The Burning Men

by Will Shindler

  The expression on John Skegman’s face was withering. It didn’t sound great out loud, Finn was forced to concede, and the DCI was entitled to be a little sceptical. They were with Paulsen and Ojo in the incident room as they regrouped after Godden’s interview. Warrender was on his way back up to Chapel Row. He’d barely said a word afterwards and Finn almost hadn’t known what to say to him. A day which began with the expectation he might finally bring the Stansted investigation to a close was instead ending in yet more failure. Finn empathised – it was hard not to. By the end of the interview he’d wanted to wipe Godden’s smile off his face too. There was a certain grim comfort in the likelihood someone would be doing that sooner rather than later.

  The idea Spinney wasn’t behind the killings left them all a little bamboozled. There was something about Godden which convinced Finn though. Looking him in the eye – one police officer to another – he was certain the man was speaking the truth. He’d nothing to lose, and even now was still thinking and reasoning like a detective.

  Skegman turned his attention to Ojo and Paulsen.

  ‘What do you two think?’

  ‘If it’s not Spinney, then logically who would have the motive to kill these men?’ said Paulsen.

  ‘Someone with a grudge?’ offered Ojo.

  ‘Obviously,’ scowled Paulsen.

  ‘I meant . . . perhaps another firefighter from the same station – someone who found out about the money and was jealous,’ Ojo retorted.

  ‘Have we found anything which backs that idea up? I’d like a theory at this point which is at least rooted in something solid,’ snapped Skegman.

  ‘And I’d like a ponytail. Disappointment abounds,’ said Finn, running a hand up his closely trimmed scalp.

  There was silence for a moment. Ojo’s face cracked into a broad smile. Even Paulsen’s frown relaxed. Skegman glowered at Finn, who finally shrugged.

  ‘Jackie’s suggestion makes sense, actually. The only thing that connects these men is their former profession. It must be linked to that.’

  ‘There’s also the money,’ said Paulsen. ‘It could be someone with a specific grudge against Spinney.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’ said Ojo.

  ‘An internal dispute between Spinney and some other gangster? If you wanted to smoke him out, you kill the fire crew and take the money. His money. It might be a way of provoking him. We all know the hardest thing with that man is simply finding him.’

  Finn shook his head. ‘The deaths have been too graphic, they feel personal. If it was a gang war thing, you wouldn’t go to these lengths. The use of fire seems deliberate too, like it’s important to the killer.’

  ‘How are the other two men getting on?’ asked Skegman.

  ‘Walker and Portbury are both under surveillance,’ said Finn. ‘They’ve been given panic alarms, we’ve got high-speed pursuit vehicles standing ready by each of their properties, and there are firearms units on standby.’

  ‘Are they coping with that?’

  ‘Walker’s comfortable enough – he just wants to make sure his wife’s safe. But Portbury insists on pretending it’s not happening, though I think the penny’s finally dropping,’ said Finn.

  ‘Once we’ve resolved the direct threat to their lives, we’re going to have to investigate them hard. There’s still no admission they actually took any money, I take it?’ said Skegman.

  ‘We’ve still no hard evidence there ever was any money,’ said Paulsen.

  ‘Portbury’s absolutely certain he hasn’t done anything wrong,’ said Finn.

  ‘Could he be telling the truth?’

  ‘He’s a funny one,’ said Paulsen. ‘I’ve been to his flat – there’s no visible sign of any unusual expenditure, and he’s adamant – between the lines – that he wasn’t party to anything the other four might have done.’

  ‘How’s he been earning a living since he retired?’ asked Skegman.

  ‘He’s some sort of odd-job man. When we looked over his accounts there didn’t seem to be that much going in. The business isn’t registered on Companies House either. But what was really odd was that he only ever seems to have had one client. Not a single payment from anyone else.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Finn.

  ‘It’s a Japanese name – Tsukuda.’

  Finn and Skegman looked blankly at each other but Paulsen reacted immediately.

  ‘But she was here this morning . . .’

