The Sh0ut Page 22

  Vicky’s phone buzzed to let her know she’d received a text and it woke her up. She sat up, ran her hands through her hair and picked up the phone. She didn’t recognise the number. LAST NIGHT WAS FUN. WE SHOULD DO IT AGAIN. She smiled as she realised it was from Matt, then she frowned. She didn’t remember giving him her number. Had Farmer given it to him? Matt had said that they’d talked about her, but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing Farmer would do.

  She got up and showered, then put moisturising lotion on her scars, dressed and went downstairs. Her mum was already up and had a cup of tea ready for her, along with freshly made toast.

  ‘Eggs?’ asked Barbara.

  ‘I’m okay. Toast is fine.’

  ‘Most important meal of the day.’

  Vicky laughed. ‘Mum …’

  ‘Check on Baxter, will you? He’s in the sitting room and he’s gone quiet, which probably means he’s chewing something.’

  Vicky went into the sitting room but there was no sign of the dog. Then she heard a scuffling from the conservatory. ‘Baxter? What are you doing?’

  The dog was lying next to the wicker sofa and he sat up and looked at her, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. ‘What have you got there?’ asked Vicky and Baxter’s tail twitched guiltily. Vicky went into the conservatory and looked down at Baxter. He was chewing on the TV remote. ‘Are you serious?’ she said, picking it up. She waved it under his nose. ‘It’s plastic. Why are you chewing plastic? How does that even taste good?’ She took it back into the sitting room and put it next to the TV. Baxter followed her, tail wagging, and they went back into the kitchen.

  Vicky sat down at the kitchen table and Baxter flopped down at her feet. Her mum sat down opposite her and sipped her tea. ‘So you were right about Matt. Very good-looking.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The young man who dropped you off last night. I’m assuming that was the Matt from the bar who was taking you for a pizza.’

  ‘You were spying on me! I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘A car pulled up. Of course I look to see who it is. I am in the Neighbourhood Watch, you know.’

  Vicky laughed. ‘You are terrible.’

  ‘He did look very handsome.’

  ‘He didn’t get out of the car. What were you using, binoculars?’

  She held up her hands. ‘If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I understand.’

  ‘Mum, please …’ She buttered a piece of toast and smeared it with marmalade as Barbara continued to look at her, an amused smile on her face. ‘Fine,’ said Vicky eventually. ‘We had a pizza and some wine and he was a perfect gentleman. Happy now?’

  Barbara beamed. ‘As Larry.’

  ‘Larry who?’

  ‘It’s an expression.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So why did you ask?’

  ‘I was making a joke. Seriously, Matt is just …’ She shrugged. She didn’t know what Matt was. She didn’t even know his surname. But she remembered the kiss and the thought of it made her smile. Her phone rang and she jumped.

  ‘Maybe that’s him,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Mum …’ Vicky picked up the phone. It was Farmer. ‘Guv?’

  ‘Are you up, sweetheart? Bright eyed and bushy-tailed?’

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’

  ‘My car’s playing up again. Bloody ridiculous, I paid two hundred quid to get it fixed and it still won’t start.’

  ‘I left my car at Dowgate again.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  Vicky sighed. Yes, it was a problem. All he had to do was call for a cab, but instead he wanted her to get a cab, collect her car, drive to pick him up and take him to the station. It made no sense at all. But he was her boss and she wanted to keep in his good books. ‘I’m on my way.’

  She ended the call and realised her mum was looking at her and shaking her head. ‘He’s using you as a taxi, that’s not right.’

  ‘His car’s in terrible shape. Plus he’s teaching me a lot.’

  ‘He can use the bus. Or the Tube.’

  Vicky stood up, gulped down her tea and picked up her last piece of toast. ‘Love you,’ she said.

  ‘Love you, too. And let me know how things work out with Matt.’

  Vicky headed out, calling for a minicab as she went.

