The Sh0ut Page 30

She pulled Farmer out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Her arms were aching and her knees were hurting. She took a deep breath and stood up. The smoke immediately made her eyes water. She bent down and grabbed Farmer under the arms and hauled him up, then she ducked down and threw him over her shoulder. She put out her left hand to touch the wall, kept a hold of his legs with her right, and started walking towards the stairs, holding her breath. Her hand touched the kitchen door frame, then there was a gap, then the frame again. It was four more steps to the top of the stairs, then she continued down, keeping her hand against the wall.

  Within a few steps the air was clearer and by the time she was halfway down she could breathe again.

  She reached the door and stepped out into the night air, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her soot-stained face. She gritted her teeth as she carried Farmer away from the house. She kept on going until she reached the pavement. The Indian neighbour hurried over and helped her lower Farmer to the ground.

  ‘Is he okay?’ the neighbour asked.

  ‘He’s breathing.’

  The man knelt down and opened Farmer’s shirt. He put his hand on the side of Farmer’s neck.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘I’m a nurse. I’m checking for a pulse.’ The man nodded. ‘His heart’s strong.’ He examined the wound on Farmer’s head. ‘Do you have a handkerchief?

  ‘I don’t,’ said Vicky. She pulled a pack of tissues from her pocket. ‘I’ve got these.

  The man took several tissues and pressed them against the wound. ‘He’s going to be okay,’ he said.

  In the distance they heard an ambulance’s siren.

  ‘Where are the pumps?’ muttered Vicky.

  ‘Pumps?’ repeated the man.

  ‘The fire engines,’ said Vicky. As if to answer her, they heard a fire engine siren off to their left. Then another. They were on their way.

  Vicky sat back on her heels. Her heart was pounding and she forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked the neighbour.

  She nodded. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Heck of a thing you did there, getting him out.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s my job.’ She nodded at the bloody tissues. ‘I’ll do that,’ she said. ‘You go and take care of your family.’

  He let her apply pressure to the head wound and then hurried over to his wife and son. The ambulance arrived and she let the paramedics take over. They were putting Farmer on a stretcher when the pump and pump ladder arrived from the Bethnal Green station. The crew manager was Terry Jenner and as his crew began unravelling hoses and connecting the pump to a fire hydrant, he came over to her. ‘What are you doing here, Vicky?’

  ‘It’s Des Farmer’s house,’ she said. ‘They’re putting him in the ambulance now.’

  Jenner’s grin vanished and was replaced by a look of concern. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Okay, so the house is empty. Des was in the top-floor flat on his own and I got him out. There’s fire in both bedrooms at the back of the flat, but it’s probably spread to the front by now. No fire on the ground floor and everyone is out.’

  ‘Good job,’ he said. Then he frowned. ‘Wait, what? You were in there?’

  ‘I saw fire and went in to get him. He was unconscious on the bed. By the look of it someone had belted him, and I think the fire was deliberately set. Can you ask your guys to take it easy up there? Be nice if there was some evidence I could look at down the line.’

  ‘First priority is to put out the fire, you know that,’ said Jenner. ‘But I’ll tell them.’

  ‘The top door’s already open,’ she said. ‘They can go right in.’

  Jenner nodded and jogged over to his crew who now had two hoses fitted. Two firefighters were preparing to go inside and two more were taking their hose down the side of the house.

  The ambulance drove away and Vicky turned to watch it go. The fact that they weren’t using their lights or the siren was probably a good sign, she figured.

  The firefighters with the hose disappeared into the house.

  It took them less than five minutes to extinguish the fires and Jenner came over to let her know that other than a bit of damping down to make sure the fire didn’t reignite, it was all over. A fire investigation van arrived and Dale Robertson climbed out. He was clearly surprised to see Vicky. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘It’s Des’s house,’ she said. ‘I was just passing by.’

  Robertson’s jaw dropped. ‘No way.’

  ‘They’ve just taken him to hospital.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Should be. Some smoke inhalation, but he wasn’t burned.’

  ‘You think it was a careless cigarette?’ asked Robertson.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ she said. ‘Someone knocked him out and set fire to his place.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He has a nasty wound on his head. Someone belted him. And there were two seats of the fire, one in his bedroom and one in the spare bedroom. The hall carpet was alight too but it didn’t look to me as if the fire had spread from one room to the other.’

  ‘You were in there?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Bloody hell, Vicky. What are you like?’

  ‘It’s your case, Dale. But I can tell you it was set. Oh, and check the smoke alarm, will you. It didn’t go off. Can you photograph the batteries that are in there and get them checked for prints?’

  ‘Prints? Fingerprints?’

  ‘Please, Dale, just do it, yeah. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘You’re not hanging around?’

  ‘I’m going to the hospital to check on Des.’

  54

  Des Farmer slowly opened his eyes, clearly still in pain despite the painkillers they had pumped into him. He lay looking up at the ceiling, blinking his eyes as he tried to focus.

  ‘Welcome back to the land of the living, guv,’ said Vicky. She was sitting on a chair at the side of the bed and he slowly turned to look at her.

