The Burning

by Jane Casey

  I went out, carrying my jacket, to find that Sam had disappeared. Thinking evil thoughts, I went up to the reception desk myself and attracted the attention of the heavy-eyed woman.

  ‘Your friend’s gone in already. Go to the door and I’ll buzz you through.’

  So much for waiting for me. The scene in the business end of A&E wasn’t much better – too few staff, too many people on trollies. I wandered through a couple of areas without seeing Sam, then grabbed a passing nurse, who was thin, middle-aged and harried.

  ‘Police, love. I’m looking for one of my colleagues that was brought in just now from Kennington – she’s been attacked.’

  ‘Oh yeah. She’s over there.’ She pointed at a cubicle in the corner with the curtains drawn around it.

  ‘Is she OK? I mean – can I see her?’

  ‘She’s fine. We just drew the curtains to give her some privacy. It’s mad in here tonight.’

  Relieved was not the word for how I was feeling. I grinned down at her. ‘I’d have thought you’d be used to it.’

  ‘You never get used to this.’ She raised her eyebrows at a man being led past us with a pair of antlers on his head and a white gauze pad held over one eye. He was wearing white knee-socks and green underpants, and nothing else. I could see her point.

  I wished her luck and went over to the cubicle, pulling back the curtain gingerly. ‘Knock, knock.’

  It wasn’t Maeve in the bed, or sitting beside it. The undercover officer – Katy, I recalled – was lying down with one hand to her head, looking pale. Another of the UCs was beside her, holding a glass of water. Katy sat up on her elbows at the sight of me.

  ‘How’s Maeve? Is she OK?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ I remembered my manners. ‘Er – how are you feeling?’

  ‘Like shit,’ she said, and lay back down again.

  ‘She’s covered in bruises,’ her friend said. ‘But he didn’t get the chance to do too much, thankfully.’

  ‘Not to me, but he did enough to other people,’ Katy pointed out. She looked back at me. ‘When you find Maeve, let me know how she’s getting on.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I went back out and walked straight into the nurse I’d spoken to before. Her name tag read ‘Yvonne’. ‘Different officer. Have you seen another one?’

  ‘No, but I’ve seen you. Come with me.’ She had got a cubicle ready and before I could so much as complain I was sitting on the bed with my head back and a bright light shining in my eyes. You need a stitch in that. The doctor will have to see it.’

  Yvonne cleaned up the cut and I closed my eyes, feeling exhausted.

  ‘How did you do this, may I ask?’

  ‘I was arresting someone.’

  ‘Fighting them, did you say? And who came off worse?’

  ‘I did,’ I admitted. But then, I wasn’t looking at a life sentence or two, so I didn’t have my opponent’s added incentive.

  ‘Now, you’ll feel a sting.’

  She was right; the disinfectant hurt more that the cut. ‘Ow.’

  ‘Be brave. Almost done.’

  ‘Can you find out what happened to my colleague? Her name is Maeve Kerrigan.’ I peered at her. ‘Please?’

  A nod. ‘What else did he do to you?’

  I reckoned I might as well own up. I pulled back my sleeve and showed her my arm. ‘Just this.’

  She frowned over it. ‘Oh dear. I’ll get the doctor.’

  ‘Can’t you clean it up for me and stick on a plaster?’

  ‘We take human bites very seriously. When did he do it?’

  I had no idea. An hour ago, probably.’

  ‘You’ll need to go to theatre to have it washed out and tidied up. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.’

  I was regretting showing it to her at all. ‘Look, I’d love to stick around for that, but I’m a bit busy, and—’

  A large, jowly head poked through the curtains. What are you up to in here, my friend?’

  ‘Sam, where the hell have you been? How’s Maeve? Did you find her?’

  ‘Yes and no. I haven’t seen her, but I know where she is. Down the hall in resus. They’re still working on her.’ He looked grey, as if he’d aged ten years since the last time I’d seen him. ‘Fractured skull, they think. They’re worried about internal bleeding.’

  ‘Is she going to be OK?’

