The Sh0ut Page 18

  ‘Any problems?’

  ‘Good as gold. He was a bit upset that social services took away his cat but other than that he’s been one of our quieter residents.’

  ‘They took away his cat?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘We don’t allow pets, unfortunately.’

  ‘So what happened to the cat?’

  ‘I think social services gave it to the RSPCA.’

  ‘Vicky, let’s stay on point, shall we?’ said Farmer. ‘Did Mr Lawson have any problems? Drugs? Alcohol?’

  ‘No more than usual,’ said the man. ‘As I said, he was one of our better-behaved residents.’

  ‘Mental health issues?’

  The man shrugged. ‘He seemed okay. Muttered to himself a bit, but anyone who has spent any time on the streets tends to do that.’

  ‘Who called the fire brigade?’

  ‘I did. One of the residents came running down saying that he could smell smoke. I went up to the second floor to check and as soon as I saw how bad it was I called nine nine nine.’

  Farmer pointed up at a smoke detector in the ceiling. ‘How come they didn’t go off?’

  ‘It’s an old building so we don’t have a central system,’ said Morrison. ‘There are individual smoke detectors in the rooms but some of the residents disable them so they can smoke.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re not supposed to, but there isn’t much we can do about it.’

  ‘And he was a smoker?’

  Morrison nodded. ‘He was. Big time. When he wasn’t smoking he was rolling up his next one. To be honest, I’ve never seen smoking as a problem, not compared to drink and drugs. He was a nice guy, kept himself to himself.’

  Farmer looked across at Vicky. ‘Can you request a fire safety officer? We’ll need a risk assessment done to check that the detector was working. If it wasn’t, LFB Fire Safety might well prosecute.’ Farmer looked around. ‘The officer outside said there was a sergeant here who was in charge.’

  Morrison pointed down a corridor. ‘He was down there, where the stairs are.’

  Farmer nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll head on up.’

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Sure. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer it.’

  ‘All the damage your guys did. Who’s going to pay for it? There’s water pouring into the first-floor rooms, they broke the door to the room. They sprayed water everywhere.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, that’s how they put out fires,’ said Farmer. Outside the West Hampstead pump drove off. The driver blipped the siren for show as they went.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Morrison. ‘And obviously it’s great that they put it out and that the fire was confined to the one room, but we’re on a really tight budget, we don’t have the money for redecorating and replacing the furniture. Plus the electrics are probably shot and the last time I checked an electrician charges one fifty an hour.’

  ‘Are you council run? They’ll usually pay for any damage caused by firefighters.’

  ‘We’re funded by the council and we get government grants, but we’re actually a quango so we run our own budget.’

  ‘Then your insurance will pay,’ said Farmer.

  ‘You’re sure? I was wondering if the Fire Brigade would put right the damage?’

  ‘They won’t. But like I said, your insurance will cover it.’

  ‘And another question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘All the residents were told to evacuate the building when the fire was spotted, but no one has said when they can come back in.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the police and let you know,’ said Farmer. ‘The fact the appliances have gone means the fire risk is over, but the police might have issues.’

  Morrison thanked him and Vicky followed Farmer down the corridor. There was more damage to the walls and the floor was wet from where water had come pouring down the stairs.

  Two policemen were standing by the stairs, drinking Starbucks coffee. The older of the two was a grey-haired sergeant who nodded at Farmer. ‘You with the fire brigade?’

  ‘What was it gave us away?’ asked Farmer. ‘The uniforms or the helmets?’

  The sergeant frowned, not getting the joke. Farmer sighed. ‘Des Farmer, fire investigation.’ He nodded at Vicky. ‘This is my colleague. Vicky Lewis.’

  The sergeant looked at Vicky and nodded, then back at Farmer. ‘Brian Rowling, we got here not long after your guys. They put out the fire but there’s a casualty so we’re not touching anything until SOCO gets here.’

  ‘We were told one deceased,’ said Farmer. ‘Was anyone else hurt?’

