The Burning Men

by Will Shindler

  Again, he repeated the question with the same blunt entitlement. She was fighting hard to contain a low simmering rage.

  ‘If I was a male DC, would you have taken me out here and asked me that?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘You’d give them the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘That’s utterly ridiculous—’

  ‘And that’s twice you’ve used that word. A woman who challenges you is ridiculous, is she?’

  Finn could feel his own temper starting to rise now. Enigmatic he could tolerate. Rude, in-your-face insubordination was a whole other thing.

  ‘A friendly word of advice, Detective Constable Paulsen. If you want to be part of my team, you need to change your approach. These are good people here; they know what they’re doing. You’re treating them like something you trod in. Now you’re talking to me like I’m beneath you . . .’

  Her head was throbbing now as he spoke. She was back on top of that building with London spread out in front of her. The man with the pleasant smile was holding out his arms trying to reason with her while she inched ever closer. It was his face she could see, Finn’s voice she heard.

  ‘. . . you are a junior, new member of the team who’s yet to show anyone here what you can do. Frankly, you seem to have your head up your arse at times,’ Finn snapped. Paulsen seemed lost, but then her eyes focused on his. Later he’d remember that look.

  ‘Yeah, I’m every inch the temperamental bitch, aren’t I? Young and female means I’ve got my head stuck up my arse, obviously. Whereas all those middle-aged men next door—’ Finn was about to respond, but she didn’t let him. ‘Let me give you a friendly word of advice.’ She was almost shaking with anger. It was out of all proportion to the moment. He could feel something important was unfolding, but couldn’t quite understand what. Suddenly she was in his face, the words being screamed. ‘You shouldn’t be here! You’re cheating everyone in this building! Worse – you’re cheating the victims. I’m sorry your wife died, but you’re a mess. You’re broken. The whole room’s watching you stumble through this and it’s embarrassing. None of them have got the balls to say it to your face. Well, I have. And you’ve got the fucking nerve to lecture me?’

  It seemed to echo around the small space they were standing in. For an instant they stood face-to-face in silence, almost as if they were both too horrified to know how to respond. Finn waited for her anger to give way to something else, a self-awareness of where she was and what she was doing, but it didn’t come. If anything, her frown of contempt intensified. Still shaking with anger, she turned and walked away. He tried to call out, knew he should say something, but couldn’t. It was exactly how he’d felt in that bedroom at Kaul’s wake. He was paralysed, couldn’t speak and felt a rush of humiliation. What she’d said cut through to the core of him. Every last insecurity going on beneath the surface vocalised and thrown in his face. In normal circumstances he’d have dealt with it comfortably. God knows he’d handled enough gobby DCs over the years. But these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d lost his authority to a junior officer only half way through her first week and he’d have to find a way to claim it back. For both their sakes.

  Paulsen stormed down the corridor and straight into the toilets. She found a cubicle, locked it shut and took some deep breaths. She could feel her heart beating; there was almost white noise in her ears. Instantly she hated how she felt – she could only remember one other time she’d experienced such instant self-revulsion. Walking away from a multistorey car park, listening to the screams coming from the other side of the building. For an instant she was back in that moment. She shook her head, banishing the memory. It was the present she needed to worry about now.

  Finn didn’t chase after her. When he walked back into the incident room Paulsen was back at her desk working quietly, and he decided not to pursue it there and then. He was fairly sure that, once the red mist cleared, remorse would set in and then they’d talk. He glanced over again as he walked through, but her gaze was fixed firmly on her screen. If she was worried about the consequences, she wasn’t letting it show. As he sat at his own desk, Ojo came over to join him.

  ‘Guv, one of the firefighters called in. It’s Maddox, he wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Any idea what about?’

  ‘No, but that’s the thing. He wants you to meet him in person tonight – says there’s something you need to know.’