  ‘What are you taking about?’ said Finn. ‘Who was here this morning?’

  ‘Is the initial M?’ asked Paulsen urgently, and Ojo nodded.

  ‘It’s Mei Tsukuda. She’s Erik Whitlock’s widow.’

  Chapter 52

  With two officers in situ outside Stuart Portbury’s flat they at least knew where he was. Skegman ordered a Territorial Support Group team to join them there and rendezvous with Finn and Paulsen. Part of the Met’s Specialist Crime and Operations unit, they were the heavy-duty support you called in for a drugs raid or for calming a riot. Paulsen queried whether they were necessary, but Skegman reminded her of the attack on Finn at Phil Maddox’s flat. The weapon of choice then was a Halligan bar – a standard piece of firefighter’s kit, and they’d yet to prove it belonged to the dead man. Nothing at this point could be assumed.

  ‘So are we now looking at Portbury as a suspect? That doesn’t make any sense to me,’ said Paulsen, as Finn weaved through the mid-afternoon traffic.

  ‘Right now he’s a potential suspect and a potential victim. We need to know what he wanted with Whitlock’s widow, and why he felt the need to pose as a tradesman to do it.’

  ‘He obviously wanted to get close to her, but I can’t see any possible motive to it.’

  ‘There’s also that money she’s been receiving through the door. Unless you believe her husband’s returned from the dead – and I don’t – someone’s been looking out for her.’

  ‘You think it might be Portbury?’ said Paulsen.

  ‘It could be any of Whitlock’s associates. Someone he made a deal with in the event of his death. We know Stuart wasn’t spending his cash on flash cars or poncey penthouses – so is that where his share is going?’

  Paulsen looked bemused and stared out of the window for a moment.

  ‘This is important though, isn’t it – this link?’ said Paulsen, and Finn nodded.

  ‘I think so.’

  He looked across at her as he spoke and her frown morphed into that now familiar lopsided grin. Not for the first time the transition caught him by surprise. It was strangely infectious, and he allowed a smile of his own back in return. She could feel the potential breakthrough, the significance of it, which pleased him. It was something he could work with, despite all the other baggage she seemed to carry. It was a sensibility you either possessed or didn’t. Jackie Ojo was born with it, even Godden showed under interrogation he still possessed it, but fatally Warrender didn’t. It struck Finn then just how scared he’d been he’d lost it since Karin’s death. The extent to which losing her was changing him he couldn’t yet gauge. As he turned on the unmarked car’s flashing blue light and put his foot down, he sensed it was a needless fear. What he wasn’t quite so sure of was whether it was the investigation or DC Mattie Paulsen that’d brought him back from the brink.

  Twenty minutes later they arrived at the small road where Stuart Portbury lived. The O2 Arena was just about visible in the middle distance behind the rows of high-rise new builds. Finn parked up behind a red Vauxhall Corsa. Inside the Vauxhall were DCs Sami Dattani and Amy Hunt. Finn knocked on the passenger door and Dattani lowered the window.

  ‘How are we doing, Sami?’

  ‘All quiet, guv. He’s been in all day. He nipped out to the shops to buy a loaf of bread and some milk at about midday, but he’s been home alone since then.’

  ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘Brought these out for us.’ Hunt held up a packet of half-eaten custard creams. ‘Very nice too – but that’s about i
t.’

  ‘What about the other occupants of the building?’

  ‘There’s one other flat above him but the owner’s at work,’ replied Hunt.

  ‘And where are the TSG team?’ asked Finn.

  ‘They’ve parked in the next street and are waiting on your word to proceed,’ said Dattani.

  Finn pulled out his radio and gave the sergeant in charge of the TSG team the go-ahead to deploy. Finn and Paulsen waited with the two DCs as the six-man unit manoeuvred into position. One officer covered the rear of the building, while one each covered the two sides to ensure all possible exits were covered. Within a couple of minutes, the sergeant and the remaining two officers joined them by the Vauxhall. All three were dressed in their distinctive protective gear. They each wore stab vests and carried batons, pepper spray and tasers. One of them was carrying an Enforcer – the large battering ram used for smashing doors in. Given what happened the last time he’d visited one of these firefighters, Finn was pleased to see them.

