Freddie could hardly remember, now, whether he walked out on his father to live his hippy lifestyle, or whether his father insisted that he go. In any case the past didn’t matter anymore. Only the future.
He ate a delicious steak washed down with a fine claret, and contemplated, as airline travellers unused to regular first-class travel are inclined to, on the extraordinary difference between first and pig class. There couldn’t be many greater contrasts in life, Freddie thought. Heaven and hell were contained within one improbable piece of human engineering hurtling through the skies at 600 miles an hour.
After a couple of decent brandies, enjoyed whilst he watched a movie, he stretched out on his comfortable flat bed and slept through the rest of the first leg of his journey, all the way to Singapore.
After another meal, more champagne and more brandy, he slept through most of the next leg too, and arrived at Heathrow feeling remarkably fresh.
It was almost two decades since he had stepped foot on British soil. More than nineteen years since his father had effectively disowned him and denied him his inheritance, telling him he’d allocate him an adequate and permanent living allowance, but would be cutting him out of his will.
However, Freddie remained his father’s eldest child and his only son. He thought he might even consider marrying himself, and producing a son. It would, after all, be expected of him now.
He walked tall through Heathrow airport. He was unshaven, and his hair was uncombed. His eyes looked a tad bleary, the only-to-be expected result of a heavy alcohol-induced sleep combined with the inevitable jet lag of trans-continental travel. He was dressed in his customary faded blue jeans, a well-worn bomber jacket over an unironed shirt.
None the less, he was a Fairbrother. The oldest surviving male of the line. And he was back to claim his inheritance.
TWELVE
Bella drove slowly along the driveway towards the ruins of the big old house, trying to put her memories back in their box. Bella Fairbrother was not one to dwell upon the past, or indeed upon anything she could do nothing about. Today was somehow different. She hadn’t expected to feel the way she did.
A uniformed constable on scene-guard stopped her from driving right up to the house, instructing her to park at the road end of the drive along with several other vehicles. Blackdown Manor was a crime scene, and it looked as if it might remain so for some time, Bella thought.
She was told she could walk a little closer towards the burned-down remains of her childhood home, but must not cross the cordon of blue and white tape stretching around the remains of the house. Just as she was approaching, two fire officers emerged from the ruins of Blackdown Manor carrying between them on a stretcher what appeared to be a body bag containing human remains. They were followed by another two officers also carrying a stretcher and a body bag.
There was something quite chilling about witnessing this scene, about seeing dead people being carried about in, what were more or less, sacks. Particularly in view of the identity of those people. DI Vogel had told Bella that it was more or less certain that the two victims of the fire could only be Sir John Fairbrother and his nurse, but that it was possible they may never be formally identified.
The body bags did not look very substantially filled either. Bella remembered from the shocking reports of the Grenfell Tower disaster that in the event of a truly major fire sometimes virtually no remains at all are found of the deceased.
None of this did anything to lessen the shock of what she found herself witnessing.
Bella was tough as old boots. All the same, she felt her knees wobble. She was standing next to a Crime Scenes Investigators’ van. She leaned against it for support, and fleetingly closed her eyes to shut out the spectacle unfolding before her. Therefore, she heard the voice before seeing the woman walking towards her.
‘Are you OK?’
Bella opened her eyes. A tall woman, probably in her late fifties, wearing the obligatory white plastic Tyvek suit in order to protect the integrity of the crime scene, was regarding her with some anxiety.
‘Uh yes,’ Bella answered automatically.
Her eyes travelled to the far side of the gravelled area where it seemed the two bodies were now about to be loaded into an unmarked transit van by two men also wearing Tyvek suits.
‘Wasn’t expecting to see any of this, I suppose,’ said Bella. ‘Given me a bit of a turn.’ She moved away from the CSI vehicle and drew herself up to her full five feet, five-and-a-half inches, ‘I’m fine now,’ she said.
The other woman pulled back the hood of her suit, revealing an abundance of curly reddish hair not unattractively streaked with grey.
‘May I ask who you are, and what you are doing here?’ she said, her courteous and concerned approach belying the directness of her words.
Bella introduced herself. ‘I just wanted to see the place for myself,’ she explained. ‘I grew up here, you see. And the whole thing has been, well … It’s too terrible to take in. I guess we all have to get used to death, particularly as we get older, but this …’
Bella waved an arm at the burned-out house, taking in the anonymous van with its tinted windows into which the two victims were now being unceremoniously loaded.
‘It’s all so violent, so horrible.’ She lowered her voice to a slightly distracted whisper. ‘I never expected this,’ she said again.
‘Who would?’ responded the woman gently. ‘It’s a terrible way to die, and almost as terrible for those left behind. I’m Karen Crow. Home Office Pathologist. I’m sorry about what you’ve witnessed, Miss Fairbrother.’
Bella was still staring at the transit van. The men who had loaded the remains of the two dead were now shutting and locking the rear doors.
‘It looks, so, so anonymous,’ murmured Bella. ‘So undignified.’
