‘I saw you earlier at the wake. I should have spoken to you then, really. It would have taken up less of your time,’ said Finn. He seemed curiously awkward for a senior police officer, thought Walker.
‘It’s okay. We . . . I . . . didn’t stay too long.’
‘The other men you were with – they also worked with Adesh?’
‘Yes, it’s been something of a shock for us all, as I’m sure you can imagine.’ Finn and Paulsen both nodded sympathetically. ‘So, what can I do for you?’ said Walker.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Adesh?’ asked Finn.
‘I haven’t seen him in five years. Why ask me; there must be more recent people in his life?’
‘We’re looking into all areas of his world – his recent past and a bit further back. We noticed he quit the fire service quite suddenly. In and of itself that’s no big deal, I know it’s a high-pressure job. But several of you left around the same time: you, Adesh, Gary Elder, Phil Maddox and Stuart Portbury,’ said Paulsen.
Walker noted immediately she’d rattled the names off without referring to her pocketbook, and he didn’t like it. She’d done more than just look them up; she’d committed those names to memory.
‘All within months of one another. It caught our eye,’ said Finn, impassive as he spoke. That was one failure already, Walker thought. The whole point of their staggered departures was to stop anyone spotting a pattern. Now, here were two police officers in his garden questioning him directly about it. Before he could reply, Christine emerged from the house brandishing a glass tumbler. She wheeled herself over and passed it to Finn, who returned her smile with a pleasant one of his own.
‘Pour yourself some tea, before it gets warm in the sun. There’s just a squeeze of lemon in there too.’
‘Lovely,’ said Finn, helping himself to a large glass as she watched approvingly.
‘I won’t be a gooseberry. I’m in the living room catching up on The Archers if you need anything,’ she said, before wheeling herself back towards the ramp again.
Walker waited for her to go before continuing.
‘I can’t speak for the rest of the boys . . . but I was fifty-one and Chrissie had just been diagnosed with MS. It was the right time for me to go. If something had happened to me on the job . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you can imagine where that would have left her.’
‘Do you know why Adesh quit?’ said Paulsen. ‘September of that year, wasn’t it?’
Again, she possessed the information at her fingertips.
‘I heard second hand it was something to do with his family, that they wanted him to stop. It’s not uncommon. You two must know it for yourselves; we’re in professions where you put your life at risk every day. And we’re probably the ones who worry about it the least.’
‘What was he like, Adesh?’
‘Quiet. Dependable. He learnt fast and was gutsy. If you’re running into a burning building you want someone like that watching your back. That’s the highest compliment I can pay.’
‘As a person? Did he have any enemies?’ Finn continued.
‘No. He wasn’t the type who drew attention to himself. He was a good kid – a bit impressionable maybe, but essentially sensible. He certainly didn’t deserve what happened to him.’
‘No, I’m sure,’ said Finn.
‘One other thing we noticed – you all left in the months after the blaze at One Pacific Square. You were first responders there, weren’t you?’ asked Paulsen.
Walker could feel his heart thumping now, the sun suddenly feeling twice as hot on his skin. He pulled a face as if trying to recall merely what he’d eaten the previous evening.
‘Yes. It was a hard night. Not one for rookies, not that any of us were. It was nothing to do with why I left though. But if it was a factor for the other fellas, I could understand it. You’d have to ask them.’
‘According to the police interviews done at the time, your crew handled the area where Erik Whitlock’s body was found. The third floor?’ said Paulsen. Walker nodded but didn’t reply.
‘Tell us what you found.’
‘It’s all on the record, I said it all at the time.’
‘Humour us, please,’ said Finn. ‘I’d like to hear it from someone in person. You actually found Whitlock’s body, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. He’d inhaled a lot of smoke but must have fallen when he passed out. He’d got trapped in some of the construction gear. We tried to free him, but we couldn’t shift it. It was too late.’
‘Too late to save him or to get the body out, you mean?’ asked Paulsen.