  She arrived at Farmer’s house about an hour later. He was on the pavement waiting for her, looking at his watch. He climbed into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. ‘You took your time,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning to you, too,’ she said as she pulled away from the kerb. ‘To be fair, you could have given me more notice.’

  ‘I thought the car was okay,’ he said. ‘It was fine yesterday. Today nothing.’

  ‘Sounds like an electrical fault.’

  ‘Do you think?’ he said, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. As they drove up to the station, the pump ladder was pulling out. Farmer wound down his window and called up to the driver, Bob Morris. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Shout in Chalk Farm, they’ve just gone to pumps four. Warehouse alight.’ Morris hit the blues and twos and the pump ladder pulled out.

  ‘Let’s get the van and we’ll attend,’ said Farmer.

  ‘Right, guv.’ She parked the car and they went upstairs to collect their gear and back to the van. Farmer grabbed the details of the shout from the office and by the time Vicky was in the driver’s seat he had scanned them and gave her directions.

  The warehouse was on an old industrial estate, a brick-built building with a flat roof that was well ablaze when Vicky and Farmer drove up in their van. The Dowgate pump ladder was there, along with two pumps from Paddington and another from Soho. Watch Manager Tony Abbey was incident commander in charge of the fire and he beamed when he saw Vicky climb out of the van.

  ‘Vicky Lewis, as I live and breathe, how the hell are you?’ he said as he hurried over. He hugged her and patted her on the back.

  ‘Hi, Tony,’ she said. She nodded at Farmer. ‘You know Des Farmer?’

  ‘Everyone knows the Grouch,’ said Abbey.

  ‘Yeah, fuck you too,’ said Farmer, opening the rear door of the van. ‘How about you put the bloody thing out so we can work out what happened.’

  ‘We’re working on it, Des.’ Abbey punched Vicky gently on the arm. ‘Good to see you, Vicky.’

  ‘You too, Tony.’

  He winked at her and jogged back to his pump ladder, where Crew Manager Dave Potter was waiting for him. Potter waved at Vicky and she waved back. One of the Paddington firefighters was pulling the Halligan bar from its rack. Abbey spoke to him and pointed at an emergency exit to the far left of the building where two more firefighters were getting a hose ready. Two firefighters were already spraying water on to the roof but Abbey was clearly hoping to attack the fire from inside by getting the hose in through the emergency exit.

  The firefighter hurried over to the emergency exit and swung the bar like a baseball bat, trying to dig the point into the gap between the two doors. He failed at the first two attempts but managed it on the third. He pushed the handle to the side and the doors splintered open. He placed the back of his hand against the door to check that it wasn’t hot, then turned to check that the firefighters were ready with the hose. They were. He nodded, and pulled open the doors. The men dragged the hose inside. Vicky’s breath caught in her throat and she realised her heart was pounding. It was the first fire she’d seen since her accident and she could feel her hands starting to shake. She looked down at them and realised with a jolt that it wasn’t excitement she was feeling, it was fear. She stared at her trembling hands, unable to process her emotions. She’d never been scared before. She’d gone into burning buildings without a second thought but something had changed. She could feel the adrenalin coursing through her veins but it wasn’t preparing her for action, it was telling her to run, to get as far away from the fire as she could. Her min
d was telling her the same thing. Run. Run. Get away.

  Farmer clapped her on the shoulder and she jumped.

  ‘Bet you wish you were going in with them, don’t you, sweetheart?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, guv,’ she said, but she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

  Smoke was billowing out through a row of skylights in the roof. There was a loading bay off to the right with metal shutters.

  Half a dozen spectators had gathered together on the other side of a wire fence and they all had their smartphones out and were recording. ‘See if any of the vultures called it in,’ said Farmer. ‘And let’s get a timeline sorted.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Vicky. She grabbed her helmet and put it on as she walked towards the onlookers, glad to have something to do so that she didn’t have to dwell on the fire. She couldn’t understand what had happened. Was it seeing the body in the hostel? Did she now have more understanding of the damage that fire could do? Was she scared of fire now? Scared of being burned? What the hell was wrong with her? She blocked out the negative thoughts and emotions and concentrated on the job in hand.

