The Fire In the Snow
Oliver Lewis Thompson
ISBN: 978-1-326-89895-3
Copyright © 2016 Oliver Lewis Thompson
All Rights Reserved
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
It also shall not be printed or reproduced in whole or in part, without permission of the copyright holder.
This book also available from author’s own site:
http://www.oliverlewisthompson.com
Prologue
‘Have you ever killed something?’
Detective Shari Ansari laughed into her cup of coffee and had the boiling hot substance spilling down her chin. ‘What a question!’ she exclaimed.
Her sergeant, DS Steve Ryder smiled warmly. ‘I’m interested.’
‘You’ve got a dark side you,’ Ansari told him, and then watched his eyes staring patiently back at her. He was actually waiting for an answer.
‘A few spiders and flies, I suppose,’ she told him. Perhaps this was all part of the great Ryder experience she had come to accept. Her partner Ben had once told her that Ryder was an egomaniac and a narcissist. Maybe he was, and this was all part of a test he was putting her through. She wondered if other detectives in other divisions around Greater Manchester would have to put up with this kind of obtuse post-job-interview grilling. ‘Have you?’
‘That’s boring,’ Ryder said, sighing. ‘I was hoping you’d have butchered a sheep or throttled a guinea pig when you were a kid.’
Shari laughed again. At least her new supervisor was anything but boring. ‘You were hoping? Don’t they say that kids who kill animals end up being murderers and psychopaths?’
‘That’s what they say,’ Ryder said with a shrug, as if he didn’t think much of it.
They began walking in silence back towards their car. Ryder tossed his cardboard coffee cup into a nearby bin and lifted a cocky eyebrow when it hit the target perfectly. Shari was still clutching her coffee to warm her hands.
They were leaving a crime scene, or rather, they were going to sit in the car to warm up while the scene was prepared for them to enter. A large warehouse dating back to the early nineteenth century stood nearby, hollow from a fire that had raged overnight - its beautiful red bricks scorched black around the empty windows. Inside, through the skeletal remains of its facade, blackened timbers could be seen jutting outward in various directions. Some had remained in place throughout the fire, a testament to the quality of the architecture, but many had buckled under the collapse of floors above.
Shari stared at the building and watched the fire crew casually inspect its smouldering remains. The fire had long been put out, but it was only in the daylight that a proper inspection could take place. She and her sergeant, working an early shift, had come down after eight o’clock, when the late January sun had just about risen.
‘They say the fire started on the first floor,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Do you think some homeless people were trying to start a fire or something?’
‘We might never know,’ Ryder replied. ‘Let the fire inspector do his bit.’
‘Then we’ll have to wait for the building surveyor to come and tell us its safe,’ Shari said, with a little moan. ‘We could be here all day.’
‘That’s okay,’ Ryder chuckled. ‘Are you in a rush or something?’
Shari was in a rush actually. She felt uneasy in Steve Ryder’s company and wanted to return to the office, if only to escape the tension.
‘Ben’s off again then,’ she said, thinking she was changing the subject but really giving away her chain of thought.
Ryder smiled. ‘Seems so. I wonder what excuse he’ll have this time.’
‘I worry about him,’ Shari said, sadly. ‘Why does he drink so much?’
‘Weak minded people,’ Ryder snorted, ‘can’t cope with pressure without help.’
Shari wished she hadn’t bothered to ask him. She couldn’t possibly have expected a compassionate answer.
‘Shame about the building,’ she said, again trying to change the subject. ‘I suppose they’ll end up knocking it down and replacing it with some more flats. There’s a lot of history in this little neighbourhood. Some of these old mills are part of the World Heritage Site. But some horrible development company would love to pull them all down and put up some ugly boxes just to make a bit of money...’
‘What are you going on about?’ Ryder cut her off. He was staring out of the window, watching one of the firemen talking to a few others.
‘Ancoats,’ Shari explained, ‘it’s the birthplace of the Manchester cotton industry...’
‘Ssh,’ Ryder said, holding up his hand and nearly knocking the coffee out of hers. ‘It’s the fire inspector. Look, he’s pulling them all out of the building.’
Shari looked. It did appear that the main fireman, the one with a white hat instead of a yellow one, was coaxing the rest of the men away from the wreckage. When he was satisfied that all were out, he ushered them with his hands further away, back towards the two fire engines that were parked on the other side of the street. Eventually, both fire engines moved away, parking further down the street.
‘Hey!’ Ryder shouted, rolling down his window and calling to the fire chief. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s unstable,’ the man replied. ‘I might need to get you guys to go park outside the cordon.’
Ryder looked around. A large police cordon had been set up overnight when the fire had taken hold, and the plastic scene tape still hung between lampposts, fluttering in the wind. ‘Is it going to collapse or something?’
The marshal nodded. ‘I’d say there’s a good chance.’
Shari looked back at the brick facade, which looked as solid as the day it had been built. Ryder started the car engine and put it into reverse.
‘How interesting,’ he mused.
