The Burning Men

by Will Shindler

  ‘No. Not at all.’

  ‘Nobody does something for nothing.’

  ‘Since Karin died, I’ve started to see the world a bit differently. In less straight lines, I suppose. I think you deserve a second chance.’

  ‘And what if I lose control again?’

  ‘We can work on that.’

  ‘It could cost you one day. Cost us both.’

  ‘Then I’ll take the risk.’ He smiled. ‘Now, I’m about to eat what I happen to think is an exceptionally good dinner. I’ve made way too much and I’m sick of eating alone. You’re very welcome to join me.’

  She produced one of her unexpected smiles.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  As Finn followed her into the kitchen, he considered what she’d said. He’d seen Paulsen lose her temper close up. She hadn’t cared where she was, or who she was talking to. It was genuine blind rage, and now he knew it wasn’t a one-off. She was right to say it could cost him. What worried him more was how much it might cost her one day.

  ‘Careful, Alex . . .’ said a dead woman.

  Chapter 60

  A few miles across south London, Martin Walker stared at the ceiling from his hospital bed. He’d got used to the constant beeping of the heart monitor next to him, the drip connected to his arm. The drugs being pumped through his system were keeping the pain at bay. Much of the left-hand side of his body was badly burnt, from his shoulder down to his thigh. There were dressings on most of it, and movement of any kind was difficult.

  He’d received several visits from Christine, as much as she’d been able to manage on her own. What happened seemed to have brought them closer again. With Portbury’s death, at least one of their worries was over, but another cloud was looming. He’d been made aware of Portbury’s dying declaration by Finn. There was no doubt the police would now be investigating him hard over the missing share of the Stansted money. He was, after all, the only person still living who could answer their questions. The future he’d worked so hard to try and make easier for Christine looked daunting and uncertain.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said a rich, velvet voice. ‘I really suppose I should have brought some grapes, but it does seem a dreadful cliché.’

  The last time Walker heard that voice it was in a beach hut in Whitstable. He turned his head carefully, wincing as his scorched flesh stretched beneath the dressings. A slightly built man wearing a pin-striped waistcoat and a pair of old-fashioned spectacles was stood by his bedside holding a sodden umbrella. There was a strong smell of aftershave too. The expensive sort, the type you’d get in a gentleman’s club mixed with a cocktail of brandy and cigar smoke.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ said Raymond Spinney, pulling up a chair before Walker could answer. A nurse walked past and he smiled politely before turning back, the warmth fading from his face instantly.

  ‘Did you really think there’d be no consequence for what you did? You took something that wasn’t yours, you know.’

  ‘Not yours either,’ croaked Walker.

  ‘That’s not quite how I work. Once I acquire something – whether it is money, goods or even people . . . then they’re mine. And they stay mine until I decide otherwise.’

  ‘I told you in Whitstable I’d pay you back,’ said Walker.

  ‘Yes, you did. But it’s not the money that bothers me. There’s something about you, and your greed in particular, which I can’t quite get past. If society can’t trust a man like you, Mr Walker, then where are we?’

  Walker felt helpless. Whatever was going to happen he was in no position to stop it. Spinney leant in, whispering now into his unbandaged ear.

  ‘It seems to me you were presented with a choice five years ago. You could have done your job, saved Erik Whitlock’s life and left that money alone. Then none of this would have happened. I’m guessing you’ve been thinking a lot about that recently, so let me give you another choice.’ He paused and pulled a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket. He removed his spectacles with his other hand, breathed on the lenses and started polishing them as he continued. ‘I’ll be leaving the country soon, so this is the last time we’ll meet. I’m happy to spare your life and let you keep the remainder of the cash you stole. But if that’s your wish, then your wife won’t be so lucky. One of my associates will pay her a visit. It’ll be as quick and as painless as he can manage, but it’s not a precise science, I’m afraid. Alternatively, one of them can come and pay you a visit and end all this . . . indignity.’ He waved a hand at Walker’s bandaged form dismissively, as if it were a child’s bedroom in urgent need of a tidy-up. ‘If you choose that option, you have my word Christine will live out the remainder of her life untroubled.’