  He shrugged helplessly. ‘They’re doing their best for her.’

  I removed my arm from Yvonne’s clutches and stood up, grabbing my jacket.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘To see her.’

  ‘You need to get your arm fixed.’

  Sam leaned in for a closer look. ‘Ooh. You don’t want to take any chances with one of them. I know a fellow got bit in a fight outside a club in the East End. Nearly lost his hand.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, Sam, point taken.’ I turned to the nurse. ‘Look, how long is it going to take to sort this out? I mean, you need me to go to theatre. That isn’t going to happen straightaway, is it?’

  She shrugged. ‘As soon as we can manage it. I’ll try and get you in quickly.’

  ‘It’s not going to be in the next quarter of an hour, is it?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  ‘If I promise to come straight back, please may I go and see how my colleague is doing?’

  ‘I can’t stop you. But I want you back here in five minutes so the doctor can see you.’

  ‘Ten minutes.’ She looked stern and I did my best pleading look. ‘Please, Yvonne?’

  ‘If you promise.’

  I was gone before she’d finished saying the last word.

  Yvonne proved to be a total pushover compared to Dr Gibb, who had absolutely no interest in hearing why I needed to see Maeve. She was small, dark-haired, serious and implacable, and she had just emerged through the double doors that led to the resuscitation area – in other words, between me and where I needed to be.

  ‘There’s no visiting in this area. We will keep the patient’s next of kin informed about her condition but if you are just her colleague—’

  ‘I’m not just her colleague. I’m her friend.’ It was as if I hadn’t spoken.

  ‘—it would be infringing her privacy to tell you about her treatment.’

  ‘I want to know how she is.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be kept informed by her family.’

  Desperate, I dug a smile up from somewhere. When all else fails, try charm … ‘Look, you understand how it is. I was there when she got attacked, I really care about her and I just want to make sure she’s OK. Please?’

  A shake of the head. ‘I can’t help you. I suggest you stop wasting my time and your own.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I snapped, irritated beyond endurance.

  Sam plucked my sleeve. ‘Come on, mate. Give up. Back to your cubicle like a good boy.’

  I had to go; I had run out of time and a promise was a promise. Swearing under my breath, I walked away, Sam bobbing along at my right elbow.

  ‘Never knew you felt that way about Kerrigan.’

  ‘What? Oh, that. You know better than to take that at face value. I was just trying to convince the doctor to let me see her.’

  ‘Course you were.’ He gave a wheezy little laugh and I glared at him.

  ‘Feeling better, are we? You should – there’s no need to feel ashamed of breaking your own land speed record by taking twenty minutes to run two hundred metres.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. Just because I heard what you said back there—’

  ‘I’ve already explained to you that I didn’t mean it. And if you repeat it to anyone – anyone, Sam – I’m going to find that guy with the antlers, borrow them, and put them somewhere that’ll have you walking funny for a week.’

  ‘Easy, easy, no need for violence …’

  I got to the cubicle first and pulled the curtain across to stop him from joining me. I had had about as much as
I could take of Sam for one evening. I sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling like death, and waited for the next fun thing to happen to me.

  Yvonne was true to her word. It was only another couple of minutes before the doctor came to assess my arm. It was somehow typical of the way my night was going that when the curtain went back, the doctor in question turned out to be Dr Gibb.

  They let me go once they’d finished sorting out my arm, sending me off with a bandage up to the elbow and a plastic bag that contained some really quite decent painkillers that I didn’t intend to touch. Most people would have gone home – I should have gone home – but instead I found myself heading for the police station, and I didn’t want my edge to be dulled by pain relief, no matter how welcome it might have been. There had been no word on Maeve’s condition and I thought I might be able to find out more at work. Besides, I couldn’t rest, knowing that she was in trouble. The thoughts just kept squirreling around in my mind. If I’d been a bit quicker … If I hadn’t been tied up with the journalist … If she’d just called to me before she ran to help Katy …

  I was also reasonably interested to find out what had happened with the young man I had so nearly arrested. From what I’d seen earlier, there was no question but that he was the killer we’d been hunting. And we had been way off. The belief is that serial killers don’t come out of nowhere – there’s a pattern of offences before they escalate to murder. But the lad I’d been fighting didn’t look as if he’d had time to commit many crimes, and I didn’t recognise him from the rogues’ gallery of local perverts that we’d spent many hours tracking down. I was pretty sure he hadn’t come to the attention of the enquiry before now. So either he was very clever, or, which seemed more likely, we were very mistaken in what we’d been searching for.