One
Lunchtime was rudely interrupted by a big, important meeting that nobody had an excuse to miss. Ryder and Shari arrived late and took a seat at the back. The large conference room on the second floor had been commandeered for the event and was full to the brim. Ryder had presumed the meeting was for top brass only – inspectors and above, maybe some VIP sergeants like himself – but he was surprised to see there were ordinary Response cops seated there too, along with some lowly sergeants and a smattering of PCSOs.
Ryder rolled his eyes. This “very important meeting” can’t be that important if they’re letting any old riff raff in, he thought. What a joke. He had encouraged Shari to attend with him, only to see how the bosses would react, but it seemed his little game wasn’t going to work.
To make it worse, DI Abbott was seated near the front, self-consciously sat with his hands over his large belly, perhaps holding his shirt down so not to expose his midriff, Ryder thought.
At the front of the room was Chief Superintendant Bhatti, an imposing middle-aged man as wide as he was tall. And he was quite tall. He was dressed casually, which for someone in Bhatti’s position meant he had taken off his jacket and was stood in a short-sleeved white shirt and pressed black trousers, his epaulettes still on his shoulders, as new as the day he had got them.
It turned out that changes were afoot in the force. Further government cuts had forced the upper hierarchy of Greater Manchester Police to save more money. Naturally, the first step would be to lay off more cleaners and delay police officer recruitment for another twelve months. But more drastical
ly, it had been decided that there were too many divisions in the GMP area, all requiring a minimum amount of support staff. By merging divisions they could save money.
Of course, Chief Superintendant Bhatti wasn’t going to cut to the root of the issue, which was that they would save that money by laying-off more office staff. Instead he used words like “stream-lining” and “efficiency” and when anyone grumbled about something on his little slide-show he just held his hands up and said it was the government’s fault.
‘With the amalgamation of divisions,’ Ryder said, interrupting Bhatti between slides, ‘are we going to see a reduction in other positions?’
Bhatti frowned as he looked at the source of the question. ‘How do you mean, Steve?’
Shari watched her sergeant in suspense. Bhatti quite clearly knew him, but Ryder didn’t seem to care about interrupting the big boss.
‘Well, currently, each division has one Chief Superintendant, two Superintendants, and lots of Chief Inspectors. Merging divisions will eradicate the need for so many high-paid positions, won’t it?’
Bhatti looked stunned at the thought, and unsure of how to respond. This was a slight by an inferior officer – it was an insult, in fact. Was DS Ryder really insinuating that people like he were a waste of money?
‘The North Manchester and the South Manchester,’ Bhatti continued, deciding to ignore the question, ‘will merge next at the end of January. We’ll all become the “City of Manchester Division”...’
Outside, after the meeting, Shari stood with Ryder wondering what to do. If she fled now then she might not get caught with him and besmirched in the eyes of the bosses for associating with such a pariah. But Ryder was talking to her and she couldn’t think fast enough how to get out of there.
Too late. Bhatti and his assistant left the room and noticed Ryder stood in the corridor. It was hard not to notice him really, because he made eye contact and held it firmly.
‘DS Ryder,’ Bhatti said, with a slight sigh in his voice. ‘How are you?’
‘Grand,’ Ryder replied, shaking the boss’ hand.
‘How’s work? I’ve been hearing good things recently.’
Ryder watched Bhatti force friendliness across his face and then hold it uncomfortably. ‘My record remains outstanding, as usual.’
Bhatti nodded, his grin fixed as if it was painted on. ‘Well, just be careful. We don’t want you spoiling that exemplary record now, do we?’
‘I won’t, if you won’t,’ Ryder replied with a smile, ‘Sir.’
Bhatti nodded and walked away, glancing at Shari as he left.
‘What the fuck?’ Shari whispered to her DS. ‘Did you just make the Chief Super your bitch?’
Ryder chuckled to himself. ‘When you have a reputation like mine, you become a little untouchable.’
Later that afternoon, Shari was looking into the ownership of the building that had been on fire when Abbott waved her over. He held up a post-it note with a message on. ‘Someone called Anna,’ he said, without looking up from his computer. ‘Said it was important.’
‘Shazza!’ Anna’s voice was tired-sounding, desperate. ‘I don’t know what to do. We’ve just had this massive fight and Dan pinned me against the wall by the neck and hit me round the head.’
‘He what?!’ Shari nearly dropped her mobile.
‘He’s gone now, but I don’t know what to do.’
‘I’ll lock him up, the prick!’ Shari replied, making Abbott glance up at her.
‘No, no!’ Anna answered. ‘I don’t want that!’
‘Fine,’ Shari sighed. She had never liked Anna’s boyfriend, Dan. ‘I’m off at four today, so I’ll see you after work.’
‘I’m heading to the shop now,’ Anna said, crying. ‘I’ll be home after six.’