  Chapter 41

  Mike Godden was sat on a park bench watching a young mother feeding the ducks with her toddler. He’d give his soul to be that child, he thought. To have a clean slate, a chance to do it all again. He’d left the office to try and clear his head following the discovery he’d made earlier. Could Erik Whitlock really be alive? Ask any police officer and they’ll tell you nothing is ever impossible. It really wouldn’t have been beyond Ray Spinney’s means to have faked Whitlock’s death all along. There were plenty of advantages in having a man like that able to operate under the radar. Then again, there could be another explanation. Could Spinney be laying a trap for him? He’d surely know Godden would spot the identical phone numbers and draw these conclusions. It felt like bait dangling on a hook. But why?

  The possible endgame of his association with the Handyman was something Godden frequently thought about. His options were limited but he possessed one ace up his sleeve. It was very much a nuclear option; to use it might well provoke mutually assured destruction. They weren’t quite at that stage though. He checked his watch and sighed. He needed to tell Warrender about the phone numbers. If there was a possibility Whitlock was still alive and it hadn’t been thoroughly investigated, then some serious questions would be asked.

  Jim Farmer was lying in wait when he walked back into the office.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I don’t know where you are half the time these days, Mike, you never tell me.’

  ‘Didn’t realise we were a married couple, Jimbo,’ said Godden. ‘I’ve found something, as it happens, come and have a look at this.’ He showed Farmer the paperwork with the two phone numbers and explained their significance. The DC’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

  ‘What are you saying – that Whitlock’s still alive? That’s mad . . .’

  ‘Not necessarily. It could be someone else has inherited his network, or is trying to reactivate it for their own use. Whitlock worked for a lot of people, remember? Any one of them would see that network as a very useful mechanism for laundering money. It’s not like it’s a service you can buy on Amazon.’

  ‘So who do you think it could be?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

  ‘So is this what you were chasing yesterday?’ Farmer asked cautiously.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, mate – I couldn’t tell you, there wasn’t time. I needed to verify a few things.’

  Farmer looked unconvinced.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Harlow, if you must know.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  Christ, he knew something, thought Godden. A nasty thought seeded itself at the back of his mind.

  ‘Absolutely. No offence, Jimmy, but what’s with all the questions?’

  ‘You wouldn’t lie to me, Mike. Would you?’

  ‘Bloody hell, mate, where’s that coming from?’

  ‘Just tell me where you were yesterday.’

  ‘I just told you, Harlow. What’s going on, Jim?’

  Farmer looked hesitant, but hesitant was good as far as Godden was concerned and he took full advantage.

  ‘I promise you I’ll explain everything in due course, but right now I’m asking you to keep the faith. We’re close to something and it needs careful handling. Right now I need you to trust me.’

  ‘I do. But why can’t you tell me now?’ There was a different tone to Farmer’s voice. Insistent. With a sinking feeling, Godden realised this wasn’t going to go away.<
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  ‘Because of these numbers. We’ve got to find out who made those phone calls. Don’t you think that’s the priority? Especially if there’s a chance Whitlock’s alive.’

  Slowly Farmer nodded.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ said Godden.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I could use a hand with this, if you’re done playing twenty questions.’

  ‘Alright, sarge, if that’s what you want.’

  Godden grabbed his coat and walked over to the door.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Farmer, picking up his own jacket.

  ‘St Albans. One of Whitlock’s network works near there. He’s the closest to us and doesn’t know we know. It won’t hurt to lean on him a bit and see what he can give us.’

  Ten minutes later Godden was driving them both into the depths of the Hertfordshire countryside. Farmer hadn’t said a word since they left Chapel Row, and as Godden glanced across he could see the younger man was lost in thought. Thinking too hard was the last thing he wanted him doing.

  ‘Listen, as we’re going on a bit of a road trip, how’s about letting me ask you a few questions and then I’ll answer some of yours. How’s that sound?’

  ‘Alright, sarge, fair enough.’

  ‘And what’s with the “sarge” all of a sudden? Loosen up, mate. Why don’t you tell me how it’s going with . . . what’s her name? Julie, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Julia. And yeah, it’s going well, thanks.’

  ‘What’s she do again? HR?’

