A New Dawn Rising

by Michael Joseph

  When Mason finally got round to asking, albeit reluctantly, about anyone Sam might know with a valid reason for harming Carl, Sam was only too happy to reel of a lengthy list of potential suspects. He thought Mason was never going to ask.

  Hoskins was a busy man during the next few minutes, constantly making notes, trying to keep up with the endless information Sam was supplying. Mason sat unmoved throughout, displaying a fine poker face, asking few questions. Sam thought his lack of interest strange. Perhaps he just couldn't see past Sam as the guilty party.

  Sam explained how Carl had been involved in a number of heated telephone conversations over the last two days. How he had briefly mentioned to Sam that activists from a group called Red 71 were threatening him over environmental issues relating to his factory. Sam purposely kept this low-key as he told it. He was glad he did. It was the only time Mason reacted, a look of pure disdain on his face clearly showing Sam what he thought. Even Hoskins stopped scribbling and looked at Sam in bemusement.

  Sam also told an increasingly disinterested Mason about Carl's altercation with Colin Doyle, the furore at the factory and Carl's own admission that there were people in Bursleigh jealous of his success. When Mason asked exactly who might detest Carl enough to set fire to his property with him inside, Sam shrugged and let slip the Withdean estate had been mentioned.

  Finally, he described the run-in with the two men outside Carl's house and the car chase involving the Audi. When he finished, Mason shook his head scornfully.

  'Well, well, it's a miracle Carl Renshaw survived this long,' he said with a sneer. The sarcasm had returned to his voice once again. 'It sounds as though our Mr Renshaw is public enemy number one round here.'

  Sam refused to rise to it. He didn't care what Detective Inspector Mason thought anymore.

  When Sam was finally allowed to leave the station that night, Mason made it clear he wanted him to go straight home and stay there. Officers would be calling on him again in the morning. In the meantime, the latest news was the blaze had been deemed too dangerous to tackle, so the fire service were allowing it to burn itself out. The factory was lost, too badly decimated to be salvaged. With a glint in his eye, Mason told Sam forensics would be all over the site in the morning looking for the tiniest scrap of evidence. Anything that would reveal the truth.

  Sam told him he hoped they found something conclusive.

  After collecting his car from the compound, Sam gladly set off for home. However, he soon became aware of a pair of headlights behind him. They stayed a good distance back, tailing him along the dark country lanes leading back to his cottage. Was he being followed? Or were the police simply ensuring he returned home? Sam had no way of knowing.

  A couple of miles from home, he waited until he had taken the first of a series of tight bends, then killed his lights. This was the one section of road in Bursleigh Sam did know well. Fighting off the tiredness threatening to swamp him, he sped up and took each bend as fast as he dared. The car brushed noisily against bushes time and time again as he pushed the vehicle faster in the darkness. By the time he reached the cottage, he couldn't see any lights back in the distance.

  Still, he wasn't taking any chances. He drove on past the cottage a few yards and turned down a narrow dirt track. Cutting the engine out, he steered the car along, letting the vehicle roll silently down the slight incline. The track took him around the back of his cottage to an old wooden garage at the bottom of his garden.

  He pulled up in front of the garage, got out and unlocked the big wooden doors. Suddenly, he heard the roar of an engine out on the country lane. Somebody was approaching the cottage. He leant into the Capri, released the handbrake and pushed the car into the empty garage. The vehicle out on the road slowed down, drawing level with the front of the cottage. Sam didn't have time to lock the garage doors, so he pulled them shut, slid the bolts across and waited inside the garage. He reached around blindly on the floor until his fingers touched something cold and solid. A metal bar. He picked it up and gripped it tightly. Then he waited, motionless in the dark, listening hard.

  He heard the vehicle crawl past the cottage, its engine ticking over gently. It neared the turn-off to the dirt track. Sam held his breath. Would it follow him down here?