  Given what had happened before he was arrested, I wasn’t expecting him to have been passed for interview by the doctor. I wouldn’t have been; I was exhibiting the alertness and tensile strength of overcooked broccoli. Apparently he was tougher than me, though, because when I got to the nick at six, the first thing I saw was Chris Pettifer being lectured by Judd in the corridor. Pettifer was one of the squad’s trained interrogators and his presence there at that hour of the morning could only mean that the suspect was fit and healthy and ready to talk. I went past without interrupting, noting that Judd was looking even more intense than usual. I was very glad I didn’t have the responsibility of securing a confession.

  I found Peter Belcott in the interview room when I went in, which wasn’t a surprise. He had a trick of turning up when things got interesting.

  ‘Fill me in, mate. Who is he?’

  ‘I’m not your mate.’ Belcott relented. ‘His name’s Razmig Selvaggi.’ He rolled the syllables around in his mouth, enjoying the sound of the name. ‘Twenty-four years old. His mother’s Armenian, father’s Italian. He lives in Brixton with his family, who run a takeaway. He does deliveries for them. No trace PNC. That’s it.’

  ‘Has he confessed yet?’

  ‘They’re just going to talk to him now. There’ll be a live feed from the interview room, if you want to watch it.’ Belcott nodded towards the small meeting room where the light from the TV flickered.

  ‘I might just do that.’ I started to walk away.

  ‘I heard Kerrigan stopped him with her face. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d had that effect on a man.’

  My hands clenched into fists before I could stop them. ‘She got injured going to the assistance of another officer, so I wouldn’t joke about it too much if I were you. And where were you last night? Hot date with World of Warcraft, was it?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Delighted to.’

  I went into the meeting room where a couple of the lads were already sitting, waiting for the show to start. I stood behind them, leaning against the wall. My arm throbbed dully and I felt wretched, on the whole. I wanted to see Selvaggi again, but I was glad of the distraction too.

  On screen, the door opened and Pettifer walked in, Judd right behind him. The sound was off but I could see the inspector was still talking. Obviously he didn’t trust him enough to let him do his job. Pettifer looked fed up and I didn’t blame him. One of the detectives who was sitting in front of me booed loudly and threw a balled-up piece of paper at the screen. He might have made the arrest, but Judd wasn’t going to be winning a popularity contest any time soon. The two of them took their seats at the table, Pettifer with a look back over his shoulder at the camera. He knew we were watching and I wondered if it was a help to know we were rooting for him, or if it just put him under more pressure.

  The next time the door opened, it was to allow Selvaggi and his lawyer to enter the room. A couple of other officers had come into the meeting room by now and there was a low rumble of comment at the sight of him. The bruises on his face were darkening nicely. His shoulders were hunched with tension and he looked distinctly unimpressive as he sat down at the table.

  ‘Young, isn’t he?’ Colin Vale voiced what I had been thinking. He looked younger than twenty-four, especially when he started biting his nails.

  His solicitor was young too. I guessed she was on call for one of the local defence firms – it being the weekend, she had to be one of the most junior lawyers. She had long, straight red hair with a heavy fringe. Under it, her face was pale, which wasn’t surprising given the early hour. Her suit looked creased and I thought she was nervous as she sat down beside Selvaggi, leaning over to mutter something in his ear. That wasn’t a surprise either. Crimes didn’t come much more serious than this.

  I became aware that everyone in the room was leaning forward. ‘Turn it up, Colin.’

