The Burning Man

by Edward Figg

  Carter stared at it, then wrote something on a pad in front of him — tearing it off, he gave it to her. As she read through it, a puzzled expression crept slowly across her face.

  He looked up, expecting her to say something. When she didn’t, he said, ‘It’s his registration number.’ Carter pointed down at the picture. ‘It belongs to the face under the baseball cap. He must be local because I’ve seen him twice in the last couple of days. First, I saw him walking over there in the park the other evening,’ he pointed out the window, ‘and then again today while Marcia and I on our way out to Chalk Lane Farm. Today he was driving a black Corolla. I’ve seen that face somewhere before, but for the life of me, I still can’t place him. Sign of old age maybe? Anyway, I did remember the registration number. I was going to run a check on it but what with one thing and another I just hadn’t got around to doing it.’

  He rose from his chair and came around the front of the desk to face her. She stood motionless, staring down the paper. ‘What’s wrong, Jill? You don’t look too impressed with my detective work. With what you’ve got there, you’ll be able to get a name for him. Let me know, will you?

  She read aloud the registration number then, raising her eyebrows, said, ‘This is the registration number belonging to a Toyota Hi-Ace. Its owner is a John Forest. These plates were nicked from the mall carpark six weeks ago.’

  Carter looked crestfallen. ‘Bollocks!’

  ****

  ‘That’s one of the best, steak and kidney pies I’ve tasted in a long time,’ said Carter, putting down his knife and fork. He was strictly a meat-and-potatoes guy, feeling more comfortable with a meal he could recognise like the one in front of him tonight. ‘I’d much rather have this any day of the week than that stuff they wrap in those strands of imported grass like you get down at that Indian café.’

  ‘I think what you’re referring to is lemongrass. And it’s a restaurant, not a café,’ she said correcting him.

  He pushed the plate away and reached over for the wine bottle and topped up both their glasses, then took a sip from his own.

  ‘Talking of café’s, I’ve sorted it all out with Helen about the café, and, as of Monday, she is going to take over most of the running,’ said Christine. ‘I’ve agreed to cover for her two days a week, but I’ll have most of the weekends off.’

  She got up from the table and, taking the plates left them on the side next to the sink then went over to the fridge, opened the door and surveyed its contents.

  ‘Seems like you’ve got it all under control then,’ he said. ‘Will you be taking on anybody else?’ He watched as she busied herself taking stuff from the fridge.

  ‘Only on market days and holidays. As to what happens to the restaurant — we’re going to have to play it by ear for a while and see what happens’. Christine turned and said to Carter, ‘I’ve got apple pie and custard or chocolate mousse. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Oh, what a choice.’ He grinned. ‘If it’s just food you’re talking about, then a little of each please?’

  When the meal ended, and Carter had put the dishes in the washer, they went into the living room with their wine. Christine sat back on the low couch and patted the seat beside her. ‘Come and tell me about your day. How was it?’

  ‘Bill Turner got a good result with that pilot. You remember — the one I told you about? Turned out he wasn’t Canadian after all, he was Irish.

  ‘I’ve had a word with Dave Lynch, and he’s keen to rent the cottage. He said he’d have a word with Maggie first, but considering the lack of rental accommodation hereabouts, I’m sure she’ll jump at it. She and Dave have seen it before. Last summer I had the whole team over for a bar-b-que.’

  He put another log on the fire and stood for a few moments staring at the flames, thinking, then walked over and drew the curtains across the windows. He turned on the television hoping to catch the late news. Kicking off his shoes, he went and sat down.

  He leaned over and put his head on her shoulder, yawned and said, ‘This Saturday, I thought I’d go up to the cottage and start on some of that packing. It won’t take long. Half a day max. I was thinking, and talking of bar-b-ques, and as it’s your birthday Sunday, maybe we could have one and invite everyone over. It would be a good chance for you to meet everyone. What do you think?’

  ‘Sounds great. I’d love to meet all your colleagues. It will give me a chance to discover all your dark secrets,’ she laughed.