  The sergeant shook his head.

  Farmer moved to get by the police officer but the sergeant held out his coffee to stop him. ‘It’s a crime scene,’ said the sergeant. ‘We think Mr Lawson was robbed and beaten to death and the fire was used to cover it up.’

  ‘Do you now?’ said Farmer. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘You’ll see when you get up there,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Did he have much to steal?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘We don’t know what was taken. But we think robbery was the motive.’

  Farmer nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘So you’ll be waiting for SOCO?’

  ‘I think we might just have a quick look around,’ said Farmer. ‘Get the lie of the land.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said the sergeant gruffly. ‘But you’ll need to be wearing protective gear, we don’t want any evidence transfer.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Farmer, and it was clear from the sergeant’s satisfied look that he hadn’t heard the sarcasm in Farmer’s voice. He grinned at Vicky. ‘Sweetheart, pop out and get us the overshoes and nitrile gloves will you? Plus oversuits and dust masks. Torches and the camera, obviously.’

  ‘Yes, guv.’ Vicky headed outside to the van. She opened the back and took out gloves and overshoes, the camera and two torches under the watchful eye of the dozen or more men standing on the pavement. Two of them were drinking cans of lager.

  As she was closing the door, a West Indian in a long coat and dreadlocks tied back with a strip of red, yellow and green cloth ambled over. ‘Miss?’ he said. ‘Can I talk to you?’

  She was taken aback by his politeness and had already taken a step away from him.

  He realised he had startled her so he held up his hands. ‘Sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He smiled showing brilliantly white teeth. ‘I just wanted to ask you about Anthony.’

  ‘Anthony Lawson?’

  He nodded. ‘He’s a friend of mine. We used to sleep rough together, then he moved in here. He said he was trying to get me in, too.’

  ‘You know there’s been a fire?’

  The man nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’m afraid you friend was hurt.’

  ‘Hurt? How bad.’

  ‘I’m sorry, your friend is dead. I’m here to carry out an investigation to find out what happened.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I heard, I heard he was dead.’ The man began shifting his weight from side to side. ‘So, here’s the thing, miss. Who do I talk to about getting the room?’

  Vicky frowned. ‘The room?’

  The man nodded. ‘The room. His room. Anthony’s room. How can I get his room? I mean, he don’t need it no more, right?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘So who do I talk to?’

  ‘Sir, there’s been a fire in there. A bad fire. I don’t think anyone is going to be moving in for a while.’

  ‘I don’t mind, that’s okay, it doesn’t have to look good, I just want a room.’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘I need a room, that’s all.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Look, they’re going to be busy in there all today, why don’t you come back tomorrow.’ She groped inside her tunic and pulled out her wallet. ‘Here, take this,’ she said, handing him two twenty-pound notes.

  His eyes widened. ‘God bless you, miss,’ he muttered, then hurried away with the money as if he
feared she would change her mind.

  Vicky locked the door and headed back inside.

  ‘No sign of SOCO?’ asked Farmer.

  Vicky shook her head. ‘They’ve got a lot on,’ said the sergeant. ‘I was told three hours, maybe four.’

  ‘Okay, well we’ll have a look-see,’ said Farmer. He went up the stairs first and Vicky followed. The stairwell was wet where water had run down from the second floor, and the higher they climbed the more water there was and the stronger the smell of smoke.

  The second-floor hallway was tiled and as soon as they walked from the stairs it was clear where the fire had been. The door had been forced in and then ripped out and placed against the wall in the hallway. Police tape had been put haphazardly across the doorway.

  Farmer and Vicky put on their overshoes and gloves, then they went into the room. The window had been opened but the smell of burnt wood and carpet was overpowering. They saw the body immediately, lying on its back with the arms and legs bunched in a defensive posture as if warding off blows.

  Vicky gasped and took an involuntary step backwards. She put up her hand to cover her mouth.