  The sound came up on Pettifer running through the formulaic preamble that began every interview: stating the time, the date, the location and who was present for the benefit of the tape. Asked for his name and date of birth, Selvaggi gave them in a voice that was so low and husky I strained to hear it. He had a soft South London accent that made his words run together. The solicitor’s name was Rosalba Osbourne. She sounded absurdly matter-of-fact, as if what she was doing was all in a day’s work and nothing to get excited about. Technically, it was, but it was clear to me at any rate that she was hoping no one would notice the nerves that had her fidgeting with her pen. Pettifer cautioned Selvaggi again before launching into the interview. Everything by the book. Nothing open to question.

  ‘Right,’ Pettifer said once the formalities were out of the way. ‘Mr Selvaggi, do you know why you were arrested this morning?’

  ‘Mistaken identity.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  He cleared his throat but it didn’t make much difference; his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. ‘You’ve got me confused with someone else. That serial killer.’

  ‘You were arrested in Campbell Road recreation ground, weren’t you?’

  He nodded, then after a nudge from the solicitor said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  A shrug. ‘Just walking around.’

  ‘Walking around. Do you often go for a walk in the middle of the night? In the rain?’

  ‘I’d been working. I needed a break.’

  ‘Do you often attack women while you’re taking these walks?’

  He looked to his solicitor, who shook her head. ‘No comment.’

  ‘You were caught in the act of attacking two this morning, weren’t you? Both police officers, as it happened, but you didn’t know that.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘When we searched you, we found these items on your person.’ Pettifer waited for Judd to lay the evidence bags on the table in front of Selvaggi. ‘A stun gun. A hammer. A crowbar. Twine. Bolt cutters. What’s your explanation for that?’

  ‘I found them.’ It was stupid of him to be tempted into an explanation and I thought Rosalba looked annoyed, but she let him speak. ‘They were on the ground and I picked them up.’

  ‘Was this before or after you atta
cked the women?’

  ‘I never. They were on the ground too.’

  ‘Who attacked them, Mr Selvaggi?’

  ‘Someone else.’

  ‘Did you see someone else? Because we were running a surveillance operation in the area and I think we would have noticed if anyone else had been there.’

  Another shrug.

  ‘For the record, Mr Selvaggi shrugged.’ Pettifer took a sip of water. It wasn’t going badly, all the same. But it was hard to see how he could get out of it when I’d caught him red-handed.

  Judd obviously felt he could do better than Chris. ‘Do you really expect us to believe that you just happened to come across the crime scene by chance? How do you explain the petrol can in the carrier of your moped?’

  ‘It’s in case I run out of petrol,’ Selvaggi deadpanned and the room around me erupted into guffaws; Judd had picked pretty much the only thing that Selvaggi could explain away.

  ‘We’re going to search your house,’ Judd snapped. His ears had gone bright red. ‘We’re going to go through everything that belongs to you, and everything that belongs to your parents, and everything that belongs to your sisters. We’re going to rip the place apart. And then we’ll see if you have an explanation for what we find.’

  ‘Better hope we find something,’ one of the older detectives said mordantly. ‘Or that won’t be much of a threat.’

  Selvaggi’s face was hard to read, but the quality of the footage and the angle of the camera made it difficult to see the details anyway.

  ‘When are they searching the house?’ I asked, hoping someone would know.

  ‘Right now. We’ve just got the warrant.’ I hadn’t noticed him arrive, but Superintendent Godley was leaning in through the door. ‘Rob, I was hoping you might be here. Do you want to come?’

  ‘Definitely.’ I peeled myself off the wall and followed Godley out to the car that was waiting to take us to Brixton. I recognised it was his way of thanking me for getting Selvaggi under control; it was typical of him to think of it and I appreciated it. I also appreciated the distraction from my concerns about Maeve, because even seeing Judd doing battle with Selvaggi wasn’t enough to keep my mind off her.

  ‘There’s no news,’ Godley said abruptly as we got into the car. ‘About Maeve. I’ve just rung the hospital.’