my folks.”

  Kilburn’s smile disappeared. “Get to the point, Joe, because all this is a mystery to us.”

  “You made a mistake. You told Gemma that the pen was engraved.”

  “And it was. Or didn’t they show you the photographs?”

  “They did, but unfortunately, in the pictures the SOCOs took, the inscription was face down, and you told Gemma that you and your boys hadn’t touched the pen. So how did you know about the engraving?”

  The fireman shrugged. “So I was wrong. One of my people did move it.”

  “Shove it, Kilburn,” Denise snapped. “You knew because you salvaged that pen from the original fire at the old Lazy Luncheonette.”

  Kilburn laughed. “Did I?” he turned to his partner. “Sort it, Al.”

  Much to the puzzlement of Joe and Denise, Corbin disappeared, first into the hall, and when he returned after a few minutes, into the kitchen.

  “Sort what?” Joe asked.

  “All in good time, pal, all in good time.”

  Concentrating
on the task at hand, Joe said, “What we can’t work out is why you waited so long to kill Vaughan. Fifteen months. Why?”

  Brimming with confidence, Kilburn said, “I didn’t take the pen and the knife with the intention of killing him. I took them to plant on him.”

  Denise frowned. “Again?”

  Kilburn sat at the table and toyed with the keyboard of Joe’s netbook. Joe watched him, offering up a silent prayer that he would not spot the smartphone. But Kilburn appeared quite content running his index finger on the mousepad while facing them. Then he stared at the screen and grinned. “Nice try, Joe.” He turned to the computer, and shut down the webcam, but to Joe’s puzzlement, he made no effort to erase the few minutes of video which had already been taken.

  Instead, he spoke directly to them. “When you threatened to appeal the compulsory purchase order, Vaughan asked us to torch your old place. No sweat. We’ve done it before for other people. He never said how he knew, but I guess one of them told him, and let’s face it, when you have a deliberate firing, the last person you think might have fired it is the very man who’s risking his life to put it out. This time the payoff was serious. Not a lousy ten grand. Vaughan wanted that building levelled so badly that when I asked for fifty grand, he agreed right away, and paid us ten in advance.”

  “You’re telling me that Vaughan had it planned before we even went to Blackpool?” Joe demanded.

  “The week before as a matter of fact,” Kilburn replied. “Think about it, Joe. Fifty big ones. You spoke to Fen yesterday, so you know we’re on our way to the Middle East. Both Al and me both got a decent payoff, and with the fifty grand Vaughan owed us, we would be set until the money starts coming in. But I didn’t trust Vaughan. I found the pen and the knife when I was checking the old building on the morning of the fire, and I decided to keep them. If Vaughan screwed us around, I’d plant them and finger him for the fire. And as it happens, I was right. He did nothing but hedge and hedge and hedge.”

  “Because he had a hold on you, didn’t he?” Joe demanded. “You and Corbin. You’re an item.”

  Kilburn laughed. “Wrong. I’m a married man. So is Al. We knew Vaughan was that way inclined, we knew Queenan liked his fun and games, and we knew Pemberton liked his women, but we never had anything to do with those parties. Mind you, I’m willing to bet that’s where he learned about our little sideline in pyromania. His scene wasn’t mine, Joe. Obviously, you are right when you say he had a hold on us. Records, Joe. Kept in his safe and on his computer. And amongst them was a video. Secret filming of us agreeing to fire your old place.”

  “My Mexican standoff,” Denise commented.

  “Dunno about yours, but you’re right. Course, we had more to lose than him. He’d have got, maybe, ten years for his part, but we’d have gone down longer, and our friends in the Middle East would have washed their hands of us before we could even get out there. His trouble was, as I’m sure you remember, he was too sure of himself. He knew we’d started a few fires, but he didn’t realise we were prepared to kill if necessary.”

  Joe was appalled. “Just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

  “If you like. Truth is, he was stringing us along.” The fireman stopped playing with the computer and leaned forward, stressing his point. “He did pay us for torching your place, but only the ten grand I mentioned. I spent over a year hassling with him for the other forty and it was one excuse after another. He was a danger to us, too, remember. Put too much pressure on and he might just tell your Gemma or Don Oughton what he knew, even if it meant risking jail. So we decided to get rid of him.”

  “And cut your losses on the payoff?”

  “Again, not entirely. I knew that Vaughan kept a few thou in his safe, along with those written records. I also knew where he kept the key. The documents and the hard drive from the computer came away with us, and the cash went into my bank last Tuesday morning and it’s winging its way to the Middle East as we speak.”

  Corbin returned from the kitchen. “All set, Brad.”

  “What’s all set?”

  “You’ll find out in a few minutes,” Kilburn assured them.

  Joe scowled at Corbin. “What size shoes do you take? No. Let me guess. Twelve. Right?”

  The younger man laughed. “Plod must have found something, Brad.”

  “Latent footprint somewhere,” Kilburn agreed, before addressing Joe and Denise again. “You’ve probably guessed I took your car key a coupla weeks back.”

