There was a long pause, then she slowly shook her head.
‘Why? I just don’t understand why . . . ?’
Finn didn’t know what to say. Not because of the question; it was one he’d been asked many times over the years. He felt paralysed because it was exactly what he’d been asking himself since Karin’s death. The look on Stephanie’s face was the same one he’d seen in his bedroom mirror earlier.
They spoke a little longer, and Finn promised to keep her updated. She thanked him, and then he pleaded with her to return to hospital. She assured him she would soon and he escorted her back out on to the landing. She was immediately greeted by another mourner who began to console her. Finn went to follow them downstairs but then something strange happened.
He stopped.
Stephanie turned to see where he was and he quickly made an excuse about needing to make a phone call. He retreated back to the bedroom where he stood with his back to the door, propping it shut. He felt sick; sweat was forming on his brow. His breathing was laboured. Was this a panic attack? He went over to the window and pulled it open. There was a welcome breeze across his face and he took several large gulps of air. It was Stephanie who’d brought this on. Her raw emotion, the pain of her loss . . . he could feel his own tears welling up now and he tried to get a grip. ‘Not now,’ he said under his breath. He needed to go downstairs and talk to those firefighters. He just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to do anything, he felt paralysed. He just wanted Karin back, to talk to her, for everything to go back to how it was. The unfairness of it was overwhelming. He was a man who believed he could solve any problem in life, but he couldn’t solve this one. He slammed his fist against the wall and tried to steady himself again. Was this rock bottom and if so, what came next? He wondered what Karin would say and tried to summon her, but this time the voice at the back of his head was quiet.
He’d deceived them, he thought. Skegman, Ojo, Paulsen – his whole team. Stephanie Kaul and all the people in this house too. He wasn’t remotely ready for this. He shouldn’t have come back. He slid down on to the floor and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he heard voices outside the door and he picked himself up. He couldn’t go on like this, he thought. For the first time in a long time, perhaps for the first time ever, he wasn’t sure he was fully in control of himself. And when he finally went back downstairs, the men he’d come there to talk to were gone.
Chapter 15
‘He was police, I’m telling you.’
Martin Walker looked nervously around the pub as he whispered the words to the other three men at the table.
‘Seriously, Marty, you need to chill,’ boomed Elder, taking a swig of his pint and bringing it back down with a bang. ‘Obviously the cops are interested. A bloke dies in a fire at his own wedding – you think they’re not going to be looking into it? There’s no reason to think it’s anything to do with us.’ He said it with more bravado than he felt.
‘Keep your fucking voice down, Gary,’ hissed Walker.
‘Oh, for God’s sake. It means nothing to anyone here. And look around you – the place is deserted,’ said Elder.
They’d left the wake early after Walker saw Finn with Stephanie Kaul. He may not look like a typical copper, but Finn’s bearing gave him away. Walker knew police when he saw them. The brief moment their eyes met, there’d been mutual recognition, service to service, and it was enough to spook him.
The small backstreet pub they’d found was quiet and usefully out of the way.
‘The skipper’s right,’ said Maddox. ‘We don’t know enough yet. We need to be careful.’
‘He’s not the skipper any more, Phil,’ said Elder.
‘We need to stay calm. Since the weekend I’ve been trying to figure this out,’ said Walker.
‘You think I haven’t?’ said Maddox.
‘Phil – please. Just listen for a minute.’
Walker leant in, keeping his voice low.
‘We all went into this with our eyes open. We all knew there was a possibility someone might work it out.’
‘How? It all burnt,’ said Elder. ‘There was nothing left. Unless someone’s opened their mouth?’ He looked around the table. ‘Well?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Maddox. Portbury and Walker both shook their heads.
‘That just leaves Adesh, and I doubt he’d have said anything,’ said Elder.
‘We can’t assume anything,’ said Portbury.
‘Exactly,’ replied Walker. ‘We have to accept it’s possible someone knows what we did. We can’t bury our heads in the sand.’ There was silence as the words sank in.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Maddox, shaking his head as he took a sip of his Diet Coke.
‘What are you suggesting, Martin?’ said Portbury.
‘Where we have to be careful is in not panicking. Because if what happened to Adesh was nothing to do with it, then we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves either.’
‘So what are we going to do then?’ said Elder.
‘I’m going to set up a WhatsApp group for us.’
‘Oh, brilliant. Genius. That’ll sort everything out,’ said Maddox.
‘Phil . . .’ Walker’s tone of voice was the sort usually reserved for errant toddlers running amok in supermarkets.
‘You were the one who always said we needed to stay away from each other!’ Maddox protested.
‘Listen to me,’ said Walker, channelling his old authority. ‘That’s changed. We’ve all been to the wake now. We’ve been seen together. If anyone comes knocking, then we’re just a bunch of old workmates who reconnected after a terrible tragedy. It’s fine. We can use the WhatsApp group to stay in contact. There’s nothing suspicious about it but use your heads. If there’s anything the rest of us need to know, use the group – but be careful what you say on there.’ He looked around the table. ‘Agreed?’ Slowly they all nodded.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Elder, rolling his eyes.