  ‘Whatever they tell you, don’t you believe a word of it. I’m sure I could get Luke to volunteer to do the cooking, especially if he knew Helen was coming,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at her when he comes in the café sometimes. He goes off into his little dream world,’ she said, leaning over to top up her chardonnay.

  ‘In that case, I’d better get on and prune those roses before then, hadn’t I? Because I know that Superintendent Watkins grows them and fancies herself as a bit of an expert so I’d best get them tidied up. Can’t have her spreading rumours around the station that I’m a crap gardener, can we?’ said Carter.

  Chapter 21

  Thursday 7:15 a.m.

  On the property known as Compton Furniture, it was a hive of activity. Three police cars sat lined up on the concrete forecourt. Over on the far side, away from the buildings, stood an ambulance with its doors open. The two-man crew were sitting on the back step of the ambulance, chatting. Over by the house, some workers who had just arrived were talking to Dave Penrose.

  Four buildings stood side by side. The building at the far end of the complex had smoke drifting up through its metal roof. It was the Compton Furniture carpentry shop. Only this one building had suffered. The others, thanks to the quick actions and hard work of the fire crews, were undamaged. The red pickup that had been parked nearby had suffered. One side of it was black and badly scorched. There was no sign of the yellow trail bike. Two fire trucks were parked at one end of the building, their crews busy rolling up hoses. A constable was securing the area with crime scene tape.

  For a big man, his voice was unexpected. It was low with an agreeable trace of huskiness and came with a definite hint of authority. ‘We got here just after seven.’ said the fire crew’s manager. ‘A passing motorist reported it. We spent most of the time trying to protect the other buildings. They were full of stored furniture. Whoever designed this place wants shooting. There’s bugger all space between these buildings. Just enough space to walk down. There’s not a fire extinguisher to be seen anywhere in the other buildings. He’s going to have a hard time explaining that to his insurance company if the owner wants them to pay out on this.’

  From the man’s accent, Detective Inspector Jerry Marchbanks, who himself was a born and bred Doverite, guessed the fireman initially hailed from Birmingham. Marchbanks used his thumb to tamp down his favourite pipe tobacco, then lit it. He took several puffs before saying. ‘And you discovered the body an hour ago, right?’

  ‘Aye. After we got the fire out, the lads went through to determine how and where it started from.’ He pointed to the far end of the building. ‘There’s an extension at the back where some finished furniture was stored. That was the seat of the fire. The body we found was in a storeroom, tied to a chair. It looks like the place was used to keep lacquers and varnishes. The whole place had been saturated with petrol. You can still smell it there. A great pile of sawdust and wood shaving helped fuel it all.’

  Marchbanks pulled up the collar of his overcoat. He stood looking at the buildings around him, then over to the house a short distance away to where the tall figure of Detective Sergeant Dave Penrose, his hands planted firmly in the pockets of his sheepskin jacket, could be seen striding purposely across the yard towards the farmhouse. Condensation from his warm breath billowed out in the cold morning air.

  Just then, a PC came up behind him. ‘Sir,’ he called out. ‘There’s something I think you should see back here.’

  Marchbanks turned and followed the man
between two buildings to where a Nissan hut, surrounded by a high fence wire, lay half hidden behind a wall of ivy.

  ‘In here, sir,’ he said. He stood to one side to let Marchbanks pass.

  Marchbanks, followed by the PC, walked over to the Nissen hut, climbed up the three wooden steps and pushed open the door. It was plain to see that someone had used bolt cutters on the padlock.

  ‘Who cut his off? Was it like this when you arrived?’ ‘No, we did, sir,’ said the constable.

  Directly in front of Marchbanks where draped sheets of clear plastic. Taking the pipe from his mouth, he pushed the plastic aside and went in. He stood and gazed at what they’d uncovered. ‘Holy shit.’