  He tried to smile but it turned almost immediately into a wince. ‘Where am I?’

  She smiled and gestured at the monitoring equipment on the trolley next to him. ‘Take a wild guess.’

  ‘I know I’m in hospital. Which one?’

  ‘The Royal London. You’re being well looked after.’

  Farmer sighed. ‘My head hurts.’

  ‘There’s no lasting damage and your scan was clear. But it looks like you were hit on the head.’

  ‘I feel like shit.’ Farmer shook his head and winced again. ‘Whoever it was zapped me from behind. A Taser, maybe. I don’t think they hit me.’

  ‘Maybe it happened when you fell. Either way it was the killer. The one you’ve been chasing.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The way the fire was set. The fact that he switched the batteries in your smoke detector. And the fact that there was enough Rohypnol in you to subdue a horse.’

  ‘Rohypnol? Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s definite. They fast-tracked your blood test. Whoever hit you drugged you as well, just to be sure you’d be unconscious. It’s the same MO, no question.’

  Farmer sighed and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Why the hell did he try to kill me?’

  ‘Presumably he knows you’re on to him.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’ He sighed. ‘The last thing I remember is going to the front door. Then I got zapped. How did I get out of the flat?’

  ‘I carried you.’

  ‘Fireman’s lift?’

  ‘Firefighter’s lift, guv.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart.’

  ‘Least I could do.’

  ‘You’re serious? You carried me out?’

  Vicky nodded.

  He turned to look at her. ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘You don’t remember? You called me.’

  He frowned. ‘I called yo
u?’

  ‘You didn’t say anything. And when I called back your phone was off.’

  ‘I’ve absolutely no recollection of doing that.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of Rohypnol, I suppose.’

  Vicky’s mobile phone rang and she took it out and looked at the screen. The caller was withholding their number, but she apologised to Farmer and took the call anyway. ‘This is Vicky,’ she said.

  ‘You the firefighter that got burned?’ It was a man, gruff and whispering. She realised who it was immediately. Michael Walsh.

  ‘Yes. How come you’re calling me on a mobile?’

  Walsh chuckled. ‘Anything you can get outside, we can get inside.’

  ‘What do you want, Mr Walsh.’

  Farmer’s eyes widened when he heard the name. ‘Michael Walsh?’ he mouthed, and Vicky nodded.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. You and that Farmer guy.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I need you to answer a question first.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, hesitantly.

  Walsh took a deep breath, and Vicky could almost hear him licking his lips. ‘What did it feel like, the fire?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Hot.’

  ‘Not good enough. I want you to tell me what it felt like, when the flames were all around you and you thought you were going to die.’

  Vicky screwed up her face. Part of her just wanted to end the call, but she knew that she needed Walsh’s cooperation, and if answering his stupid questions achieved that end then all well and good. ‘It was scary, but I’d been trained well. I had a casualty and I had to get him to the ladder. So I did what I had to do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you leave him?’

  ‘Because that’s not what firefighters do. We rescue people, we don’t leave them.’

  ‘Was he heavy?’

  ‘Very heavy,’ said Vicky.

  ‘You got him out, but you didn’t save yourself. Why?’

  ‘The floor collapsed under me,’ said Vicky.

  ‘You fell?’

  ‘Yes, I fell.’

  ‘Into the fire?’

  ‘Yes. Into the fire.’

  She heard a slight gasp and realised that Walsh was getting off on the story.

  ‘Mr Walsh, will you tell the truth about what you did? About who paid you? About how you set the fire.’

  ‘Tell who?’

  ‘The police.’

  There was a long pause. The silence went on and on but Vicky didn’t want to be the one who spoke first.

  ‘You still there?’ said Walsh eventually.

  ‘Still here.’

  ‘If I give a statement, can I give it to you?’

  ‘It has to be to the police,’ she said.

  ‘But you can be there?’

  ‘I can attend, yes.’

  ‘That’s what I want.’

  ‘And I can do that. I can be there when you give your statement. But you have to tell them everything. How you did it. How you got in.’

  ‘They gave me a key to the back door.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘The man I met.’

  ‘You need to tell the police that. And how they paid you. And what they told you to do.’

  ‘They wanted the whole building to burn. That’s what they wanted. They said they needed it destroyed.’

  ‘Then that’s what you need to say,’ said Vicky.

  ‘And you’ll be there?’ She could hear the hope in his voice and it made her shudder.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there.’

  There was another long pause. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll talk to my lawyer.’

  The call ended and Vicky realised she had been holding her breath. She sighed. She felt somehow dirty following the conversation, but there was relief, too.

  ‘What’s happening, sweetheart?’ asked Farmer.

  ‘Walsh is going to talk to the cops.’

  Farmer grinned. ‘About bloody time.’

  55

  Vicky managed to find a parking space a short walk from Wandsworth Prison. She looked at her watch. It was just before ten. She had arranged to meet two detectives at the prison, along with Peter Mulholland from SOCO. All three were waiting for her at the entrance.