‘Both, I suppose. He’d been there too long, and there was no pulse. It’s as I said at the time – we were running short on air. It was all logged on the control boards, so you can see for yourself. We didn’t know if there was anyone else in there either. What you’ve got to understand is that the fire was above us. We were searching for potentially trapped people who shouldn’t have been there. There were teams who needed to get in and set up a control point to tackle the blaze itself. And you know how that turned out . . .’
‘Do you know who Erik Whitlock was?’ asked Finn.
‘Yes, I read the papers like everyone else. Some heavy who worked for . . . what did they call him? The Handyman?’ He said the name with disdain.
‘I don’t know about that, but he was certainly someone with strong links to the underworld. The people he associated with were exceptionally dangerous. Not the types you’d want to cross, put it that way.’
‘I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this. Are you saying it was arson that night?’
‘No, we’ve no reason to doubt the fire investigation team’s findings. But the way Adesh Kaul died – if it was deliberate – was nasty. The sort of thing the people we’re talking about might just do,’ said Finn.
Walker shrugged and held out his hands.
‘I can’t see why they’d have a problem with Adesh. Like I say, Whitlock was dead when we got to him. My only regret is we couldn’t retrieve the body for his family.’
‘And you saw nothing else unusual that night?’ said Paulsen.
‘No. Nothing at all.’
‘Then we won’t waste your time any longer. Thank you for talking to us. It’s been helpful,’ said Finn.
The three of them stood and walked back through the house. As Walker showed them to the front door, Finn reached into his pocket and produced a small card.
‘If there’s anything else that comes back to you – particularly regarding Pacific Square – then call us. This is my number.’
Walker was still stood there a full ten seconds after the door shut behind them when Christine joined him.
‘So what was all that about then?’
‘Nothing, love. Just good people doing their jobs. We won’t be seeing them again.’
But even as he said the words, he could feel his shirt sticking to the sweat running down his back.
Chapter 17
Paulsen spent her tube journey home re-reading the witness statements taken from the wedding guests. She kept the crime scene photographs of Adesh Kaul’s burnt remains carefully folded in her bag. They weren’t the sort of images you wanted slipping out on public transport. When she’d first seen them she’d been more curious than horrified. Kaul looked like he’d died in the middle of a fight. Which is precisely what they suspected did happen, but the posture was deceptive. The boxer-like pose of flexed elbows, knees and clenched fists was caused by the shrinkage of body tissues and muscle in the heat. It wasn’t an uncommon phenomenon apparently. One of the older male DC’s caught her studying the photos at her desk earlier, and immediately mansplained.
‘I bet I know what the post-mortem will say. I’ve dealt with a few fatal arsons in my time, so I know the drill,’ he’d begun. ‘The skin shrinks, then the fat starts leaking out. Your own lard basically stokes the fire – it can go on for hours if there’s no one else about. If your man was luck
y he was already dead at this point – doubt they’d have heard him screaming in the bogs though.’
Paulsen wasn’t sure if he was genuinely trying to be friendly or just patronising her. She’d felt like deciding it was the latter.
‘No shit,’ she’d responded, and he’d taken the hint.
She hadn’t been under the illusion Cedar House would be hugely different to Dunlevy Road, but the almost identikit men occupying the place was depressing. She felt the undercurrent in the room; the sideways glances she was receiving and the exchanged looks they thought she couldn’t see. She didn’t feel any great impetus to ease their discomfort either. Some of these men just wanted a wide-eyed young woman they could take under their wing and share their great experience with. There was nothing explicitly sexist about it. If anything, it was just their clumsy way of getting to know her. But she didn’t like it. It wasn’t who she was. Either she was accepted on her terms, or she wasn’t bothered about being accepted. She walked out of the exit from Tufnell Park tube station and began the fifteen-minute walk to the small one-bedroom flat she shared with Nancy.
They’d met on a canal boat party in Islington a couple of years before, both dragged there unwillingly by friends of the boat’s owner. The party was awful and they’d stood in a corner bonding over a shared line in acerbic humour. Mattie, as was her way, hadn’t held back. They’d snogged on dry land next to the boat and by the time they left, a day, time and place for a drink was agreed.
