'The manning board.'
I crossed to look at the coloured tallies hanging on the small hooks, each tally was engraved with the name of a fire fighter.
Motcombe explained. 'The board shows which watch is on duty, the tallies are colour co-ordinated to match the watch: red for Red Watch, green for Green Watch and so on. The red tallies are on the manning board at the moment because we're on duty but they'll shortly be changing over to Green Watch for the day duty.'
At the top of each of the four columns on the board was a set of initials. 'What do those mean?'
'Wrl means water tender ladder, Wrt is the water tender, TL stands for turntable ladder and SEU stands for special equipment unit. The fire fighter's tally is then hung on the relevant hook to indicate which appliance he or she has been assigned to.'
'So where would Jack's tally have been on the day he died?'
'Here, to show he was on the water tender ladder, riding in the back, wearing breathing apparatus.' Motcombe indicated the appropriate spot on the board.
'And it would have been there after he swapped with Ian?'
'Yes. Initially the manning sheet would have shown Jack driving the water tender and Ian wearing breathing apparatus. I seem to remember that they swapped after Dave read out the duty roster that morning and then the tallies were changed over. '
So, if they knew where to look, someone could easily have slipped into the station when these doors were opened and seen that Jack was on the water tender and wearing breathing apparatus, which meant he'd be first into a fire.
I thanked Motcombe and headed for my interview with Honeyman's solicitor. He told me nothing. I left his office fuming as his brittle voice echoed in my head: 'That is confidential, Mr Greene.' He'd uttered it after my every question. Damn him. I hoped all his clients would sue him.
I called Steve Langton to tell him what Brookfield had said about the fire reports not being available.
'Snap,' he replied. 'I got the same response.'
So it wasn't Brookfield who was lying, unless of course he had also lied to the police.
Steve said, 'I was going to call you.'
'You've got something to tell me about the investigation?' I felt my heartbeat quicken.
'I'll meet you in the Wayside Café in ten minutes. Do you know it?'
I did. It was only about a half mile from the solicitors.
I arrived before Steve and took my coffee to a table the furthest away from the window. Then I got to thinking. Perhaps Steve was going to tell me something about Ben's death, which had nothing to do with Jack's investigation. Had the police found new evidence that connected me to it? Had the old lady reported me? If she had, I reasoned, Steve would hardly ask to meet me, and in a café, unless he wanted to warn me. I'd find out soon enough.
I was shocked to see how tired and worried he looked. There was a deep frown line creasing his forehead that hadn't been there last week and his shoulders seemed more hunched than usual as if the heavy workload had suddenly become a strain for him. Steve had always seemed to thrive on it before.
'You're working too hard,' I said after he sat down with his coffee.
'Try telling the Super that!'
He stared at me with an expression that made me feel uncomfortable. It was as if he was trying to see inside my mind.
'I wasn't involved in Ben's death,' I said quietly.
'I know.'
I breathed a sigh of relief. He believed me. 'How did he die, Steve? Inspector Staples was reluctant to tell me he thought I already knew.'
'I shouldn't be telling you this. Drugs overdose.'
'That's what the newspaper article said.'
'Yes, but what it didn't say was that Ben Harrow wasn't a regular user.'
It took a moment for his words to sink in. 'You're saying someone administered it?'
'I'll get crucified if anyone finds out I've told you this.'
'You haven't,' I said quickly, wondering why he was telling me.
'He was shot full of heroin and there was nothing to indicate he had even used the substance before.'
'Not a nice way to kill yourself, which means it must have been…'
'He could have got some on the street, didn't know how much to use being new to it…'
'Yeah and my middle name is Rembrandt. Apart from me was there anyone else seen with Ben? Where did he go that morning? Who did he meet? The old lady with the poodle said she heard him talking to someone.'
'You've spoken to her? For God's sake, Adam!'
'I think he was killed to set me up. No, listen. I've been asking questions about Jack's death –'
'Stop there. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.'
Steve studied me. The tune of a familiar Christmas song floated through the steamy atmosphere of the café. After a moment he sighed heavily, shifted in his seat and ran a hand through his hair before speaking. 'Do you still think there was something funny about that break-in at Jack's?'
Eagerly I said, 'Yes, and there's more. I've been to the fire station and –'
Steve held his hand up to staunch me. 'Whatever it is, Adam, forget it.'
'I can't do that,' I replied flatly.
'You might after you hear what I've got to say. This morning I got hauled up in front of the Super. He wanted to know all about you and our relationship.'
A chill ran down my spine. I was beginning to understand why Steve looked so worried.
'He ordered me to drop both cases. In precisely twenty minutes time I'm off for a short secondment to Basingstoke.'
'Did he say why?' I asked, my heart and mind racing.
'No. It's clear though someone wants me out of the way for a while. Whoever it is doesn't want me mixing with you and they don't want me, or you, poking around and asking questions about Jack's death.'