  Whatever clothing the man had been wearing had burned away and the flesh had burst open in more than a dozen places. Vicky couldn’t tell if the man had been bald or if the fire had burned off all the hair but the head was a black sphere of burnt flesh with grinning yellowed teeth.

  Vicky felt her stomach heave and she began to retch.

  ‘Outside!’ shouted Farmer. ‘Don’t you dare contaminate the scene!’

  Vicky turned and bolted out into the corridor, bent double. She threw up over a wall and stood gasping and spluttering.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, girl, what’s wrong with you?’ asked Farmer.

  Vicky shook her head but couldn’t speak. She spat on to the floor, cleared her throat and spat again. She took several deep breaths and then straightened up. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Have you not seen a dead body before?’

  Vicky didn’t answer. She had, but never as badly burnt as the one in the room. The smell of burnt flesh had made her flash back to the fire in which she was injured. The stench was the same, the aroma of overcooked meat, of scorched skin and burnt fat. If her colleagues hadn’t got to her in time and pulled her out, she could have ended up exactly like the body on the floor. That could so easily have been her and the realisation made her head swim.

  ‘Do you want to go outside?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t have you throwing up over evidence.’

  ‘It won’t happen again. I promise.’

  He stared at her for several seconds and then nodded. ‘Okay. But if it does, you can go back to the van.’

  ‘Yes, guv,’ said Vicky. She could tell from his tone and the glare he was giving her that if she did have to leave it would be the end of her career with fire investigation.

  Farmer went back into the room. Vicky followed him and again the stench made her want to vomit but she forced herself to stay calm as she looked around.

  The remains of a broken chair were by the side of the body. The wooden parts had burned away leaving just the metal legs, which had buckled in the heat.

  The room was small, barely eight feet wide with a single bed, a small table, and a two-seater sofa by the window. All that remained of the sofa was the metal frame and judging by the black sooty patch above it, whatever it was made of had burned fiercely. The bed had also been totally destroyed by the fire, suggesting the mattress hadn’t been fire-retardant.

  Vicky looked around the room, taking everything in. There was an open smoke detector on the wall by the door. The battery had been removed. There was a glass ashtray on the table which confirmed that Lawson was a smoker.

  ‘So what do you think?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘Cause of death?’ said Vicky, trying not to look at the remains. ‘I guess we need a post-mortem to be sure.’

  Farmer smiled thinly. ‘Way to go covering your arse.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ asked Vicky. She forced herself to look at the body. She threw up into her mouth but forced herself to swallow it. ‘Clearly the body has been seriously damaged by the fire,’ she said. She swallowed again but the bitter acrid taste was still at the back of her mouth. ‘But the position of the arms and the legs looks as if he was trying to defend himself against an attacker. The legs are drawn up and his arms are up over his face. And his hands. They’re fists, as if he was fighting.’

  Farmer nodded. ‘So you think he was fighting someone off before he died?’

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘No, now I think you’re testing me. What am I missing?’

  ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. The cop downstairs clearly jumped to the same conclusion. You take one look at a body like that and assume he was attacked.’

  ‘It does look like there was a fight, yes.’

  Farmer grinned. ‘Back in the day investigators did think this pugilistic pose meant the victim was under attack. But now we know that extreme heat alone can cause the muscles and tendons to contract. That tightens them up and flexes the arms and legs.’

  ‘So it all happened after death?’

  ‘That’s right. And I don’t think he was on the floor when he died, either.’ He pointed at the chair. ‘I’d say he was sitting on that chair, then had some sort of seizure. A stroke or a heart attack. The post-mortem will hopefully tell us which.’ He pointed at the ashtray. ‘A smoker, obviously. So there’s a chance he was smoking when he had the attack. He drops the cigarette and it lands on the carpet. The carpet looks cheap, imported probably, and not fire resistant. It smoulders and it burns. The old fella was probably dead by then, but if not the smoke would have taken him. The chair’s wood, so that burns, and the legs closer to the seat of the fire would burn through first which means he would fall to the side. He hits the floor and rolls on to his back and then the fire takes hold and his arms and legs draw up.’