The date itself proved eventful. It started with a quiet glass of wine, and after an hour of small talk, Mattie suggested moving on somewhere else. Somewhere else, it turned out, was several more places, and they’d ended up getting hammered before collapsing back at Nancy’s flat. By the following morning they’d both begun to understand something fairly fundamental was taking shape. Mattie was brutally honest about some of her previous relationships, and was equally blunt in inquiring about Nancy’s past. She wasn’t a woman who seemed to care how she came across. It seemed more important to Mathilde Paulsen to be herself than spend time worrying about how she wished to be perceived. It was a quality Nancy found sexy as hell, but then she’d already decided that back on the canal boat.
In turn, Nancy was the one person Mattie confessed everything to. She’d been a rock in a situation where others might have been tempted to cut and run. There’d been a price though. Their previously tight relationship buckled at times under the weight of it, the doubt in Nancy’s eyes occasionally breaking Mattie’s heart. Some things could be forgiven but not necessarily forgotten.
Almost a year on they were still struggling to find a way through it. Nancy worked as a trainee social worker, and at times Mattie felt more like a client than a girlfriend. Nancy was endlessly trying to put a smile on her partner’s face, determined not to let her wallow in the past. Mattie often found the constant effort wearing. Then she’d see the hurt look on Nancy’s face and would feel a whole new wave of guilt.
Mattie was already on her second beer when Nancy came through the door.
‘Smells nice – what is it?’
‘Spaghetti margherita.’
‘That’s a pizza . . .’
‘Not now it isn’t . . .’
Nancy smiled.
‘Well, it smells good – and I’ll have one of those if you haven’t finished them all off?’ She pointed at the beer. Mattie retrieved two more bottles from the fridge and passed one to Nancy, who collapsed on a chair at the kitchen table.
‘So how’s work been? You haven’t really talked about it,’ Nancy said.
‘It’s exactly what you’d expect. Half the room looks at me with utter disapproval, the other half ogles me.’
‘And what about the men?’
Mattie found herself smiling despite herself. Nancy grinned back – it was rare her efforts to produce a smile actually worked these days.
‘Seriously, there must be some decent people there?’
‘Yeah – a few.’
‘Made any friends yet?’
Mattie glared and Nancy held her hands up in mock surrender.
‘It’d do you good to let a few new people in.’
‘Believe it or not I’ve been busy.’
She explained the outline of the Adesh Kaul investigation, and its connection to the Pacific Square fire. It was one of their shared rituals. Nancy liked to follow the mechanics of police procedural work, while Mattie enjoyed sharing the details.
‘I remember reading about the Stansted robbery, it was huge. Do you really think there’s a connection to that?’
‘Probably not. You should see the team investigating it. Talk about dead.’
‘So why do you reckon this guy was set on fire?’
Mattie took a thoughtful swig of beer.
‘You go to someone’s wedding. You wait for your victim to get married, then you douse the bloke in petrol and set him alight. How much do you have to hate someone to do that?’
There was a silence. They both knew what the other was thinking. In the end it was Nancy who said it.
‘You tell me, Mat.’
Ten minutes later they were both devouring large bowls of pasta, and the spotlight of the conversation was now on Finn.
‘To be honest, he doesn’t seem all there. His wife’s just died. I don’t know why they let him come back so soon.’
‘Why’s he back then?’
‘Short-staffed, and he’s clearly bright. Bit up himself though.’ She looked guilty. ‘Maybe that’s harsh, could just be the bereavement.’
‘You need to get on with these people, Mat.’
‘It’s early days. We’re all still sussing each other out. It’s what happens in nicks. Cops can be a bit like dogs, sniffing each other’s arses by way of hello. Though—’ She broke off suddenly, looking thoughtful. ‘Feels like I’ve been given to this bloke as a bit of a project.’
‘Are you sure you aren’t being paranoid? What do you think he knows?’
‘What could he know? No one knows the whole story. Except you.’
Mattie finished her meal and pushed the bowl away, tossing her fork into the middle of it.