  Farmer nodded.

  ‘Didn’t you say she had a kid as well?’ Godden persisted. It was like getting blood out of a stone. Usually he couldn’t shut him up.

  ‘Yeah – Emily, she’s a little cracker.’ Farmer’s face finally broke into his old goofy grin. Hallelujah, Godden thought.

  ‘So how are you finding all that then?’

  ‘Brilliant, as it goes.’

  He was embarrassed, but the tension between them seemed finally to have broken. For the next half hour they chatted casually as Farmer regaled his experiences of the local soft-play areas. Just after they passed Hatfield, Godden took a sudden turn-off.

  ‘I thought you said we were going to St Albans?’ said Farmer.

  ‘Almost. This guy runs a landfill business about a mile from here.’

  They drove down a long curling approach road. A few minutes later they were greeted by something resembling the set of a science fiction film. It was a huge bowl of a place which looked as if the world’s largest dustbin had been tipped over it. It stank in the heat and they both winced as the stench hit them. Godden pointed at a large Portakabin overlooking the main expanse.

  ‘Come on, let’s try the main office.’

  There was rubbish as far as the eye could see. A yellow crane stood in the middle, as if abandoned mid-manoeuvre. Everything was eerily quiet as they left the car and began walking.

  ‘What are we doing out here, Mike?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘You know what we’re doing here; I told you what we’re doing here.’

  ‘Yeah, you showed me a phone number on a piece of paper and you also said that’s what you were chasing yesterday.’

  ‘Which I was.’

  ‘Except you only found out about that phone number today. The print-out you gave me was timestamped.’ Farmer stopped. ‘So what are we really doing out here?’

  ‘I don’t understand, Jimmy,’ Godden replied with affected irritation. They were standing on the lip of the steep bank which overlooked the dump below them, and there was just the faintest of echoes now as they spoke.

  ‘Then I’ll make it clear. I ran a cell site analysis on your phone yesterday and got the results fast-tracked this morning. You weren’t in Harlow; you were in central London. You went to a cafe near the British Museum and were there for exactly forty-two minutes then caught a train back from Liverpool Street station. So why are you lying to me?’

  Godden felt his stomach heave. The puppy-dog Jim Farmer he was used to was gone, and in his place was a Rottweiler. He’d never seen Farmer like this before, strident and sure of himself. For a second he wondered if he’d been played. Was this the real Jim Farmer and the puppy dog act just that – an act?

  ‘Who did you meet in London?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘Jimmy, if you went to the effort of doing a cell site, why on Earth didn’t you say something to me back in the office?’

  ‘Because I wanted to know what this little trip was really all about. And I also wanted to get you alone, somewhere neutral. I’m really hoping there’s a good reason for all this. Because you’re someone I respect, and I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself.’

  ‘Explain myself? Maybe I should remind you, mate – I’m a detective sergeant, you’re a DC. I don’t have to explain myself to you.’

  ‘Save it. Either tell me the truth or I can only assume you’re lying to cover your arse. The question is why.’

  ‘What reason would I have to lie?’

  ‘You know the rumours, Mike. People have said for years there’s a bent cop on the Stansted investigation team. You go off-grid yesterday and can’t tell me why. I find evidence you met with Erik Whitlock before he died and you claim you can’t remember it. A man at the centre of our investigation and you can’t remember whether you met him or not? Do me a favour.’

  Godden shook his head. ‘If all that were true, it would make me a very dangerous man. So coming out here alone with me wouldn’t be the smartest move, would it?’

  ‘I’d like to see you try something, Mike. I’m almost half your age and twice your size. Trust me, I’ve calculated the risk.’

  Godden held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

  ‘Hold your horses, Jimmy, this is all getting a bit out of hand. You’re bending the facts to fit your theory. That’s what bad police do. What you should be doing is altering your thinking to fit the available facts.’

  For the first time Farmer looked unsure.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I had some private business to take care of yesterday. That’s what I was doing in London.’

  ‘What kind of private business?’