  What he saw were rows of healthy well-tended marijuana plants. He counted ten rows with at least fifty plants in each. Fluorescent light shone down from above, illuminating the tall green bushes. All the internal walls were encased in plastic and reflective silver sheeting. Rows of heating lamps hung down from the ceiling.

  The plastic sheet behind him suddenly parted, and Penrose came in. He whistled loudly. ‘Bloody hell,’ he exclaimed in his soft Cornish accent. ‘What a setup.’ He stood with his hands on his hips, looking around. ‘I don’t think this is for personal use.’ His gaze travelled to the sophisticated watering system and timer. He went over and examined it. ‘I bet this lot didn’t come from Gardener’s Weekly!’

  ‘Hydroponic,’ replied the PC standing next to Marchbanks. ‘Just like the one I got in my greenhouse, but mine’s smaller. Wish I could grow my tomatoes that tall.’ He sounded envious.

  Marchbanks turned to him. ‘What about the other buildings, Constable — have they been opened?’

  ‘Yes, sir. This is the only one with this stuff in.’ he said, looking around. ‘All the others contain timber, furniture and other stuff. Machinery and such likes.’

  The constable who’d been stringing out the crime tape, poked his head around the side of the plastic sheet and looked up and down the rows of green vegetation. ‘Wow.’ He turned his attention to Marchbanks. ‘The doctor and forensics have just arrived, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Constable. Tell them I’ll be out in a moment.’

  ‘I went into the house looking for the surveillance disc from the gate camera,’ said Penrose, as they were leaving. ‘The recorder has gone and I assume the discs went with it because I can’t find any of them. I also had a word with a few of those workers. I got a PC to get names and addresses and told them to go home and that we may want statements from them later. They seem to think that the body could be that of Michael Kelly. He’s the brother of Martin Kelly, the one DCI Carter is interested in, but they said they haven’t seen Martin Kelly for a few days. They were curious as to what we’d found in this Nissen hut. Apparently, they were warned never to go near it because they were told it contained drums of toxic waste.’

  ‘Well, now we know why they didn’t want any worker nosing around. You best give DCI Carter a call and fill him in. He’ll need to know what’s going on down here,’ Marchbanks said, as they walked back down the steps and out through the gate in the fence.’

  As they drew level with the blackened pickup, a mobile started ringing. Penrose looked around, his eyes trying to locate the sound. He moved towards the sound. The ringing sounded muffled. After a few moments, he took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, pulled them on and opened the passenger door.

  Leaning in, he opened the glove box and took out the still ringing phone. It was the latest model — one he recognised as being voice activated. He knew that in theory, it should not respond to his voice. ‘Hello,’ he said. It went silent.

  ‘Get it over to forensics and see what’s on it,’ ordered Marchbanks, putting the pipe back in his mouth and re-lighting it. ‘I got a feeling it could answer a lot of our questions. They should be able to sort it.’

  ****

  Walking back along the corridor after updating Superintendent, Janice Watkins, Marcia Kirby said to Carter, ‘Well, at least Eades returned home yesterday safe and sound, and on time and without any problems. He checked in at three minutes past four. I did give him a call earlier and told him we’d been out to see him. He said he’d been out shopping. I said we found the door open so just in case he’d had a visitor we went in and checked it out. I told him we found the gun safe open, and they were missing. He explained that. He said he took them in to be re-bored and cleaned. I did check with the gunsmith, and he confirmed it. As for the tracker, he said that he’d just plain forgot to take it. He remembered it when he halfway into town but thought, as he wouldn’t be out that long, it wasn’t worth going back for.’

  ‘Good. That clears up that little mystery, but I still feel uneasy about Eades,’ said Carter, throwing open the doors and entering the CID office.

  He was about to enter his office when Inspector Ted Baxter stuck his head out from his office door. ‘DS Penrose. Can you call him back?’

  ‘Did he say what it was?’

  ‘Nope. Only that there’s been a new development down at Compton Furniture and asked that you give him a call.’

  Sensing trouble, he walked into his office and picked up the phone.