‘I do understand how you feel,’ said Karen Crow. ‘In cases of death by fire in particular it is very difficult to maintain dignity, at this stage anyway. Those men are employed by the coroner’s office to collect dead bodies in situations like this, and anywhere foul play might be suspected. They will be taken to the nearest police mortuary where I and my colleagues will conduct as much of a post-mortem as possible, which in cases of a fire is often not terribly constructive. And I promise you, Miss Fairbrother, we will show your father and the other deceased person as much respect throughout as we possibly can.’
Bella turned her head slightly to look directly at Karen Crow for the first time. The pathologist had very clear, pale-blue eyes. Bella doubted neither her honesty nor her compassion.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
The van containing the remains of the dead was about to pass the spot where the two women were standing. Bella watched its back end proceeding up the drive to the road beyond.
‘I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think it would be like this, or that I would feel how I do,’ she said. ‘I really didn’t.’
‘I can understand that,’ replied the pathologist. ‘Nobody ever does. It’s my job to deal with death, particularly violent death. I’ve been doing this job for a lot of years, and you can imagine what I have seen, so much that I wish I hadn’t seen. I still don’t think there’s anything worse than fire. I am so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bella again.
She was surprised at how much she appreciated, not just the human contact, but also the comfort the other woman was clearly trying to offer.
She made a conscious effort again to pull herself together, and reminded herself that the purpose of her visit was not just what she had told Karen Crow. She had reasons beyond merely surveying the scene of the crime and indulging in nostalgic reflection concerning her family and the splendid house which had been the family home for centuries. Until two nights previously.
‘There are some papers, private papers, important for the business, I was wondering when I might be allowed access,’ she said. ‘Can you help?’
Karen Crow looked mildly su
rprised. ‘I’m not sure I am the right person to ask,’ she said.
Bella realised that her switch from stunned grief to business-like practical must have seemed excessively quick.
‘I just thought, well, whilst I was here …’ she began, in a lame attempt at explanation.
‘But, in there?’ Dr Crow queried, turning to look again at the crumbling ruins which were all that remained of Blackdown Manor. ‘Papers? I’m no expert on that sort of thing, but I don’t see how anything like that could have survived the fire which consumed this place.’
‘Blackdown has, or rather it had, a huge cellar,’ Bella began to explain. ‘My father, many years ago, further excavated it and installed an underground indoor swimming pool complex. He turned the other part of the cellar into a specialised storage room. Blackdown held many irreplaceable treasures, and whilst I am sure almost all will have been tragically lost, there is just a chance there could be some pieces, perhaps paintings, in that storeroom which may be retrievable. Also, the papers I mentioned. You know about the family bank, I’m sure, Miss Crow. Well, can you imagine the records that have been accumulated over the years? Much has no bearing at all on the modern Fairbrother’s, but it almost all has tremendous historical value, and then there are the papers which we do really need. I am trying to help the board continue to run the bank in the manner that my father would have done were he still alive.’
‘And you really think this storage room could have survived?’
‘I’m hoping so,’ replied Bella Fairbrother. ‘It was lead lined, and all the storage containers were made of protective materials. The idea was that the room and its precious contents would be protected against any eventuality, including, and perhaps particularly fire. My father also said that it would survive a nuclear attack.’
Bella laughed briefly, an almost involuntary half-strangled little sound. She had no idea why. There wasn’t anything very funny about the prospect of a nuclear attack, nor the grim reality of the terrible scene which lay before her.
‘Well, you’ll need to speak to CSI and the fire investigators about that,’ said Karen Crow. ‘But whatever they tell you and whatever the condition of the papers in that storeroom, you can only be given permission for access by the police investigation team. The place is a crime scene and I personally have no idea how long it is likely to remain so …’ She stopped abruptly. ‘There’s John Michaels, he’s the head honcho fire investigator.’
Karen waved to attract the man’s attention, then made a beckoning motion with her fingers. Obediently Michaels approached. The pathologist made the necessary introductions, and Bella explained about the storeroom and her desire to gain access to its contents.
‘Ah yes, I think we’ve found the storeroom, or what’s left of it,’ he said. ‘But in spite of its construction there is substantial damage. After all, the entire underground area, the pool complex and the storeroom had thousands of tons of burning rubble collapse onto it and then the fire boys blasted it with thousands of gallons of water. The pool area is completely destroyed, the roof caved in, you wouldn’t even know there’d ever been a pool there if you hadn’t been told. As for the storeroom, I assume you know it was lead lined and bolstered by heavy duty steel beams …?’
Bells nodded quickly in agreement.
‘Well, because of its construction it has not been completely destroyed,’ Michaels continued. ‘But the roof has partially caved in, pretty inevitable under these circumstances, and there must be considerable water damage inside, so if it’s paperwork you’re looking for, well, I wouldn’t be too optimistic—’
‘My father said his storeroom would withstand a nuclear attack,’ interrupted Bella, repeating what she had just told Karen Crow. ‘All my father’s papers, both personal, and the bank records which I am particularly interested in, were stored within that room. He had moved almost everything here, where he was convinced it would be safe in almost any eventuality.’