I knew it. If ever I wanted confirmation here it was. 'Then Jack's death wasn't an accident.'
Steve urged, 'Adam, you don't want to know about it and neither do I. I've got a wife and three boys to support.'
'I can't leave it, not now.'
'You must. If I'm being pushed away that can only mean one thing, another agency is involved: National Crime Squad, Special Branch, MI5? Take your pick.'
'Why would they be involved?'
Steve leant forward and lowered his voice even though there was no one near us in the café and the music was loud enough to drown out our conversation. 'Because whatever Jack was investigating must have national ramifications.'
'You mean a scandal involving someone high up in government?' Why did William Bransbury automatically spring to my mind?
'Either that or a national operation involving government secrets. It could be terrorism, international fraud, drugs…'
'People have died, Steve.' I said quietly.
'And you could be next in line if you're not careful,' he snapped.
'You're not suggesting that one of these government agencies would kill me!' I said incredulously.
'Why not? It's happened before. It could have happened to Jack.' Steve sat back.
I thought for a moment. Then, 'Can you find out which agency is involved?'
'No I bloody can't.' Steve shouted. Then more quietly, 'Go on holiday, Adam. Go sailing, forget it.'
But I couldn't do that. Maybe Steve saw the determination in my face because he frowned at me and said, 'I didn't know you were so bloody stubborn.'
And scared, I thought. I said, 'Someone has to pay for the deaths.'
'It might just be you.'
'Get off to Basingstoke, Steve.' I was on my own.
I returned home and went straight to switch on the computer. While I waited for it to load I looked around my studio: the canvasses, the brushes, the rags, the palettes and pots of paint, they were all still here as they had always been, but it wasn't the same. Nothing was the same anymore. And yet, despite being half scared to death, I didn't want to go back to how my life had been less than a month ago – with one exception: I wished J
ack were still alive.
I watched the spam programme on the e-mail roll down until I had one message left in my inbox out of the fifty-five that had come through. It was the one I'd hoped for but it didn't contain the information I wanted. The Marine Accident Investigations Board reported no ship fire in 1994 in or around Portsmouth or anywhere in the Solent. I felt the disappointment keenly. I had been so convinced I was right. I telephoned the Maritime and Coastguard Agency and after a short while, which to me seemed like an age, they confirmed the same. Dead end. So if it wasn't on a ship the fire had to be either where Honeyman had lived or stayed. Could it be that hotel?
I pulled out Vic Rushmere's scrapbook and re-read the report on the hotel fire but it revealed nothing and it seemed highly unlikely that anything inside the hotel could have caused cancer. Perhaps Sam Frensham could enlighten me I thought with little hope. If Jack, Des Brookfield, and Sandy Ditton couldn't recall it what hope had I of Sam Frensham doing so?
Rosie had given me the location of Sam's hotel as being just outside Stow on the Wold, in the Cotswolds. I found the details of it on the Internet and arranged to see him that afternoon. It would only take me an hour and a half to get there on the bike.
It was just gone three when I rode up the long gravel driveway to the old Manor House, which looked old enough to have accommodated King Charles I. I was shown into an office just behind the main reception by Sam who proved to be a jovial man, in his mid fifties with a balding head and twinkling blue eyes. I liked him immediately.
'You said on the telephone this is about Jack Bartholomew.' He waved me to a seat by a modern desk, which was in sharp contrast to the rest of the hotel. On the desk sat the latest state of the art computer. 'Good man, Jack, one of the best.' His blue eyes looked sad for a moment. 'I remember him coming on watch as a probationer. He was slightly older than the usual recruit because of his navy service. Joined when he was in his late twenties. I think I was in my late thirties then. There was about ten years between us. Good fireman. Loved the job. Never wanted promotion though he was good enough and clever enough to get it, but sitting behind a desk wouldn't have suited Jack. He was a real action man.' He smiled as the memories flooded back. Then he shook his head. 'Bloody shame. I don't suppose they've caught the little bastards who put that gas cylinder inside the building?'
'It wasn't kids and it wasn't an accident.'
Sam looked surprised.
'It's my belief that gas cylinder was placed there deliberately and the building flashed up in order to kill Jack.' Sam was eyeing me as if I'd gone mad. 'It's a long story.' I wasn't sure if I should take him into my confidence and if so how much I should tell him. I liked his easy manner, his genuine concern, his kind words about Jack, his unquestioning hospitality at a very busy time of year, and I could tell that his staff liked him by their manner towards him.
Sam said, 'If there's anything I can do to help you only have to ask. Jack was my buddy. He and Rosie stayed here a few times.'
I told him as much as I dared, leaving out the attempt on my life, Ben's death and my arrest. At times Sam stared at me with an incredulous expression on his face, at others he scowled; several times he sat back and ran a hand over his bald head, seemed about to say something, then stopped himself.