  ‘Let’s do this. Hopefully you guys won’t be needed,’ he said, then waited, as the TSG sergeant radioed the rest of his team to tell them they were now deploying. Finn walked up to Portbury’s front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. He waited then rang it for a second time. Again, no response. The TSG sergeant radioed the three officers surrounding the building, but none of them reported any movement.

  ‘What if we’ve got this wrong, guv? What if the killer’s already inside?’ said Paulsen.

  ‘How? We’ve had eyes on him all day.’

  The TSG officer carrying the Enforcer was already stepping forwards. Finn nodded at him to proceed and after a couple of attempts, the door gave way with a loud splintering shatter. The three TSG men surged into the flat, shouting ‘Police! Police!’ It was standard practice – they were moving fast and loud so that they could overwhelm any potential resistance without the use of force. Finn stood at the broken entrance and took a deep breath while they waited, before turning to Paulsen.

  ‘I can’t smell burning . . .’

  After a few moments the TSG sergeant walked back through and re-joined them. He shrugged.

  ‘The place is empty. He’s not here.’

  Chapter 53

  Stuart Portbury

  This is like solitary confinement! Fancy giving them the slip and meeting up? 14:34

  Walker smiled as he read the message. He wasn’t fighting this alone then. If there was one man left from the old days he’d want in the trenches with him, it was Stuart. Quiet and dependable Stuart. Walker more than fancied it – he desperately needed someone to talk to. They could message each other, but the appeal of getting out was strong. Stuart was right; the house was feeling like a prison cell. Things with Christine were tense and the atmosphere was difficult. He was also certain the threat was solely directed at him and Portbury. Whatever else happened, the killer hadn’t hurt anyone close to Kaul, Elder or Maddox. The two cops outside would ensure no harm came to Chrissie if it came to it.

  He’d also been giving a lot of thought to where the danger might be coming from. Spinney didn’t seem to know in Whitstable, so it begged the question, who else did know about the money? Walker’s best guess was someone must have blabbed. Elder or Maddox were the likeliest candidates. Gary could never keep his trap shut, especially if he thought it would impress female company. Maddox was different, but alone with his laptop one night, who knew what he’d posted or emailed. It might even have been Adesh in an unguarded moment; it was impossible to tell. But once the information was out there, who knew who’d picked up on it.

  Stuart suggested going to a nearby hotel where they wouldn’t be disturbed. There was no point drawing attention to themselves by meeting somewhere public. Ten minutes after the first message Portbury confirmed he’d booked a room at a Travelodge in Battersea and the meet was on. The irony of the location wasn’t lost on Walker; all roads seemed to lead back to Pacific Square in some form these days. Hopefully they’d figure out a way to regain some control of the situation, and he’d be home before Stan and Ollie out the front knew he’d ever been gone. Christine was taking an afternoon nap. He’d noticed she was doing this a lot now. They were getting longer and longer too. He guessed she was finding some refuge in sleep.

  Walker took a perverse pleasure in evading his police protection. He’d clambered into his next-door neighbour’s garden, then shinned over the fence into the adjacent side road where the Uber he’d booked was obligingly waiting. Now, a short time later, he was walking down the bland corridors of the Travelodge. Arriving at the door he was looking for, he checked his surroundings, then knocked. There was a split second of anxiety when there was no immediate answer, but he was flooded with relief when he heard footsteps on the other side. The door opened and Walker smiled as he saw his old colleague’s familiar face.

  ‘It’s good to see you, mate, I can’t lie. Who’d have thought it would come to this, eh?’

  Portbury said nothing and closed the door behind them.

  ‘Stuart was there the night Erik died – are you sure?’