  An ambulance arrived, lights flashing and siren wailing. Abbey went over to speak to the driver and the siren went off.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, did any of you call nine nine nine to report the fire?’ Vicky asked the group.

  A teenager raised his left hand, his iPhone still recording in his right. A Jack Russell terrier was sitting at his feet and the teenager was standing on its lead.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Vicky, pulling a notepad and pen from her tunic pocket. She took down the lad’s details. He had been walking his dog and had seen smoke coming from the roof. That had been at about half past eight. She’d asked him if he’d seen anyone hanging around the warehouse. He hadn’t and nor had the other onlookers. Vicky took all their names and contact numbers.

  Farmer had taken the digital camera from the van and was photographing the warehouse. The firefighters appeared to have the fire under control and the volume of smoke escaping through the skylights had definitely decreased.

  The Dowgate crew had another hose ready and Morris was attacking a padlocked chain fastened around the delivery bay door with a Halligan bar. The padlock broke and Morris pulled the chain away. He checked the temperature of the metal door, then pulled it open. The firefighters went in with the hose. Vicky could feel her heart pounding. Before she would have given anything to be going in with them and doing what she most wanted to do in the world – fight fires. But now … now she wasn’t sure.

  ‘Okay, sweetheart?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘All good,’ she said.

  38

  The firefighters were damping down the inside of the building when a fire investigation van pulled up and parked next to theirs. Jamie Hughes got out of the van. He was wearing full firefighting gear and carrying his helmet. He waved at Vicky, then went to the rear of his vehicle and opened it. A spaniel jumped out, its tail wagging excitedly. It wasn’t Watson, this one was bigger and older and brown and white. Hughes clipped a lead to the dog’s collar and went over to Vicky and Farmer. ‘We’ve had a couple of warehouses torched in the last month so we’re putting a dog in first,’ said Farmer. ‘It can sometimes save time. In a building like this where there shouldn’t be any accelerants, the dog can often be quicker than us at spotting something that’s not right.’

  ‘Do you want to come in with me?’ Hughes asked Vicky. ‘See how it works.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. She looked across at Farmer and he nodded.

  They went in through the delivery bay door. ‘I keep her on the lead so we can control where she goes and what she sniffs,’ said Hughes. ‘Her name is Marple, by the way.’

  ‘After Miss Marple?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He took the dog around the inside of the warehouse. She was excited and clearly happy to be working. ‘If she spots anything she’ll sit and stare at the area where she smells an accelerant,’ said Hughes. They spent the best part of an hour checking the building but there was no reaction from Marple. They went back out. Farmer was smoking a cigarette and talking to Tony Abbey.

  Hughes loaded the dog into the back of the van and closed the door. ‘Right, I’ll leave you and Des to it,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you’ll find the fire was set. It’ll be a stray cigarette, maybe an electrical fire.’

  ‘Des says never to have any preconceptions,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Each to his own,’ said Hughes, taking off his helmet. ‘So do you fancy a drink some time?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll probably be in the Steelyard later with the guys.’

  Hughes looked uncomfortable. ‘I meant, somewhere else. You know. Away from the job. A Chinese maybe.’

  ‘Dinner?’ She saw his face fall at her reaction, but he had caught her by surprise. Drinks with the team after work were the norm in the brigade but he clearly had more in mind than that and she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her out.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Forget it. Sorry.’ He hurried around the side of the van, climbed into the driving seat and drove off.

  Farmer had caught the tail-end of the conversation and he grinned at her. ‘Don’t say a word, guv,’ she said.

  ‘I was just going to say make sure you get photographs of all the windows and entrances,’ he said.

  ‘The dog didn’t find anything,’ said Vicky.

  ‘I didn’t expect it to,’ he said. ‘The other warehouse fires were nothing like this, and stuff had clearly been moved out before the fires. This one has been empty for a while. From what I’ve seen, the place isn’t exactly secure. I did a walk around and there’s a window that looks suspect at the back. Looks to me as if kids have been breaking in. Did Jamie find anything?’