  Much to his relief, it didn't. Instead, Sam heard the vehicle burst into life and accelerate away. The noise was deafening, exploding through the silence of the night-time countryside. Sam didn't move until all was quiet again.

  He opened the Capri door and lowered himself into the driver's seat. He felt exhausted. Oblivious to the cold in the garage, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Fleeting images from the day flashed by. Bright orange flames. Dark, mysterious figures. Speeding cars.

  Sam fell into a deep sleep. He dreamt of Carl's daughters. They glanced around furtively, looking out for imminent danger.

  They called out his name.

  Begged him for help.

  Chapter 25

  Sam smelt damp wood. A chill had seeped into his bones. Shivering, he opened his eyes and took in the bare walls of the garage, wondering how he had slept so peacefully cramped up in the Capri inside the freezing garage. He hauled himself out of the car, stretched out his arms and let himself into the garden. He would have to go around the front to get into the cottage as he kept the back door locked from the inside. Walking around the side of the cottage, Sam decided he wasn't going to hang around today waiting for the police to clear his name. He was going to have some breakfast, get cleaned up and make some discreet enquiries of his own.

  Then he remembered Mason telling him to expect a visit this morning. That meant he would have to wait in for the police before going anywhere. He wondered what news they would bring. Sam thought about Carl. Had he somehow managed to escape from the blaze unscathed? The fire should have burnt itself out by now. Forensic officers would be trawling through the ashes this morning, and no matter how strongly Mason believed in Sam's guilt, it would take more than a flimsy motive to gain a conviction. Evidence found at the scene would be crucial.

  Deep in thought, Sam went to unlock the front door.

  It was already open. Ajar a couple of inches.

  Sam could tell it had been forced from the scuffed door frame. A crowbar, most likely. Crude but effective. Sam looked up and down the lane. There was nobody in sight.

  Was this related to the vehicle passing here last night?

  Was someone still inside?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Sam pulled the door wide open and went inside.

  The cottage didn't have a hallway. Sam stepped through the doorway straight into the living room. Paperwork was scattered all over the floor. The drawers in the cabinet had been pulled out and left open, their contents strewn everywhere. A file had been taken down off the top of the cabinet, rifled through, then discarded on the floor. Cushions had been lifted up and thrown back down carelessly.

  Sam looked around the room, puzzled. It was clear this wasn't the usual burglary. Nothing of value had been touched. Somebody had been looking for something specific. A document of some kind.

  He crept into the kitchen. The scene was the same. All the drawers had been opened and rummaged through. Leaflets, junk mail and manuals littered the kitchen counter and floor. Envelopes had been ripped open and their letters flung away.

  Then Sam noticed something else. The small tin he kept on top of the fridge had its lid off. He only used it for storing little odds and ends. It wasn't big enough to hold any paperwork, not even a folded letter. Sam's mind worked feverishly. Perhaps they weren't searching for a large document, such as a letter. Maybe they were looking for something smaller-

  Sam heard a noise.

  He wasn't sure if it had come from outside or upstairs. He went over to the cutlery drawer and picked out a large knife. Carrying it by his side, he went to the bottom of the stairs and began to climb them. Sam knew there weren't many places to hide up there. The cottage only contained two bed
rooms and a bathroom upstairs. Once on the landing, he took a deep breath and pushed open the bathroom door.

  Nobody there.

  He turned and placed his hand on the front bedroom door. His palm felt clammy on the wooden surface. With his heart racing, he shoved the door inwards and stepped into the room.

  Empty.

  He checked in the wardrobe and under the bed, the only possible hiding-places, but found nothing. He noticed things had been moved around in here, too. The box folder he kept under the bed had been pulled out and searched through. His most valued possessions, worthless to anybody else, had been tipped onto the carpet, discarded like bits of rubbish.