Finally he exhaled and said, 'So you reckon this cancer was caused by something hazardous in a fire we attended in 1994?'
I nodded.
'OK, so let's work this out.' Sam rose and began to pace his office. 'Five men dead, that would mean that two appliances went to the fire.'
'Two?'
'We'll say the water tender was riding the officer in charge, a driver, a BA controller and two men in breathing apparatus, for example, Vic and Scott. The second appliance, the water tender ladder, would have been carrying a driver and possibly three fire fighters wearing BA. That could have been Duggie, Tony and Jack. Only those men wearing breathing apparatus would have gone into the fire, making it the five. The BA controller stays outside, the drivers operate the pumps, and the officer in charge usually runs around like a headless chicken.' He gave a brief smile.
'No one else would be at risk then?'
'No…unless the first pump was riding one more fire fighter wearing breathing apparatus.'
Sam looked worried. I didn't blame him. He pulled a photograph from the wall behind his desk. 'That leaves, me, Dave Caton, Sandy Ditton, Des Brookfield, Colin Woodhall, Brian Clackton and Stuart Hallington.'
'And, according to Brookfield, possibly two other fire fighters who were on secondment.'
'Brookfield knows about the cancer?'
'No.'
'And you say you can't see the fire reports?'
'No. Can you can recall a fire on board a ship in 1994?'
'Let me think. I left the brigade in 1996, bought my first guest house, which I sold in 2000 to buy this place. Best thing I ever did. So it would have been two years before I left. I was forty-four then. I resigned,' he explained. 'Could have stayed on until retirement age at fifty-five but didn't want to. My mother died leaving me her house and some money and Helen and I thought we'd give this business a go. Always wanted to. Sorry I'm rambling, but I am thinking.' He stared down at the photograph. '1994? I thought, at Jack's funeral you know, how many of us from the old watch were gone. Lucky Brian's still alive…for now.' He turned back to face me. 'No, I can't recall any sort of fire that might have contained chemicals and especially on board a ship. That would have stuck in my mind. '
Disappointment washed over me. I felt as though Sam was my last hope and now I saw it slip through my fingers like grains of sand. 'It was the year Tony Blair became leader of the Labour Party so Sandy Ditton tells me,' I said rather cynically and bitterly.
'Was it now. Not that interested in politics but Sandy always was. More interested in that than being a fire fighter. Stood for Parliament once. 1994. Tony Blair. Hang on.' The gleam in his eyes made my heart leap. His telephone rang and I had to curb my impatience.
I crossed to the photographs as Frensham handled an enquiry about some bed linen. They were much like Jack's, taken on exercises, at charity functions and visits to schools. There was a watch photograph with the men posed in front of an appliance. Why had one of Jack's photographs been missing? Could it have provided a clue to my investigations? Had there been anything in that empty frame in the first place?
'Sorry about that,' Frensham said as he finished his call. 'Now where were we? Yes, there was a fire on board a ship, of course. But the ship wasn't at sea; it was tied up in the port. That's what threw me until you said that about Tony Blair.'
I didn't have a clue how that could have made a difference and I didn't much care as long as Sam Frensham could help me. Was I at last about to get a break? I resumed my seat and sat forward eagerly.
'I was pump man,' Frensham continued, evidently with relief. 'If it is that fire then there were two pumps. I was on the second one with Jack and Tony. They went in wearing breathing apparatus but the first pump had almost extinguished it.'
I leaned across the desk. 'Can you recall what was on fire?'
Frensham screwed up his face in concentration but finally shook his head. 'No, sorry. I didn't go on board. Thank goodness,' he added with feeling. 'Neither Jack nor the others ever said anything about it. It was a simple fire quickly extinguished. I do remember though that the ship wasn't loaded. You think it might have been that?'
'I don't suppose you remember the name of the ship or the date?' I asked without any real hope, wondering if he would confirm it was 4 July.
Frensham shook his head. 'No. The only reason I do remember it is because you triggered my memory, Tony Blair, politics. I saw that MP at the Port. William Bransbury, MP for Portsmouth East. The one who was Tory and went over to New Labour. You see that was my constituency then and I voted for him and not Ditton.' He grinned.
'What was Bransbury doing there?' Steve's words came back to me. Was someone protecting him?
'I don't know.'
'It was daytime then?'
'Yes, must have been.'
'Hot or cold? Summer or winter?'
Sam thought for a while. 'Summer.'
So it could have been on the 4 July.
Sam said, 'I'm really sorry I can't be of more help.'
'You've already been a great help. Look, if you do remember anything more please let me know, won't you?'
Frensham waved away my gratitude. 'If I can help Jack, or any of the others, you only have to ask. You will tell me how you get on, won't you? Come and stay for a couple of nights on the house, bring your wife.'
In Cold Daylight Page 11