  ‘He was only watching the dog,’ said Vicky.

  ‘That’s the problem with using our four-legged friends,’ said Farmer. ‘There’s a tendency to rely on their noses instead of your own eyes. But for a quick run-through of a large scene, they’re useful enough.’

  Farmer took Vicky back inside the warehouse and they spent three hours checking it out. Farmer was right. There was a window at the back that had been prised open and they found evidence that someone had been drinking cans of extra-strong lager and smoking cannabis. There were no scorch marks to suggest exactly where the fire had started and there was a lot of water damage that made it even more difficult. But the electrical circuits all seemed fine and there was no evidence that the fire had been deliberate. Farmer’s best guess was that a smoker had started the fire accidentally but there was no direct evidence to prove his hypothesis.

  They put their equipment in the van and Vicky drove back to Dowgate. They were about ten minutes away from the station when Farmer’s phone rang. He answered it and had a quick conversation before ending the call. ‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘Clapham.’

  ‘Clapham?’

  ‘You’ve heard of it,’ he said. ‘South of the river.’ He waved his hand. ‘I’ll give you directions, don’t worry.’

  Vicky headed for the Thames. ‘What’s the job?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll see when we get there,’ he said. He sat deep in thought, only speaking to give her directions. Eventually he had her park next to a terraced house near Clapham Common Tube station. They got out and Vicky went to the rear of the van to get their gear but Farmer told her not to bother. ‘This isn’t official,’ he said. ‘Just tunics and helmets, we won’t be needing photographs.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s not our case,’ he said. ‘We’re just having a look-see.’

  Vicky followed him along the pavement to where a SOCO van had been parked. The fire engines that had attended were long gone, but as always they had left plenty of evidence behind – a smashed front door, a broken window and water everywhere. A uniformed PC in a fluorescent jacket was standing guard at the door but he stepped aside and saluted as soon as he saw the jackets and helmets.
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br />   Farmer went through to the kitchen and Vicky followed him. She recognised the Scene of Crime Officer – it was Garry Harding, the man Danny McGuire had introduced her to. He was wearing a white paper suit with the hood up, protective gloves and shoes and a facemask. He grinned when he saw her. ‘You drew the short straw today, huh,’ he said, nodding at Farmer.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘I met Vicky when she was out with Danny at a meth lab,’ said Harding.

  ‘I know, I sent her,’ said Farmer. ‘So what’s the story?’

  ‘The body’s been taken away, what was left of it,’ said Harding. ‘The fire was well alight by the time your guys got here and they couldn’t get in for more than an hour. Just bones and charred flesh, pretty much. Her name is Jayne Chandler. Jayne with a “Y”. Looks like a simple laptop fire, but the victim’s a young blond so I know you’ll never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t let you know straight away.’

  ‘Who was out for the brigade?’

  ‘Dale Robertson. He’s just gone.’

  ‘And Dale thinks …?’

  ‘Computer caught fire. Which is what I think. Because that’s what it is. But I know you have a thing about dead blonds. You do still have a thing about dead blonds, don’t you?’

  ‘If they die in a fire, yes.’

  ‘Oh, is this like the cases in your bedroom?’ said Vicky.

  Farmer flinched as if he’d been struck. He looked across at Vicky, barely able to conceal his anger and he stared at her for several seconds. Vicky looked away, lost for words. She’d spoken without thinking and she could see that Farmer was livid. Eventually, Farmer looked back at Harding and forced a smile. ‘You didn’t tell Dale you were going to call me, did you?’

  ‘Why would do I do that? You think I want him bending my ear?’

  ‘Good call,’ said Farmer. ‘So if the body was badly burnt, how did you know she was blond?’

  Harding chuckled and pointed to the fridge. There were half a dozen photographs of a young blond woman peppered over the door, held in place by fridge magnets in the shape of fruit and vegetables. ‘Plus her driving licence was on the hall table.’