  That left the back room. It was no more than a box room, empty and unused since he moved in. Sam walked to the far end of the landing and halted in front of the closed door. There was no point in creeping about anymore. If somebody was in there, they would be aware he was by the door. Sam had an image of a desperate individual on the other side, crouched and ready to spring at him the moment he opened the door. Preparing himself, he held the knife out in front of him, grabbed the door handle and twisted it slowly. Then he gave it a hefty shove.

  Nobody jumped at him.

  He popped his head into the room. Nothing. Sam grimaced. What had he heard? Shaking his head, he wondered if he was losing his mind.

  The question of Sam's sanity was answered moments later when he heard another noise. Louder this time and definitely coming from the front of the house. The sound of a car pulling up. Even as Sam raced back into the front bedroom, he heard car doors shutting and footsteps coming up his path. He looked out the window.

  A police car.

  His initial reaction was one of relief. Then he thought of the mess around the house. He had to congratulate the police on their timing. Five minutes later, and he would have had everything tidy and back in its place. Now, how was this going to look?

  Jogging back down the steps, he heard DI Mason call out his name. By the time Sam got to the living room, Mason had already let himself in through the open front door. Behind him stood Hoskins and an older, grey-haired man Sam didn't recognise. Unsurprisingly, Mason was gazing around the room with a bemused look on his face.

  He raised his eyebrows even higher when he saw Sam.

  'Okay, Sam,' he said, looking alarmed. 'There's no need for that.'

  Sam looked at him, confused. Mason looked down. Sam followed his gaze.

  He was still holding the knife.

  Sam winced. He felt his face go red as the realisation sank in. He had answered the door to the police with a huge knife in his hand.

  All four men stood rigid in the living room, trying to regain their composure. Sam apologised for alarming them, hurriedly telling them he had just started making breakfast. It was the first thing that came into his head. Mason gave him a curious look.

  'Do you always leave your front door wide open?' he asked. 'As well as greeting your visitors waving a knife?'

  'I'd just nipped out the front. I forgot to shut it when I came back in,' lied Sam. He presumed they had missed the damage around the door. He hoped so. 'And it's only the people I like who get that welcome.'

  His attempt at a joke fell on deaf ears. The three men looked back at him without expression.

  'Anyway,' he said, 'I'd better put this out the way-'

  Mason stepped forward, holding his hand out.

  'No, you don't. I'll have that, thank-you.'

  Sam handed the knife over. Mason took it and passed it to Hoskins.

  'You having some kind of clear out?' asked Mason, casting a sweeping glance down at the floor around him.

  'Er, yeah, you could say that,' said Sam, looking a bit sheepish. 'Anyway, what happens next? Do you want a seat, or am I going down the station?'

  'Neither,' replied Mason, reaching into his inside pocket. 'We're here to search your property.'

  He pulled out a warrant and flashed it in front of Sam.

  'Okay,' said Sam with a shrug. 'You'll probably make the place look tidier.'

  He didn't bother looking at the warrant. A search was good news. If the police had something concrete on him, he would be in the back of their car by now.

  'You're a funny guy this morning, Sam,' Mason told him, looking anything but amused. 'A right comedian.'

  Sam knew it was the adrenaline pumping around his body. A reaction to recent events. He wanted to ask Mason how he was supposed to feel after being followed home last night, then having his home broken into this morning. But Sam kept his mouth shut.

  'You might not be so ready to crack jokes,' said Mason, 'when I tell you Carl Renshaw died in the fire last night.'

  Mason watched him, studying his reaction.

  They all watched him.

  A wave of revulsion swept over Sam. He had prepared himself for it, but Mason's words still stunned him.

  Carl hadn't escaped the factory.

  Sam thought of the last two days. The way Carl had driven him mad with his vague answers. His half-truths and secrets. Yet, he didn't deserve that. Nobody deserved to go like that.

  'What did you find?' he asked. 'I mean-'

  'I'll let Detective Chief Inspector Carter here fill you in. He wants a word with you, anyway. In the meantime, we're going to get on with this.'