  ‘So, it’s natural causes?’ She looked down at the body but she saw herself lying in the same protective position, arms and legs up, her clothing burned away, her flesh burned down to the bone. She could feel herself about to throw up again and she looked away.

  ‘Death by smoking, I’d say. It was probably the smoking that brought on the health issue, and the cigarette that started the fire.’

  Vicky looked around the room doing everything she could to avoid seeing the body. ‘I wonder what his story was. Nearly sixty years old and he ends up here, in a single room in a homeless hostel.’

  ‘Life can be tough. People make bad decisions. Most people are only a couple of pay cheques away from being on the street.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so,’ said Farmer. ‘Not everyone has the luxury of big chunks of money in the bank.’ He saw her lips tighten and held up his hand. ‘Sorry, that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you. I meant, people in general.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Your money, that’s a whole different—’

  ‘Now you’re starting to protest too much,’ she said. ‘I know what you meant. And I get what you’re saying. You get in debt, you miss a few payments and the bank takes away your home. I get that. But people have friends, they have family.’

  ‘You don’t see friends for dust when you’ve got money problems,’ said Farmer. ‘And as for family …’ He shrugged. ‘They don’t always stick around either.’

  ‘But he can’t have gone through life alone,’ said Vicky. ‘If he didn’t have a wife and kids he probably had siblings or cousins. His parents might still be alive.’ She could see that she was making Farmer uncomfortable so she changed the subject. ‘What do you want in the way of pictures?’ she asked.

  ‘The works,’ said Farmer. ‘And I’ll let you do the report. Give you a chance to show off what you now know about the pugilistic posture.’

  ‘
Thanks, guv, you’re all heart.’

  They stayed at the fire scene for the best part of two hours. Towards the end, Vicky was able to look at the burnt body without her stomach heaving, but she kept flashing back to her own fire and how close she had come to being burned alive. After half an hour she stopped noticing the smell but the images of the fire that almost killed her kept flashing into her mind no matter how hard she tried to block them out.

  Just as she was finishing up two SOCOs arrived in white protective suits and masks. Farmer knew them both and introduced Vicky. They all shook hands.

  The more senior of the SOCO men pulled his mask down and wagged his finger at Farmer. ‘You know you’re supposed to wait for us, Des.’

  ‘I was saving you time,’ said Farmer. ‘Your guys were about to treat it as a robbery-murder and you know how your detectives hate having their time wasted.’

  The SOCO looked down at the body and smiled. ‘Ah, the old pugilistic pose,’ he said. ‘Always throws you the first time you come across it.’ He gestured at the door. ‘Who was sick out in the corridor?’

  Vicky raised her hand. ‘Guilty.’

  The man smiled. ‘We’ve all been there,’ he said.

  ‘To be fair, I’ve never thrown up at a fire scene,’ said Farmer. He looked over at Vicky. ‘Hopefully it won’t be happening again.’

  ‘At least you made it to the corridor,’ said the SOCO. ‘First time I threw up it was all over the body.’ He pulled his mask back into place. ‘Right, let the dog see the rabbit.’

  Farmer and Vicky headed out and went downstairs to the van. They put their equipment into the back and Vicky slammed the door. ‘Let’s leave off finishing the paperwork until we’re back at Dowgate,’ said Farmer.

  They climbed into the front and Vicky started the engine.

  ‘Do you fancy popping around to where it happened?’ asked Farmer as he fastened his seat belt. ‘The hotel fire? I wouldn’t mind having a look.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Vicky. ‘It’s only a few minutes away.’ She started the van and drove south. She took a left, then a right, then frowned when she saw all that remained of the hotel was the brick frontage which was held up by scaffolding. The bulk of the building had been demolished and the site surrounded by a hoarding on which were a series of artist impressions of what would replace it – a modern apartment block with shops and restaurants on the ground floor. She parked at the side of the road and wound down her window.