  Mei Tsukuda, or Mei Whitlock as she’d once been known, looked a pale shadow of the battle-hardened woman Paulsen met earlier at Cedar House. She was bemused by the revelation regarding Portbury and visibly struggling to make sense of it. After finding Portbury gone, they’d called the officers waiting outside Martin Walker’s home, but there had been no movement in or out. Mei was the next obvious person to visit once they’d considered their options outside Portbury’s empty flat. They were now sat in her immaculate kitchen, where the full extent of his relationship with her was becoming clear.

  To Paulsen’s surprise, Finn was quite relaxed about Portbury’s disappearance. He refused to judge it until they knew more. The man might simply have fled out of fear, with good reason too. Paulsen felt less generous though. There was something creepy about the former firefighter’s interest in the woman sat in front of them. But she was learning to respect the way Finn’s brain operated. He worked the permutations like no police officer she’d ever encountered before – sifting them, stress-testing them, constantly rotating them to see if a different outcome would present itself. It was like watching someone play chess on three different boards simultaneously. And all this, just days after cremating his wife. She shuddered with embarrassment, remembering what she’d said to him in that small room in Cedar House. The accusations she’d made, the language she’d used. She’d lost control of herself, and temporarily lost her moral compass too. It wasn’t the first time and she felt ashamed. Yet here she still was, right next to him in the thick of a murder investigation, his faith in her seemingly unbroken. It was extraordinary, and she felt somewhere along the way a bridge of trust had formed between them. She’d also noticed earlier that he’d made a point of not bawling out Dattani and Hunt, the two DCs who were supposed to be watching Portbury. They’d been mortified at losing him, but he’d made it clear it wasn’t their fault and that Portbury was responsible for his own actions. Paulsen saw the respect in their eyes. She’d underestimated him, but that conversation – those words she’d thrown in his face like a full-on fist – would still need addressing at some point.

  ‘How did you first meet him?’ asked Finn, and Mei breathed out as she tried to remember.

  ‘He put a card through my door – advertising himself as an all-purpose tradesman. As it turned out I needed a plumber, and he said it was something he could help with when we spoke later on the phone.’

  ‘Makes sense – he was hedging his bets, gambling you needed something he could offer. As a former firefighter, he would probably possess a pretty useful all-round skillset,’ said Finn.

  ‘He helped with a number of things around the house and his prices were very reasonable. But you’re saying he did all that just to get close to me?’

  ‘I think so. You were suggesting earlier a relationship of sorts built up with each visit?’

  ‘Not like that – it was more a friendship. He
didn’t seem to want anything except to help. He never made any kind of advance towards me, or even gave the impression that’s what he was interested in. He was the perfect gentleman, and I trusted him. He gave me good advice . . . I let him talk to my son. He helped my son.’ She looked horrified by the thought now.

  ‘There’s no reason to think he meant either of you any harm,’ said Paulsen.

  ‘So why was he doing it?’

  Finn stared for a moment at the ornate row of mini cactus plants on the black marbled kitchen counter behind them, as if they contained a secret. But he was working the permutations again – Paulsen was starting to recognise the signs.

  ‘There’s one explanation which makes sense, one that answers every question. But you’re not going to like it.’

  ‘So how have you been bearing up?’ said Walker. He was sat on a chair next to a desk loaded up with leaflets advertising the hotel’s amenities. Portbury was stood with his back to him, staring out of the window of the narrow room. Even sat down, Walker could see the outline of One Pacific Square looming over them.

  ‘Do you ever regret it?’ asked Portbury.

  ‘Taking the money? All the time, every day . . . and not at all. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I’m a proud man, Stu. I’m proud of an awful lot of what I’ve done with my life. What we did. You, me, Adesh, Gary and Phil. Running into burning buildings, putting our lives on the line. Helping people, saving them. And we did a lot of that – we saved a lot of lives over the years. But taking that money was theft. It was wrong and I know it was. Do you know what multiple sclerosis does to a person though? There’s muscle weakness, muscle spasms, problems swallowing, chronic pain, bladder and bowel problems . . . I could go on. I’ve watched someone I love slowly degenerate. But there was the money and it gave me a weapon; something to fight back at that disease with. So no, part of me has no regret at all. You?’