‘Well, we shall have to see,’ said John Michaels.
‘But it looks like he got it wrong,’ Bella continued in little more than a mutter.
John Michaels raised his eyebrows.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Now I know of the importance of that area I’ll see if we can’t achieve access as soon as possible. But I am a little puzzled, Miss Fairbrother. I mean, I would have expected in the modern world that certainly the business records you have referred to would be stored on computer, and backed up in the usual way. Is that not the case?’
Bella shook her head.
‘My father was an old-fashioned man, Mr Michaels,’ she replied, by way of explanation. It sounded pretty lame, even to her own ears. ‘He always did things his way, and he didn’t entirely trust computers.’
Nor anyone he worked with, including his daughter and his entire board of directors, she thought to herself. She said no more.
John Michaels still looked puzzled. As well, he might, Bella reckoned.
‘I see,’ he said eventually. ‘Of course, you certainly wouldn’t be allowed on the premises at the moment. There’s a major safety risk, obviously. Even if we find that any of the contents of the basement storage room have remained substantially intact, there is no possibility of you being allowed to enter it until its construction has been fully assessed. With fire parts of a damaged premises may appear to have remained undamaged, but the reality is they could collapse at any moment. Also, you do know, don’t you, we still have a crime scene here, and may well do for two or three more days, I’d say.’
‘So I understand,’ said Bella, glancing at Karen Crow. ‘And even after you guys may have declared the area safe, it’s the police who have to give permission for me or anyone else to go inside. Is that right?’
‘It is,’ said John Michaels.
‘Or to have anything that remains inside removed, I assume?’ queried Bella.
‘Indeed,’ said Michaels.
‘So, who specifically do I need to contact?’ asked Bella.
‘DI David Vogel,’ replied the chief fire investigatory officer. ‘He’s in charge.’
‘Ah,’ said Bella Fairbrother.
It seemed that she was going to need Vogel on her side before she could do anything. She was not overly optimistic, but she reckoned she may as well contact the DI again as soon as possible.
At that moment her phone rang.
‘Miss Fairbrother, I think I’m going to need another word with you,’ said Vogel.
‘Yes, of course, Mr Vogel,’ replied Bella. ‘I was just thinking the same about you.’
Were you indeed, thought Vogel, reflecting again that this young woman was going to be a force to be reckoned with.
‘Might I ask where you are at the moment, Miss Fairbrother?’ asked Vogel.
‘I’m just leaving Blackdown Manor. I came out to have a look for myself. It …’ The young woman paused.
Vogel waited.
‘It was more of a shock than I expected. I mean there is virtually nothing left … and they were bringing out bodies, well, remains …’
Vogel couldn’t be sure, but he thought there was a catch in Bella Fairbrother’s throat. That was a turn up for the books.
‘It must be very upsetting for you, Miss Fairbrother, I’m sure,’ he said levelly.
‘It is yes, quite upsetting.’
Vogel thought Bella sounded rather taken aback by her own reaction. He pressed on.
‘Miss Fairbrother, I wondered if I could ask you to come to the incident room we’ve set up at Wellington police station?’ he asked. ‘There is somewhere here we can talk privately. And we do need to take a statement from you.’
There was another brief pause.
‘All right, Mr Vogel,’ said Bella. ‘I’ll leave straight away.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Vogel. ‘That would be most helpful.’
He meant it too. Although the privacy he had promised Bella Fairbrother comprised only the rather austere station interview room.
Wellington polic
e station, an unprepossessing concrete building dating back to the 1950s, was now the on-the-spot headquarters of the investigation, and thirty or so of the fifty officers promised by Hemmings, under the MCIT umbrella, were now working out of the station. They were never all there at the same time, of course, but there was still not a lot of room. And the station’s regular staff, three uniformed constables and five police community service officers, were not impressed at being effectively squeezed out of their usual work space. Half the time there wasn’t room for them to park their cars in the station’s small car park, or even in the road outside.
Photographs and charts continued to be collated and arranged on every available wall, but the main work was undertaken by the officers working on their own laptops, linked to the Police National Computer. It was a full-time job for the officer in charge to keep up with it all. And much as Vogel was a hands-on copper who liked to get out and about far more than most of his rank, it was indeed a great help that Bella Fairbrother was coming to him that morning and he did not have to go to her.
He was studying the various reports and interviews recorded by other members of the team when Karen Crow called.
‘I know it’s only a formality, but I thought you might like to know that we have now officially identified Sir John Fairbrother through his dental records,’ the pathologist told him. ‘We’re just waiting now for the nurse’s dental records to come through from the Philippines, and then, from our point of view, the case will be closed. The condition of the bodies is such that there really is nothing more we can do.’
Vogel thanked her and returned his attention to his laptop. It was a shame, but everything Karen Crow had said was only what he had already assumed. There was no way pathology could be expected to offer any further help to the investigation from the examination of the victims of such a catastrophic fire.
Bella Fairbrother was as good as her word. She pulled her little Mercedes to a halt in the road outside less than forty minutes after she and Vogel had spoken on the phone.
Wheel of Fire Page 11