  ‘I met a lawyer, okay? I’m having a few problems with Elaine, my ex-wife. I know I shouldn’t have done it in the middle of the day like that, but I didn’t have much choice. I needed to see him; it’s to do with Franny.’

  ‘Be more specific.’

  Godden motioned at the Portakabin with his hand.

  ‘Look – why don’t we do what we came here to do, and then I’ll tell you all about it over a coffee. Or we can have a fist fight right here. It’s up to you.’ He flashed his trademark quicksilver smile. The wind whistled around them for a moment, and Farmer nodded guardedly.

  When they reached the Portakabin door they found it unlocked and entered. The place looked like it’d been neglected a while. Papers lay randomly scattered over tabletops, and there were the dregs of old cups of tea which appeared to have been ignored for months. The smell inside was no better than it was outside.

  ‘Looks pretty dead to me,’ said Farmer.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Godden.

  ‘Yeah, you do. You knew this place would be deserted, that’s why you chose it.’

  ‘Chose it? For what?’

  ‘You tell me, Mike.’

  ‘This is madness. I told you why we’re here.’

  ‘Do you know what I did yesterday after you told me you couldn’t remember meeting Whitlock? I went through everything. Not after Whitlock died, but from before.’

  Godden nodded slowly, almost approvingly; it’s exactly what he would have done. ‘Before Pacific Square burnt down you were in contact with a Polish guy, Jan Gacek. I traced his number from your desk phone; there were multiple calls in the week leading up to the fire. Turns out he was employed by Densmead Construction, the contractors who were building Pacific Square. Fancy telling me what that was all about?’

  ‘Jim . . .’ Go
dden took a step forwards.

  ‘Back off, Mike,’ said Farmer sharply. ‘I’ll tell you what I think – I think you were arranging access for Whitlock at the construction site. I think Gacek was the guy who let him in that night.’

  Godden nodded, as if there was a simple explanation.

  ‘Jim. It’s like this . . .’

  Without warning he threw a punch, sending Jim reeling. He followed it up with a second, and moved in for a third but Farmer was back on his feet almost immediately. He grabbed Godden before he could strike again and subdued him with ease, the older man blowing hard at the exertion.

  ‘Don’t make me hurt you, Mike. Because if I hit you, you won’t get back up. Do you understand?’

  Godden stood stock-still. He felt sick as a dog. Everything he’d worked for was unravelling. He looked around the room, desperate to find some means of turning this around. Farmer could see what he was thinking, and slapped his face with his open palm.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Godden with surprise.

  ‘I said, do you understand?’ repeated Farmer. Godden nodded. Farmer pushed him up against the wall.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Jim!’

  ‘Give me the key fob for the car.’

  Godden reached into his pocket and held it out. Cautiously, Farmer took it from him.

  ‘Now hold out your hands.’

  Godden did as he was told. Farmer pulled some handcuffs from his jacket pocket and snapped them on him, leading him out of the Portakabin.

  They walked back the way they’d come, along the steep bank overlooking the huge site below.

  ‘How long have you been fucking this investigation over? Since the start?’ He gave him a shove and Godden stumbled forwards.

  ‘Tell me something, Jim . . . this little girl of your girlfriend’s – Emily?’

  ‘Shut up about her, just walk nice and slow back to the car.’

  ‘When you look into her eyes, wouldn’t you do anything to make sure she was okay?’ Godden stopped and turned. ‘Trust me, it’s no different when they get older. I did all this for Franny.’

  He looked Farmer bolt in the eye and for a moment there was vulnerability. It gave him the opportunity he needed. He threw himself forwards with a roar, head down. Farmer staggered backwards, and his foot gave way underneath him. He tripped and fell back over the brow, somersaulting down the steep clay-coloured embankment until finally coming to a halt at the bottom. Godden peered cautiously over. The body was quite still for a second and then it twitched. Farmer seemed to be slowly trying to prop himself up with one hand but couldn’t make it and fell back again. There was a winding path around the side of the site which led down there, and Godden quickly started to pad round it.