  Spinney put his glasses back on and stood up, pulling his waistcoat straight as he did so. Outside the rain thundered down, and next to Walker the even beep of the heart monitor continued. Spinney smiled pleasantly.

  ‘So which is it to be?’

  Acknowledgements

  I honestly never thought about this bit. I never thought about it, because I never thought I’d get here. And now I am here, it’s really rather humbling. So some words of thanks are definitely in order.

  Before I do though, I’d like to pay tribute to the real life firefighters of the world. This is a book about five very particular men, fictitious characters in a story who make a terrible choice. It is no way a reflection on the courage of the true life men and women in that noble profession, who risk their lives every day.

  And so to the thank you’s – firstly to my brilliant agent, Hayley Steed at the Madeleine Milburn Agency. Thank you so much for showing faith in officers Finn and Paulsen and getting me here in the first place. It’s safe to say without your confidence in them and me, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s hugely appreciated.

  A big word for my editor Eve Hall at Hodder & Stoughton – you took my increasingly complicated story, and applied a fantastic sense of story and structure to make it clearer and better with each draft. It has been a fantastic experience working with you; thank you for both your faith in me and this story too.

  Thank you to copy editor Joe Hall – who made some invaluable observations right at the end.

  A huge thank you to my friend Nishat – don’t worry, she knows why.

  And finally, thank you to you, the reader. I hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it – Finn and Paulsen will return!

  Read on for an extract of THE KILLING CHOICE,

  the new book in the DI Alex Finn series. . .

  Prologue

  In the half light, the eye of the giant seemed to follow him. Karl Suleman looked up at the stone monolith and met its gaze. He shivered and hugged himself, but that was more to with the wrong choice of clothing than anything else. Winter was turning into spring, but at seven in the evening the wind still carried a bite.

  The dinosaur park of Crystal Palace was a place Karl knew well. Built in 1854, it was designed as an attraction for Victorian families to peruse, before taking in the Great Exhibition on the hill above. Dark outlines of vast granite creatures lined its pathways. The sway of the surrounding trees animating them just enough to earn the odd second glance from the commuters walking down from the nearby railway station. He’d grown up in these parts, remembered his mother showing him the same stone monsters when he was a boy. Now he’d come full circle, as he saw the pretty young woman walking towards him with a broad smile. He’d taken her here when she was just a toddler. Now look at her, he thought. Even on a miserable night like this, she shone.

  ‘You made it on time?’ said Leah Suleman, making no effort to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  ‘Of course I did. I even left work early especially. Besides – a tradition’s a tradition.’

  ‘Oh, is it? Last time we did this, I seem to remember I was waiting in the freezing cold for half an hour.’

  His grin met hers.

  ‘Well not tonight. Your old man promised you a Friday night cu
rry, and a Friday night curry you shall have.’

  That wasn’t strictly true. It was Leah’s mother Claire who’d come up with the idea. Karl was a workaholic, whose commitment to his job bordered on the obsessive. His wife kept a close eye to ensure that didn’t come at the expense of his paternal duties. Claire and Leah were thick as thieves, so she was quite happy to sit out their monthly night of father-daughter bonding.

  ‘Where are we going then – up into Crystal Palace to the Punjab Express, or down into Penge to the Bay of Bengal?’

  Karl screwed up his face.

  ‘Didn’t like the lamb at the Express, last time. Too greasy.’

  ‘Fussy tart. Penge it is then.’

  She shook her head in mock despair, took his arm and they began strolling down past the huge stone lizards.

  ‘Never mind that. I want to know all about this new boyfriend of yours?’ he said.

  ‘Oh dad, give it a rest he’s hardly…’

  She stopped suddenly, her arm falling to her side. A hooded figure was standing in front of them. His face was covered by a silver, featureless mask and he was holding a large serrated knife. It was as if he’d appeared from nowhere. Later Karl would realise they’d been followed, their assailant tracking them in the tree lined greenery which ran parallel to the path. His first instinct was to look around, see if there was anyone else nearby. A few witnesses and this little chancer might just run. But there was no-one.

  ‘It’s alright, there’s no need to hurt anyone’ said Leah. ‘If you want money we’ll give it to you.’

  Karl beat down his rising fury, the desire to pummel this piece of nothing with his own hands. She was right though. Better to surrender a few quid than risk something worse. It was the mathematics of sense.