‘I’d like to say something,’ said Portbury suddenly, ‘while we’re all together.’ The other three turned to look at him. ‘I think we should all raise a glass to Adesh. Don’t you?’
The drive back to Cedar House helped focus Finn’s mind. He was trying to bury the memory of what happened at the wake. He’d managed to pull himself together but was now feeling ashamed. Like so many of the emotions he’d been feeling in the past few weeks, it was unusual and unwelcome. Losing those firemen – and he was certain that’s who they were – was a schoolboy error. He’d immediately rung the London Fire Brigade and requested a list of the other firefighters who’d served with Kaul at Earlsfield Fire Station five years ago. It didn’t make up for the mistake, but at least there’d be some names to chase.
They’d emailed him the list by the time he returned to Cedar House. It made for interesting reading. There’d been roughly sixty people staffing Earlsfield when Kaul retired. But four other firefighters left within a few months of him. With one exception – the crew manager Martin Walker – they were all relatively young men. What caught his eye was that all four were from Red Watch – the same watch as Kaul. A coincidence? Or a team within a team? The men he’d seen at the wake were three youngish men and an older man. Now he wanted to know who they were, and he kicked himself again for missing the opportunity.
Paulsen intercepted him with an awkward smile as he walked back into the incident room.
‘I’ve been through Kaul’s accounts. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. The figures show a steady turnover. He seemed to get a lot of his work through word of mouth. He was turning a decent profit with plenty of repeat business.’
‘Enough of a profit to pay for that wedding out of his own pocket?’
‘That’s where it becomes interesting. Sort of. Looks like he’d been regularly paying in small sums of cash into his account over a fairly long period.’
‘Exactly how long?’
‘Certainly for the duration of the three years of accounts the bank suppl
ied. I’ve asked them to send me more from further back.’
‘Good. Maybe he liked to be paid cash in hand. It’s odd though. When the opportunity arises let’s try and raise it with the family. How are the other interviews coming along?’
‘Uniform have now spoken to everyone who was there, including the hotel staff. The trouble with a wedding is it’s hard for anyone to know if someone was out of place. People just assumed if you were in the room, you were entitled to be there.’
‘Doesn’t have to be someone who was out of place – could have been anyone with a grudge. Someone we’ve already spoken to.’
‘Now the wake’s out of the way, we’re going to start re-interviewing the family. I was going to go back through them and make a shortlist of who we should be following up on. And there’s one other thing: I spoke again to the waiter who thought he saw a man follow Kaul out of the banqueting hall just before the fire started.’
‘Did he see enough to get a description?’
‘Said he was a white man with dark hair wearing a grey suit, but that was about it. We’re talking to him again later and we’ll see if we can get enough for an e-fit. How was the wake?’
Finn ignored the question, instead sharing what he’d learnt about Kaul’s former teammates from the LFB. Paulsen frowned as she tried to read the relevance of it.
‘What do you make of it?’ she asked.
‘It’s unusual. With one exception they were all relatively young men.’
‘How were they at the wake?’
‘We need to talk to them individually, but it’s just a line of inquiry at this point – among quite a few. First we need to track them down,’ he replied.
‘But didn’t you get that information at the wake?’ Paulsen persisted.
‘They came and went. I was busy with Stephanie Kaul and they’d gone by the time I went to find them. It’s my fault – I should have kept a closer eye; I didn’t think they’d leave so soon,’ he said briskly. ‘The brigade’s been helpful with contact details though. Let’s start with the senior guy – Walker.’
Paulsen nodded, but kept her eyes on him for just a second too long before heading back to her desk. Finn watched her go, knowing he’d just about skirted it. Now he was back in the incident room everything felt normal again, but he knew he couldn’t afford a repeat of what happened earlier.
‘You’re allowed to grieve,’ said Karin.
‘They all quit at the same time?’ asked DI Andy Warrender standing over Mike Godden’s desk, more irritated than intrigued by the information. Godden flashed a smile.
‘No, not exactly the same time. Staggered over a fairly short period; the last one was . . .’ he peered at the LFB email on his screen, squinting at the small typeface, ‘. . . a Stuart Portbury – eighteen months or so after the Pacific Square fire.’
Warrender, still wearing the expression of a vegan being presented with a steak pie, shook his head dismissively. He hadn’t been the first to lead the Stansted investigation; he was the third senior investigating officer in total now. The first was discreetly moved on as the inquiry stalled, while the second retired unexpectedly. The role was seen as a poisoned chalice, but he’d been determined to treat it like any other investigation. It could be solved; he’d been convinced of it. And he still clung to the belief. But it was an inquiry that tended to throw up unexpected wrinkles – just like this one.
‘It’s too peripheral. What’s your feeling?’ asked Warrender.
‘Whitlock was already dead when the fire teams went in. The body was trapped and they had more important things to deal with at the time. I don’t see what they could have done. If he was alive, what motive would they have had to harm him? They didn’t even know who he was.’