  ****

  After talking with Penrose for a while, Carter called Kirby and Lynch into his office and told them what had happened.

  ‘There’s no point in us going down there now — there’s nothing we can do.’ said Carter. He couldn’t help but notice the look of disappointment that spread across Sergeant Kirby’s face. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by it. I’ll give DI Marchbanks a call later.’

  ‘Well, at least it confirms they are involved in drugs,’ she said, ‘and we can now get into the place.’

  ‘Do they know what those other chemicals were that they found?’ asked Dave Lynch hopefully.

  ‘No, Dave, they don’t. Forensics had only just got there when Penrose called, but they think, from first glance, they’re used for drug manufacturing. They have managed to identify the body though. It was Kelly’s brother, Michael. We’ll have to wait for the PM to find the exact cause of death,’ Carter replied.

  ‘At least we know that Eades was at home when all this kicked off, so that rules him out about his promise of revenge?’ said Kirby.

  Carter leaned back in his chair and, stretching out his legs, said, ‘Yes, you’re right. Could he have been safely tucked up in bed? We’ll have to wait and see what comes up. This fire has not been set like the last one, so that means we have another player in the game. Technically, this is DI Marchbanks’s case, but we really can’t take a back seat on this one, so I see it as part of our ongoing investigation. I’ll have a word with the super and see what she says. I’m sure that DI Marchbanks wouldn’t be objecting. Reading between the lines and from the impression I got from the man at our last meeting, he strikes me as one who likes a quiet life. I believe he’s due for retirement pretty soon so, if I’m not mistaken, he’d be quite happy to hand the lot over to us.’ He looked up at the wall clock. ‘Okay, give me thirty minutes to make a few calls, then let’s get everybody together and bring them up to date.’

  ****

  He left his office a little later and walked over to the incident board. He looked deflated and annoyed.

  He called them all together. ‘Okay, everybody, listen up.’ He waited while they got themselves organised and seated. He set about telling them all what had happened out at Compton Furniture earlier that morning. He stood before them, hands held behind his back. ‘The powers that be have changed the game plan. There’s going to be a few changes. Because of the latest discovery in that shed and the latest death, DCI Carver and the Organised Crimes Squad are now involved.’

  Someone groaned.

  Inspector Ted Baxter narrowed his eyes and said, ‘Does this mean he’s taking over the whole inquiry?’

  ‘No, Ted. Compton Furniture will be his only in respect of the cannabis find. He’s asked for a warrant for the arrest of Kelly for cultivation. Well, I can tell you here and
now, he’s wasting his bloody time. I’ll have words with ACC Bishop if need be. Kelly and the related deaths, including the latest one, is our investigation. If DCI Carver does happen to find Kelly first, then that’s all well and good. It will save us a job, but his arse is still ours. Murder comes first, cultivation second. DCI Carver has been told to stay clear of Eades and not to jeopardise any of our investigations.’

  ‘Jeez, boss, ‘Mike Reid laughed, ‘that won’t make him happy.’ We get the meal, and all he gets is the scraps.’

  ‘Do we have any idea where Kelly is?’ asked Dave Lynch.

  ‘No, Dave, we don’t,’ Carter said, shaking his head. ‘There’s an all forces alert out for him — sea and airports. He’d have gone into hiding. I don’t think he’d hang around here after that fire. He’ll soon know we’ve found his little stash. He had to have a place to processes the cocaine and Fentanyl, but there are no signs of a lab down there, so I’ve asked DI Marchbanks to take a look at his cottage.’ He studied the faces around him for a moment, then said, ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Sir, are you aware that the funeral for Ajmal Hakim is on Monday morning? asked Kirby’

  A briefest of nods came from Carter. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’d like to go along,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, certainly, Marcia. That’s not a problem. By all means. I feel we should be represented.’ He looked around the room. ‘If anyone else here would like to go, it’s fine by me.’ He looked over to where Kirby was seated. ‘This might be a good time to talk to the cousin, Hassan Khan, and bring him up to date.’