‘I just want to be treated like any other police officer, what’s wrong with that?’
‘Because you’re not, Mattie. How can you be? Not now.’
Nancy grabbed the dirty plates and began loading up the dishwasher, as Mattie stretched out on the sofa.
‘All I’m saying is, why not let a few people in for a change? I just get a feeling you might need them, one day.’
‘Give it a rest, Nance,’ said Mattie lightly, but the warning tone underneath was unmistakable.
‘I’m serious. I’m worried about how this will end . . . that something really bad’s going to happen. Again.’
‘You’re being melodramatic. How is what going to end?’
‘That if you keep things bottled up, then . . . they’ll start leaking. It’s human nature. And then people will start looking at you. They’ll smell something isn’t right, if they haven’t already. You work in a building full of people trained to do exactly that. And once they start looking . . . then where does it go, what’s the endpoint?’
This time she was met with silence.
Chapter 18
A bit of retail therapy always helped, thought Gary Elder. He looked at the rectangular shopping bags lined up on his kitchen island. Prada, Hugo Boss and Emporio Armani were all helping to distract him from the events of the morning. Strolling down New Bond Street in the sunshine, he’d tried not to think about the uneasy reunion with his former crewmates. But this surely is what it was all about. Why they’d all quit. He’d genuinely thought they might be grateful too, but there’d been no warmth from anyone, no word of thanks.
It’d all been a bit melodramatic. Walker hadn’t changed though; he was still a condescending gobshite. The man was a hypocrite too. He’d played his part, but now wanted to wag his finger at them like naughty children. As for Maddox – once a spineless littl
e weasel, always one. He’d looked like he was going to crap himself in the pub. At least Portbury hadn’t whinged. Stuart didn’t count though; he was a bloke who relied on flying under the radar. He’d never liked people looking too hard at him – probably because there wasn’t that much to see.
Elder helped himself to a beer from the fridge. He wasn’t going to be frightened or intimidated. He’d no doubt things would settle down, but he hadn’t enjoyed how they’d made him feel earlier. Frankly, if he never saw any of them again then he’d be quite happy. He rubbed his arm absently; it was pink from walking in the sun earlier. The slight sting made him shiver, made him think of Adesh again. His flesh boiling and burning in the flames. Gary’s eyes fell on the shopping bags. What he needed, he decided, was a night out.
Elder parked the Maserati as he always did, a couple of streets away. Troy’s nightclub in Purley could get a little fruity of an evening, which was part of the fun. It wasn’t the sort of car you brought to the front door. Besides, it played into the game he liked to play when he got a girl interested. ‘Come outside – I’ll give you a lift home in the Maserati’ – they’d always laugh disbelievingly. Then as they left he’d pretend some of the old bangers parked up nearby were his, until they turned the corner and he played the double bluff. It usually guaranteed him at least a snog at that point, with the promise of a bit more later.
Elder liked the fact a fast car still impressed the girls. He increasingly found the twenty-somethings who frequented Troy’s a bemusing breed. In his day, you went out on a Friday night, sank a few beers and tried to get lucky. He smiled wryly as he remembered the pulling power of telling someone you were a fireman – almost up there with the Maserati. Now they all sat around in clusters, sipping their fancy cocktails, heads in phones, hardly talking to one another. And you needed to be careful – spill someone’s drink these days and you might get a squirt of acid in your face for your trouble.
He’d also got used to going out on his own. At first it was a bit of a leap into the unknown, and he’d felt a bit of a Billy no-mates. As his friends settled down with families, nights out like these had seemed to lose their allure. But it was like going to the cinema on your own, he reasoned; there was no shame in it. On arrival he’d always pop into the toilet and put on his Franck Muller watch (never to be worn out on the street unless you were really stupid), then sit at the bar sipping a cocktail and waiting for things to liven up. It was easy mingling then, and the watch would do the job of catching someone’s eye. If you were lucky it’d be the right eye; a girl looking for some adventure with someone who was clearly a man of the world. If James Bond were real, then surely this is how it would feel.
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