  ‘I don’t want your money’ said the masked figure. The voice was muffled but sounded unexpectedly young. That didn’t make him any less dangerous though. The younger they were, the less likely they were to listen to reason. Karl’s eyes alighted on the blade again and he thought about all the times he’d read about a stabbing in the paper, heard it mentioned on the radio. It was all background noise to him. Part of the everyday of living in London. Terribly sad, but not something he’d ever thought would touch him. It’s what kids off estates in gangs did. It didn’t happen to people like him.

  ‘Come on mate, there’s no need for this.’

  ‘No need for it? How old is she?’ The figure jabbed the knife in Leah’s direction.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘I’m twenty-three.’ said Leah.

  ‘She’s my daughter. Please … just leave her alone.’

  The masked man-child turned back to Karl.

  ‘So… would you do anything to protect her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Say it then. Say I’d do anything to protect her.’

  ‘Dad …’ said Leah, trying to intervene but Karl held up a hand, his focus entirely on the figure in front of them.

  ‘I’d do anything to protect her.’ he repeated calmly.

  ‘Then walk away. You said; anything. So walk away…’ He pointed the knife at the pathway behind him.

  ‘Not a chance. What are you going to do to her?’

  ‘What do you think I’m going to do to her?’ He grabbed at his crotch unsubtly. Under that mask he was smiling - you couldn’t see the grin, but you could hear it. Karl stepped forwards and the knife was suddenly at his throat. ‘One more step …’ the figure whispered. Slowly he drew the blade across Karl’s skin, just enough to draw blood. Karl felt the serrated edge dig, pull at his flesh and winced. He stood still. ‘If you don’t walk away, I will kill you. That’s a promise, mate. Either you die, or she stays. I won’t kill her though, you know – after I’m done …’

  The smile in the voice now sounded like a leer.

  ‘Dad … go.’ said Leah. Karl turned to her, his legs feeling numb.

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Go. This way, we both walk away.’

  She sounded oddly calm, but he could hear the slight pleading underneath it. The mathematics of sense again. Their eyes met, a horrific understanding suddenly forming.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Just go.’ She screamed it at him this time.

  He turned to face his tormentor.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Time for talking’s over. Give me your phone. We don’t want you calling the feds, do we?’ Karl reached into his pocket and threw his phone onto the ground. ‘Now fuck off.’ Karl looked over at Leah. Her eyes were imploring him to go, making it even harder. He turned around and took a step. Then another. And then he stopped.

  ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  He felt the cold steel of the knife again, this time digging in to the back of his neck.

  ‘One push… that’s all it would take.’ whispered that voice again. He sounded about thirteen. It would be absurd if it wasn’t so appalling. His legs moved, almost as if he wasn’t in control of them. A ginger step forwards, then another. He began to jog uncertainly, then sprint - laughter echoing behind him.

  He sprinted around the corner, trying to focus his thoughts. The stone dinosaurs were ghoulish in the dark, as if their sculpted eyes were mocking him. He was looking for people now, but the park was deserted. He tried not to think about what was going on behind him, trying not to imagine that knife at Leah’s throat and what might be happening. He ran even faster, there were large Victorian houses in the street adjacent to the park. Families settling down for their evening meals. The main drag of the high street was perhaps only five minutes away. He didn’t have five minutes.

  Suddenly he saw an old woman with a pug on a lead, her face widening with fear as she saw him running towards her. He could hardly breathe, barely get the words out.

  ‘Please, I need to borrow your phone. It’s an emergency. My daughter… she’s in trouble.’

  The woman looked startled, almost unable to respond for a second.

  ‘I… don’t have one. My son does… he doesn’t live too far away, if that helps?’

  Karl was about to answer when he heard a scream cut through the air, high pitched and piercing. He knew instantly it was a scream of pain, not fear. He turned on his heels, running back the way he’d come. His heart pumping, the vomit rising in his throat.

  And then he saw her, lying crumpled in a heap face down, dark liquid pooling around her. He knew before he got there it was too late. But before the grief and shock even hit him there was just one primary thought; that when his daughter had needed him the most, he’d been running in the opposite direction.

  Order THE KILLING CHOICE here!