  “We didn’t know it was you until this afternoon,” Joe agreed, “But yeah, we knew someone had taken it. You also took casts of the keys for the outside cupboard, didn’t you? Then had your wife make a copy.”

  “Alan’s wife as it happens. I couldn’t go. Neither could Al, and my missus is fairly well known.” Kilburn shook his head good-naturedly. “Never trust anyone with your keys, Joe. Not even the Fire Service. I couldn’t steal ’em, obviously. I didn’t know if you had a spare set and even if you had, those keys gone with your car key might have aroused your suspicions, and it would have pointed the finger straight at me. But you’re lazy. You couldn’t be bothered even to come out to the recycling shed with me. So while I was alone, I took an impression while I was out back, then made a plaster mould at home. Al’s wife had Frank Utters cut us a key from it. He smiled confidently. I have to say, Joe, we never really expected the charges against you to stick. We just wanted someone to carry the can while we got out of the country.”

  “Been a bit slow, then, haven’t you?” Denise grumbled.

  “Well, we did think the cops would take a bit longer about releasing Joe, and if you hadn’t poked your nose in, they probably would have. That aside, both Alan and I had to work our notice with the Fire Service. I’m a serving watch manager, I had to give one month’s notice.” Kilburn grinned again. “It was up last Friday, and as Fen told you, we’re on the first plane out of here tomorrow.”

  “Unless we call the cops,” Joe said.

  Kilburn laughed good-naturedly. “Funny thing that, Joe. I told Alan you would be alone. I’m certain you haven’t spoken to Dockerty, or even your Gemma. Cos you’re a little smartarse, aren’t you? Like to show just how clever you are alongside the cops. And even if you had called them, so what?” He jerked a thumb back towards the computer. “Now that your little video is shut down, you have no evidence, and I can give Dockerty a thousand reasons why I knew that pen was engraved.”

  “Tell you what I don’t understand. How did your pal here get away with not showing up for the fire at Vaughan’s?”

  “According to everyone else, he did show up,” Kilburn said. “That’s the thing about big emergencies, Joe. You’re so busy you don’t know who’s who. You just listen for orders tagged onto your name. I just threw Alan’s name in a few times. Everyone else will swear that he was with us.” He clapped his hands like a market trader about to make an offer. “So, what happens now? Eh? Where are you gonna go from there?”

  “We call the cops.” Joe’s declaration was more in hope than confidence.

  Kilburn laughed again. “Oh no,” he said, wagging his finger. “What really happens is Al and I get the hell out of here on the first plane to Amsterdam.”

  “And of course, we promise not to call the cops for two days so you can pick up your Middle East connection,” Denise sneered.

  “You wouldn’t do that even if I agreed,” Kilburn said.

  “Stop playing games, Kilburn. So what is happening?”

  “Murder, is what’s happening, Joe. Again. Only this time there’ll be two victims. You and ex-Detective Sergeant Latham, here.”

  “If you think I’m gonna sit back and let you…” Joe half stood before trailing off and sinking back into his seat as Kilburn drew a taser.

  “Nasty little things, you know,” the fireman said. “And if you try anything silly, I’ll use it on you.”

  Denise moved, and Kilburn turned it on her.

  I told you we should have called Dockerty,” Den
ise grumbled as she sat down again.

  With them both tamed again, Kilburn watched Corbin dig into his holdall for rolls of duct tape.

  “You know the wonderful thing about being a fireman? It’s not just putting fires out. It’s learning how to set them, too.” He nodded at Corbin. “Tell ’em, Al.”

  Every bit as cool and confident as his boss, Corbin said, “A bit back, you asked what I was sorting.” He held up two disc-shaped lithium batteries. “I took these from your smoke alarms, and obviously, I knocked off the circuit breaker for them at the mains. They won’t work at all now.” He smiled glibly. “Did you know that hot dishes and ignored cooking hobs are the biggest single cause of fires right across the world? I’ve put a pan of cooking oil on the gas burner in the kitchen, Joe.” Corbin checked his watch. “My guess is it will ignite in about another ten minutes. I’ll run more oil everywhere, so it’ll spread rapidly. Once we have you and your girlfriend tied to the chairs, we’re gonna run a trail to your feet, so you can watch each other burn.”

  “Assuming the smoke doesn’t kill you first, that is,” Kilburn said.

  Joe’s heart began to pound. In an effort to hide his fear, he declared, “It doesn’t matter what you do, the police will still know it’s murder.”

  “Of course they will,” Kilburn agreed. “But why should that lead them to us? After all, we put out the fire at The Lazy Luncheonette, and the one at Vaughan’s place and the only evidence against us is yours.” Kilburn gestured at the computer. “That’ll burn with you two.”

  Praying that his voice recording was still working, Joe now understood why he had made no effort to erase the short video already on the machine.

  Kilburn moved the two dining chairs to the centre of the room facing each other, several feet apart and motioned Joe to take one while Corbin silently ordered Denise to the other. Corbin handed Kilburn a roll of tape and while the younger man began strapping Denise to her chair, Kilburn began work on Joe.