  Sam watched on as Mason and Hoskins began searching the living-room. He wondered what they were hoping to find. They peeked into opened drawers, glanced at random pieces of paper on the floor and looked under items of furniture. Realising the search in the living-room was fruitless, Mason impatiently signalled Hoskins to follow him upstairs.

  That left Sam alone with DCI Carter. Sam had hardly registered him in the room. Now, he studied him properly. Carter had a flat purple nose plastered onto a weathered face. He wore a tired expression. The face of a man who had seen too much and wasn't particularly interested in seeing any more.

  'Well, what's all this about?' asked Sam. 'It's rare to see a DCI leave his desk and venture outside.'

  Carter smiled grimly.

  'Mind if we sit down?' he asked in a broad northern accent. His words came out as a low growl, as though he had been chewing on sandpaper all his life.

  'Be my guest,' Sam told him, taking a seat himself.

  Carter sat down. He looked around at the mess of papers and the open drawers.

  'You've been turned over, haven't you?'

  Carter's words took Sam by surprise.

  'Look, it's-'

  'Hey, Sam, it's none of my business,' said Carter affably. 'And if you don't want to report it, then it's nobody else's either. I'm just making an observation.'

  'Okay,' said Sam. 'How do you know?'

  Carter glanced in the direction of the kitchen. It appeared to Sam he didn't want Mason or Hoskins overhearing their conversation.

  'Oh, just the damage to your door,' he said quietly, his voice dropping even deeper. 'And the fact it was left wide open. Then there's you, charging about all wired up, brandishing a knife. I did wonder when I first saw you, but then I saw the state of this place.'

  Sam nodded. He was impressed.

  'Have they figured it out as well?' he asked, nodding towards the kitchen.

  Carter screwed up his generous nose.

  'No, I don't think so. DI Mason seems to have tunnel vision right now trying to solve this case-'

  'Trying to pin it on me, you mean.'

  'I wouldn't know about that.'

  Something clicked with Sam. Carter wasn't interested in Mason or the way he operated. Not the way he would if they were part of the same team. Then there was the accent, much stronger than that of Mason or Hoskins. Northern but not local.

  'You're not Mason's gaffer, are you?' he said to Carter. 'You're nothing to do with this investigation at all. You've come in from another area for this one. Why?'

  Footsteps were coming down the stairs. Mason and Hoskins were on their way back down.

  'Let's just say I have a vested interest in matters,' replied Carte
r cryptically, unmoved by Sam's observation.

  Sam was intrigued. A vested interest? That meant there was more to this case. A lot more. Sam could hear the two detectives rooting around in the kitchen. Mason was grumbling about something.

  'Like I was saying,' boomed Carter, suddenly raising his voice. 'There's absolutely nothing left of the factory. It's just a huge pile of ash.'

  'Nothing?' asked Sam, confused. 'I thought they found-'

  'Hold on, Sam, let me try and explain,' said Carter. 'An accelerant was used to help the fire along. A strong one at that and plenty of it. Concentrated especially in the centre of the factory.'

  Sam listened, stunned. The centre of the factory? That's where Carl's office was located.

  'Everything in that area was totally incinerated...'

  Carter paused. His distaste was evident.

  '...including Carl Renshaw's office...'

  'What did they find there?' croaked Sam. His voice has dried up.

  'It's early days,' said Carter grimly, 'and tests have yet to be done for confirmation, but forensics are pretty sure they've found human ashes in there.'

  'Anything else?' asked Sam. 'Anything that can be used for identification?'

  Carter shook his head.

  'No. Everything's been burned to a cinder. Bones, body parts-'

  'So, what makes the police so sure they're Carl's remains?' asked Sam, still clinging to some faint hope. 'It can't be presumed, can it? I mean, just because he-'

  'A piece of jewellery was found.'

  'But I thought you said everything was destroyed?'

  'Everything in that area was destroyed, but a wedding ring was discovered in one of the corridors behind the office. Mrs Renshaw has identified it as her husband's. She told the police he never took it off.'