Shari returned to her computer angry. She had been friends and housemates with Anna for a few years, ever since their university days. Anna was wild, chaotic and bad with money. She had struggled since university to get into a career as a professional photographer, then a singer, then a yoga teacher. She had worked in a local bakery selling expensive artisan loaves to middle-class Chorlton-ites, but a row with the owner had ended that. Now she worked in a haberdashery part time, trying to fund her latest interest, which was acting.
Dan wasn’t creepy but even he couldn’t deny that he was an oddball. He worked in marketing and earned good money – illustrated by his mortgage on a property on the edge of Cheshire. But he was weird. He acted as plain as bread but he still went on wild drug-fuelled nights out with Anna.
Impulsively, Shari searched his name on the police computer. It was technically against the law to do so without a good reason, but Shari hoped the allegation of an assault would be a good excuse. Besides, there was no one checking these things. Everyone at work secretly looked up people they knew personally – it was just a thing that happened that nobody talked about.
Nothing. Shari was disappointed but also relieved. Still, if the bastard ever came round their house again she would send him packing.
That evening she and Anna sat and ate an excessive amount of chocolate and watched TV together, cursing men in particular and the world in general, oblivious to the snow that was piling up outside the window.
Two
The drive to work was a nightmare, even at half six in the morning. It had snowed so deeply overnight that even the inner-city roads were slow-moving and jam packed.
‘Someone’s found a body,’ Ryder told her by way of a greeting. Shari was late, as were most people, but Ryder looked like he had been in the office for hours already. ‘In Ancoats, just around the corner from that fire we were at yesterday.’
‘A body?’
‘Lying in the snow.’
‘Shit. Frozen to death?’
Ryder shook his head. ‘Burnt.’
‘Burnt?’
‘To a crisp.’
Abbott led a quick huddle with his team. ‘Shari, I want you to look into this body. Ben’s still off so you can go with Andy. Keep Steve up to date.’
DC Andy Albrighton looked at Shari and smiled. He was the same age as Ben but a little better looking and always dressed slightly slicker. He usually worked with Barry Croft, an older detective approaching retirement, and Shari had never worked with him before. Shari blushed a little, as if she was cheating on Ben.
‘Sorry the boss put you with me,’ Shari told him outside. ‘I know you’ve got a lot of jobs on the go at the moment.’
‘No problemo,’ Andy replied, cheerily. ‘Makes a nice change.’
Old Ancoats was a densely built area to the north east of Manchester city centre. Small streets built in a grid pattern were towered over by huge red-brick mills, simple and functional in their design, yet somehow more beautiful than the newer apartment buildings scattered among them, which were apparently designed with aesthetics in mind. Here and there were remnants of a by-gone age, when the city was a forest of chimney stacks, with cobbled streets and soot-stained brick. Two hundred years of history were woven into the tapestry of the tiny area just outside the modern city centre – two hundred years of working class strife, slum housing, factory labour, pubs, gang fights, murders.
Today this history was all part of the appeal. Ancoats wasn’t quite as fashionable as other districts, but its industrial shadow gave it an edge. Trendy bars and eateries occupied some of the former mills, which were now almost all converted into apartment buildings. But it was hard not to walk those cobbled streets and not feel the ghost of old Ancoats stalking your step.
Today the backstreets were deep with snow, so the two detectives were forced to park on the main road, some distance away, and walk to the scene where the body still lay.
Shari noticed as they walked that the building from the day before was still standing and the police tape around it removed and replaced by metal fencing commonly found at building sites. Someone must have said it was going to survive after all. But a couple of streets away there was more police tape and a
new crime scene. Two police cars guarded the street from nosy passersby, but it was too early to attract large crowds of onlookers. Which was good, because CSI hadn’t yet arrived at the scene and the body still lay exposed in the middle of the snow.
The body lay face down, partly scorched. Dull red and pink bubbles of crisp flesh were evident all over, and there was almost a complete absence of hair anywhere on the head. Only a few strands of clothing still survived, welded onto the skin in some places, but there was nothing nearby to indicate any identification. The body’s charcoal blackness contrasted harshly against the crisp pure snow it lay on top of. There was no other way of putting it – it was just horrific.
‘That’s a serious burn,’ Albrighton said, bending down to look at it more closely. ‘There’s hardly any flesh left, no eyes... no hair... I’d say this poor bugger was burning for a long time.’
Shari felt her morbid curiosity turn to nausea very quickly and she looked at the paperwork she had brought with her to get her eyes off the terrible sight.
‘It says the body was found at half three,’ she told him, ‘by a resident of a nearby flat.’
Andy stood and looked around. There were plenty of footprints leading to and from the body, of course, but one set seemed to lead to a nearby door of an empty building. The building was old, a former textile workshop, smaller than the rest.
‘I wonder if those are his,’ he said, pointing at the footprints.
Shari looked at the building. ‘Empty I think. Could be a squatter.’
Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a middle-aged woman at the edge of the cordon who was trying to catch their attention.
‘Can we help you?’ Shari asked, walking over to her.
‘I’m the one who phoned up about it,’ the woman said.
‘Did you discover the body?’ Shari asked.
‘No. I saw him before he died. He was on fire.’
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