The Burning Men

by Will Shindler

  He’d been there around forty-five minutes when he saw a blonde staring at him from the other side of the bar. She wore a dress that was more like a belt, with legs which went up to her armpits. He blazed her a smile. Ten minutes later he’d established her name was Sam and was being introduced to some of her mates – two rather giggly girls and a couple of suspicious-looking lads. He couldn’t work out if Sam was with either of the boys, but he wasn’t bothered. He had the clothes, the car and the watch. The battle, if there was one, was already over – they just didn’t know it yet.

  His early optimism was quickly punctured. As the night wore on, he began to feel the two decades or so which separated him from this generation. He remembered as a teenager monosyllabically answering his parents’ questions, and this felt exactly the same. The difference was he was now the old fart whose presence was embarrassing and unwelcome. The Maserati didn’t even engender any interest. When he’d described some of the specs they’d nodded politely and changed the subject on to some reality TV show involving celebrities on an island.

  He looked across at Sam to see if she was still interested, but even the idea of taking her home suddenly repelled him. It felt like it would be bordering on paedophilia. To rub insult into injury one of the lads – Al or Alfie, something like that – asked him if his kids knew he was out, and shouldn’t he be getting back home to them? They’d fallen about laughing, and Elder decided enough was enough.

  He felt strangely unsettled and niggled as he walked back to the car. He hadn’t enjoyed the day. Poor old Adesh in the morning, then the uncomfortable reunion at the pub, and now a humiliating evening in Troy’s. A good night’s sleep is what he needed and then he’d go again. He unlocked the car but didn’t notice the man in black padding up behind him. The same man who’d followed him from his house when he’d set off for Troy’s earlier in the evening. The same man who’d sat in his own rather more modest vehicle, patiently waiting for him to return. Elder felt something strike the back of his head and everything went dark.

  When he woke, he could feel the lump on his skull starting to rise. He was in the Maserati, he realised quickly – in the driver’s seat. He was buckled in and as he looked down saw plastic flex wrapped around him. Something wet splashed down his face. Fumy and oily; he recognised it immediately as petrol. Confusion turned to fear. He wriggled at the bonds. He couldn’t move. A dark figure loomed over him holding a plastic bottle. Elder strained to see the face but was stuck fast.

  ‘Who are you? What is this?’

  But he already knew what was going on. What was happening. What was going to happen. How was this even possible? He strained to look out of the open door of the car. It was dark, but he could see they were on a concrete forecourt outside what looked like some lock-ups. There were loads of places like this in the area, deserted even in the middle of the day. His terror was only matched by the impossibility of the situation. Randomly an image of his mother came into his mind. How she’d looked when he was a boy. He was crying now with fear, the tears mingling with the petrol dripping down his face.

  ‘Come on, mate . . .’ said Elder, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper. The man was now walking steadily backwards, emptying the plastic bottle in a long straight stream until he was a safe distance away. Elder couldn’t take his eyes off him. The man tossed the bottle aside, and pulled a silver Zippo lighter out from his pocket, together with a piece of paper. An orange glow lit up the darkness and Elder saw the paper was actually a twenty-pound note.

  ‘Don’t do this. Please, I can help – whatever this is about.’

  The figure held the note to the flame and waited for it to catch. His face became part illuminated, a set of teeth baring a wolfish grin. He held the note up, the flame already eating its way through, then parted his thumb and forefinger and let it drift slowly to the ground.

  Chapter 19

  There was no getting away from it, thought Finn, the evenings were a trial. He was watching an M&S Moroccan meatball ready meal slowly rotate in the microwave. He and Karin always made time to cook after work. She always believed it was important to sit around the table and eat together, however late in the day. They’d enjoyed some of their best conversations over a chicken curry at half past ten at night, and they were moments he used to anticipate during the day. Without her, a ready meal with a glass of wine was enough to fill his belly and take the edge off the fact she wasn’t there to share it. He uncorked a half-drunk bottle of Rioja as the microwave beeped at him. He looked over at it resentfully and felt his heart sag. He put the cork back in the bottle, checked the time then reached for his phone. Perhaps tonight there was an alternative.

  Finn walked into the familiar lounge of The Red Cow and saw who he was looking for straight away. Sat in the corner nursing a glass of wine was Jackie Ojo. It’d been a hopeful call; with a six-year-old boy to look after, he didn’t think she’d be free at short notice. He was delighted when she said she was. He ordered himself a single malt and brought her over a second glass of red.

  ‘You managed to get childcare then?’

  ‘Yeah, my mum. Always complains when I ask, then complains when I don’t.’

  ‘Sorry for the late call.’

  ‘So what can I do for you, guv? I was expecting a night in front of the telly.’

  ‘You can drop the guv tonight for a start, Jacks.’