‘And what was the SIO’s thinking at the time about why he was there?’
‘You know all this, guv.’
‘Humour me – I want to get it straight in my head.’
Godden shrugged.
‘We thought he’d probably gone there to meet someone. It was as private as neutral ground can be. Wrong place, wrong time though – but no one thought the fire crews who dealt with the blaze were an issue. Still can’t see it myself if I’m honest.’
Warrender mulled it a bit more to be certain, then cemented his opinion.
‘I agree, it’s just coincidental. We’ve got enough wild goose chases to juggle without adding this to the list, and that’s what I’m going to tell Cedar House. If they want to pursue it, good luck to them.’
Godden nodded in agreement and waited for Warrender to go. Once he was alone again he looked back at the email from the LFB.
‘What was that all about?’ said a voice behind him. It belonged to DC Jim Farmer. Godden jumped as if touched by a live current.
‘Jesus, Jimmy, would you stop creeping up on me like that, I’m too old for it.’
While he made a meal of his indignation, he surreptitiously minimised the email on his screen. Farmer entered his line of sight with a wide grin, which turned immediately into an expression of curiosity. Again, the sense of a Labrador retriever struck Godden. He remembered a neighbour of his who owned a terrier. It got run over, he recalled.
‘Just the boss following up on that DC from south London yesterday.’
‘The one with the dark hair?’ said Farmer excitedly. Godden winked at him conspiratorially, privately wondering if he’d been like that at that age – and if so, why no one ever chinned him.
‘Chill your boots, Jim. There’s nothing to see. A dead body way out of our patch – they’re trying to link it to Stansted.’
‘Really? Why? What’s the connection?’
‘There isn’t one. You might as well link it to Lord Lucan or the Great Train Robbery if you want to play that game.’ Farmer looked disappointed and Godden smiled smoothly again. ‘When you’ve been on the job as long as I have, you get a nose for flabby bollocks. And that’s what this is, trust me.’
‘You think?’
‘Certain. Warrender’s sending them packing.’
‘Suppose you’re right. Just thought a new lead might, y’know . . . liven things up?’
‘Liven things up, James? Liven things up?’ He pulled a face of mock horror. ‘If you want to liven things up, come and find me when you go on your break, and I’ll buy you a cheeky half in the Royal Oak. That’s if you promise not to tell the boss.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ replied Farmer with a toothy grin, tapping Godden lightly on the shoulder as he turned to walk away.
‘Liven things up, my arse . . .’ muttered Godden.
Farmer laughed as he went, but the smile on Godden’s face froze, then vanished. He waited for the door to close behind Farmer, then reached into his top drawer for the phone he kept there.
Chapter 16
It was early afternoon when Martin Walker took the call from the young woman with the lilting accent. He was now sitting in the quiet of his garden, sipping some cold mineral water while Christine took her afternoon nap. He’d been churning over the morning’s events in Harlesden when DC Paulsen called. His former workmates hadn’t changed one iota. Elder was still loud, irritating and in your face. Portbury was the diametric opposite; quiet and thoughtful, always holding a little something back. And Maddox was the one you worried about – the potential weak link he’d always been. But Walker felt he’d got through to them and conveyed the right tone. They needed to keep their heads; that too was something which hadn’t changed over the years, he thought ruefully.
Perhaps because of that, Paulsen’s call didn’t overly alarm him. If the police suspected something, then they surely wouldn’t have phoned in advance. She’d been polite, courteously explaining her reasons for ringing. She was investigating Adesh Kaul’s death and hoped he could fill in some gaps about his time with the LFB. He’d been only too willing to accommodate her. Walker wanted to look the police in the eye and get a sense for himself where they were at. Putting it off would only add to his mounting worries,
so he’d told her to come that afternoon. It was the right move, he thought, as he listened to the birds tweeting from the apple tree next door. He took another sip of water and enjoyed the cold burn at the back of his throat, then closed his eyes and took himself back. If they did ask about One Pacific Square, he’d need to have his story straight.
An hour later, Walker was surprised to find two people on his doorstep. He instantly recognised one of them as the man he’d seen earlier at the wake. He was tall, with horn-rimmed glasses and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. He wore what looked like a white designer shirt with dark cotton trousers. Walker suppressed a slight sense of disapproval. In his day, plain-clothes police were more concerned with solving crimes than how they dressed. Sign of the times, he thought. The young woman next to him, whose face was breaking into an engaging smile, introduced herself as DC Paulsen.
Christine was now awake, and he’d already warned her who was coming and why. He led them through to the garden, where she’d laid out a jug of iced tea with a couple of glasses.
‘Ooh – you’ve caught me out there. I was only expecting one of you. Let me fetch another glass,’ she said as they emerged. She began to wheel herself back up the specially constructed ramp that led into the house. Walker glanced at Finn and Paulsen as they watched her go. People always seemed fascinated by the various ramps and handrails that were installed around the place. Perhaps sensing they were under scrutiny, the two officers sat down on the rattan chairs at the garden table, as Walker grabbed a spare from the patio and joined them.
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