  Mulholland was wearing the same suit and lacrosse tie that he’d had on when she’d met him in the pub with Farmer. And he was carrying his big leather briefcase. He shook hands with her and introduced her to the two detectives. The older of the two was Detective Inspector Paul Rees, his colleague was Detective Constable Maureen Price. ‘I’ve briefed them on my report, and they’re up to speed,’ said Mulholland. ‘I’ve also offered to open a vein, if that helps.’

  ‘Michael Walsh has been setting fires for a long time, he’s good at covering his tracks,’ said Vicky.

  Mulholland shrugged. ‘I should have taken more care,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘Anyway, at least we get a chance to put it right,’ he said, gesturing at the entrance.

  They checked in and were escorted along to the same interview room they had used during Vicky’s last visit by a cheerful West Indian prison officer. He showed them into the room and then went off to get another chair. DC Price took a digital recorder from her bag and set it on to the table and placed a microphone on a small stand.

  The inspector waved Vicky to a chair and she sat down. Mulholland sat down next to her and put his briefcase on the floor. The guard reappeared with an extra chair and told them that Walsh was on his way.

  Five minutes later, a female guard escorted the arsonist into the room. Walsh was wearing a stained prison sweatshirt and jeans and he leered at Vicky when he saw her. ‘Hello, Miss Lewis,’ he said. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘It’s what you wanted,’ she said.

  Walsh looked around. ‘Where is Mr Farmer?’

  ‘He’s busy on a case,’ lied Vicky. In fact, he was still in hospital, but very much on the mend.

  DC Price pressed a button to start the recording and nodded at the inspector.

  ‘This interview is being conducted under caution,’ said Inspector Rees. ‘We will be recording the interview and will provide you with a copy or a transcript if you require one.’

  ‘Don’t need it,’ said Walsh.

  ‘That’s your choice,’ said the inspector. ‘Now, you do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand that?’

  Walsh nodded.

  ‘If you’d please say yes for the recording,’ said the inspector.

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ said Walsh. ‘But before we go any further, I want to be sure that my sentence won’t be increased.’

  ‘That’s agreed,’ said the inspector. ‘We have already spoken to the CPS. Providing what you tell us is the truth, and you are prepared to give evidence in court, the offence will be added to your list of convictions and there will be no extra time to serve.’

  Walsh nodded at Vicky. ‘And she won’t sue me.’

  ‘I won’t be suing, I promise,’ said Vicky. ‘I don’t need your money, Mr Walsh. I just want justice for what happened.’

  Walsh licked his fleshy lips as he stared at her scarred cheek. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I did it. And they paid me to do it.’

  ‘Did what, Mr Walsh?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Set the fire. The fire what burned her. I did it. I blowtorched the electrical consumer board after I jerry-rigged a feed from the mains.’

  ‘And why did you go to that trouble of doing that?’

  ‘They wanted me to make it look as if the squatters had tampered with the electricity supply.’

  ‘They? Who do you mean?’

  ‘The guy who paid me. He gave me ten grand, cash. Two grand before, eight grand after I did the job.’

  ‘And what was this man’s name?’ asked the inspector.

  Walsh shrugged. ‘He didn’t tell me his name. Why would h
e?’

  ‘But he knew your name?’

  Walsh shook his head. ‘He knew my nickname. My handle.’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘The handle I used on the website. There’s this website where people who love fires get together to share stories. That’s how I met him. He wanted to know if I would do a fire for him and I said, sure. He didn’t want to meet, he wanted to pay me with Bitcoins or something but I said fuck that, I wanted cash. I got caught out taking money into my bank before so this time it had to be cash.’

  ‘You were on bail at the time for three other fires?’ said the inspector.

  Walsh nodded. ‘Yeah, and you bastards seized all my money, so I said it had to be cash.’

  ‘And where did you meet this man?’

  ‘Battersea Park.’

  ‘And he gave you ten thousand pounds?’

  Walsh shook his head. ‘Two thousand pounds. Then I did the fire. Then someone else gave me the rest of the money.’

  ‘So you met two men?’ asked the inspector.

  Walsh nodded.

  ‘Please answer for the recording, Mr Walsh,’ said the detective inspector.

  ‘Yes,’ said Walsh.

  ‘And did either of these men identify themselves?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you describe them?’

  Walsh shrugged. ‘The first one was about your age. About your size. He wore glasses. He had a hat on so I couldn’t see his hair. He had a mole on his neck. I remember that.’

  Mulholland bent down and opened his briefcase. He took out a glossy booklet and put it on the table. Vicky realised it was a brochure for the property development company that owned the hotel. Mulholland opened the brochure to a page on which there was a group photograph of the company’s directors. ‘Do you recognise anyone in this picture?’ asked Mulholland.

  Walsh peered at the photograph, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.

  Mulholland gritted his teeth. He turned the page. There was another photograph there of the firm’s security team. Walsh studied it and then nodded. He tapped the man standing to the left of the group and grinned. ‘That’s him. I knew he was wearing the glasses to change his appearance.’

  Vicky leaned over. It was the firm’s head of security.