  It was true to say Finn actively went out of his way to avoid making friends at work. Ojo was the exception to the rule, but even then it was complex. In the early days their working relationship hadn’t been so close. As a middle-class white male DI with a Cambridge education, she’d quickly formed a very particular view of him. In turn, he’d found her cool exterior both frustrating and unhelpful. That all changed after one particular investigation: a woman battered to death by a boyfriend with years of form for domestic abuse. They couldn’t prove he’d killed her, and he knew it. Finally, they’d found a way in. It’d been Ojo who’d spotted it first; their suspect was an abuse victim himself, only he’d never recognised it. Once they’d teased that out into the open, the confession followed quite quickly. Afterwards they’d gone for a drink to celebrate. That’s when they’d discovered how wrong they’d been about one another, and a bond was formed. There was nothing remotely romantic to it, just two people talking shop and finding themselves on the same wavelength. It became an infrequent tradition. Once or twice a year, rank would go out of the window and they’d work their way through a few bottles putting the world to rights. They were nights they both enjoyed, because sometimes it takes a cop to understand a cop. Even Karin had understood that.

  Finn found Ojo’s worldview refreshing. She didn’t tolerate bullshit and didn’t hold back when it came to giving her views on the hierarchy of both Cedar House and the Met. One thing he respected about her was she didn’t use these infrequent blowouts to simply bitch about people. That could be because he was the DI and she saw it as unprofessional, but his instinct was that she simply didn’t like backstabbing. So, when she made a criticism, he knew it came from a constructive place, however bluntly expressed.

  ‘These are slightly strange times, and I thought I owed you an explanation,’ said Finn. She looked at him searchingly and he got a sense she was biting her tongue. As a detective sergeant she’d regularly been Finn’s number two, the bridge between the DI and the DCs. Now all of a sudden, she’d been displaced by a moody DC who’d been dropped in from nowhere.

  ‘I take it you’re referring to Paulsen? I assumed she’d been dumped on you by Skegman because I was working the Thornton Heath stabbing.’

  ‘Well . . . there’s certainly something to that.’

  ‘It’s alright – my nose wasn’t out of joint. I don’t mind taking a step back on this one.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve worked with you long enough. If there was a problem, you’d tell me. I reckoned you were putting her through her paces. To see what she’s all about.’

  ‘That
’s about the size of it. So now you’ve seen her in action – what do you make of her?’

  Ojo smiled enigmatically. Finn was beginning to recognise that expression when it came to Paulsen. He’d seen the same look on Skegman’s face in YoYo’s at the start of the week.

  ‘She’s different, I’ll give you that. Are you asking me because you want to know what I think or because you want to know what the hairy-ear brigade are saying?’

  ‘If by that you mean your middle-aged male colleagues – of which I count myself one – then yes . . .’

  Ojo took a sip of her wine.

  ‘Honestly? They don’t like her.’

  ‘Do I need to have a chat with her?’

  ‘Not yet. It might just be some defensive bullshit. It is her first week. See how she beds in before you start getting heavy.’

  ‘I’m assuming the problem’s her attitude rather than her gender?’

  ‘It’s a nick, not some hipster coffee shop. There’s a few . . . shall we say . . . reformed dinosaurs in there. There’s also a few idiots like Dave McGilligott who react like pubescent schoolboys when a young woman comes into the mix.’

  ‘How did you deal with all that when you started?’

  ‘I didn’t. Hated every minute of it. At one point I was almost ready to give up. But I didn’t, and that’s the point.’

  Finn was surprised. Ojo was always so unflappable, with a nice line in acerbic put-downs for anyone who overstepped the mark. It upset him he hadn’t recognised how distressed she’d been. It also immediately strengthened his resolve not to let the same thing happen to Paulsen.

  ‘I’d no idea it was that bad.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to make a meal out of it. I don’t think anyone meant anything genuinely malicious. It was more the daily accumulation – being patronised, not trusted as much as the male DCs. Comments about the way you’re dressed, your make-up and all the rest.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You think there was some great moment? Some big blow-out where I put them all in their place?’ She took another sip of her drink and shook her head as she remembered. ‘Nothing like that. They just got used to having me about and it calmed down by itself. It’s as simple and empty as that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jacks. I’d no idea.’

  ‘The one thing about men you can rely on is their short attention spans. It’s crap when it comes to relationships, useful when it comes to workplace bollocks.’

  ‘Is there anything you can do to help Paulsen?’

  ‘Help her? She’s got to help herself. She needs to stop sitting there like a duchess not talking to anyone, for a start. They can take it from you – they know you’re a moody bugger – but if she doesn’t change her ways, things will start to get nasty, trust me.’

  Finn absorbed what he was being told, but it was more a confirmation of what he already knew. It was good getting Jackie’s perspective. He’d spent too much time alone in the flat.

  ‘So how are you then, guv? Sorry – Alex . . .’ She said his name with a deliberate layer of awkwardness and they both smiled.

  ‘Let’s stick with guv. I’m . . . managing, I suppose.’

  ‘There’s a lot of concern among the team.’

  ‘Concern? Really? Or do they think I shouldn’t be back?’

  ‘Now you’re being paranoid. It’s just very soon to be back, is all.’

  ‘How do I seem to you?’

  ‘Honestly? Not one hundred per cent and I’ve known you a while. If you were on my team, I’d send you home again.’

  Finn wasn’t expecting that, and the answer rocked him. It’s why he valued her so highly though. It vaguely irritated him they didn’t talk like this more during the working week.

  ‘I wouldn’t put myself in this position if I genuinely thought I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘How many times have you thought about your wife today?’

  The honest answer was she was always there. On his journey to work, at the wake in Harlesden, in Martin Walker’s garden . . . He didn’t expect it to be any different tomorrow either.

  ‘I’m guessing a lot. And if you hadn’t been thinking about her, what would have been filling your head? The investigation, most likely. And you and I both know, jobs like this get solved in that thinking time; that’s where the real work gets done.’

  ‘I reckon I was at about eighty per cent today. And that’s the truth.’

  Ojo gave him an old-fashioned look.

  ‘That’s a big twenty per cent. Just saying . . .’

  The barman brought over a far-from-appetising-looking hamburger and went to put it in front of Ojo. She pointed at Finn, barely hiding her disgust at the steaming, greasy pile.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you? I’m starving,’ said Finn. This, he noticed, was another side effect of bereavement; days of no appetite at all, followed by junk food binging. He took a bite and washed it down with a swig of whisky. He offered her a chip, and despite herself she took one and began chewing on it thoughtfully.

  ‘So are we really chasing the Handyman then?’ she asked.

  Finn, mouth full of burger, just rolled his eyes and carried on munching.

  ‘I’ll tell you something about the Stansted robbery,’ Ojo continued. ‘Someone I trained with at Hendon was working up there at the time. Two days after the robbery, the security guard they dumped in the field with the van driver comes forward. His three-year-old boy’s been talking about a “funny man” at school.’

  ‘Two days afterwards? They must have balls the size of—’

  ‘Exactly,’ cut in Ojo. ‘Some bloke gets into the nursery school unnoticed and somehow manages to get this kid alone. He gives the boy a bag of those chocolate coins and a note for his dad; it’s a warning to forget what he saw. They were making a point – we can get to your kid whenever we want. If they ever do make an arrest and need him to ID someone, I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ said Finn.

  ‘Would people like that think twice about burning a man alive?’

  ‘But why? What could these guys have possibly done?’ Finn’s brow furrowed and he stared into the middle distance for a moment. Ojo shrugged. Finn carefully put his burger down and wiped his hands with a napkin.

  ‘Alright. Let’s play a game.’

  Ojo smiled and shrugged. She knew that expression, when his brain was properly assaulting a problem. She also wondered if that wasn’t the point of the drink – that he needed a sounding board and there was no one at home now to bounce off.

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Why would the Handyman – or whoever he is – come after Adesh Kaul? The only link is Whitlock . . .’

  ‘. . . who was a money launderer.’

  ‘Exactly, so maybe he brought money with him to Pacific Square, and went there to meet someone. The place was deserted and central – the perfect place for an exchange.’

  ‘But Whitlock’s remains were the only ones that were found.’

  ‘So perhaps he was there early, or someone else didn’t show. Either way, the fire breaks out. We know the cause of the blaze was a builder’s kettle. That was proved categorically by the fire investigation. The crew wouldn’t have known they were even going until the first 999 call is made.’

  ‘So if they crossed paths with Erik Whitlock it would have been accidental,’ said Ojo.

  ‘And if Whitlock did bring money with him, then the first crew that goes in – before the building goes up in smoke – would find Whitlock and his money.’

  Ojo mulled it over for a moment, looking for holes.

  ‘Kaul’s wedding was expensive – we know that. And there’s that cash he was paying into his account.’

  ‘Suddenly not so implausible, is it?’ said Finn. ‘I’ll tell you something else – Martin Walker’s house has had some serious money thrown at it. There were chairlifts, ramps, extensions all over the shop. I might be reaching – but it looked a lot for a man living on his pen
sion.’

  Ojo was nodding now as she followed his logic.

  ‘It fits. If it was the Stansted money, then it gives the people who originally stole it a decent enough motive to kill Kaul. But why do it now? Why so long after the event?’

  ‘Because they’ve only just found out?’ He shrugged. ‘Or I’m making patterns out of something that really isn’t there and he was barbecued by someone whose pint he spilt last week.’

  ‘No, it’s a decent explanation. If Kaul was sitting on a pile of money, he must have been keeping it somewhere.’

  ‘I hope I’m wrong. If they did take the Stansted proceeds and the robbers now know . . . then they’re way out of their depth.’

  ‘You think the other four men could be in danger too?’ said Ojo.

  ‘I keep coming back to the way Kaul was killed. The setting, the method – it was done for a reason. What if that reason was to very visibly punish him?’

  Finn suddenly felt very tired and shook his head. Ojo smiled sympathetically.

  ‘Get some sleep, guv. We aren’t going to solve it tonight. But it’s a good theory.’ She checked her watch. ‘I ought to be going too – my boy will be doing everything he can not to be going to bed.’

  ‘Thanks for coming out, Jacks, I appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem – we’ll do it again this time next year.’

  Her expression suddenly turned serious.