After the Fire (Maeve Kerrigan) Read online

  ‘Kev sent the list to me.’ Tom Bridges looked around, checking that he’d met us all before and he didn’t need to explain who he was. His expression changed very slightly when he got to me, interest narrowing his eyes and I looked down at the carpet. When I looked up again, Bridges was addressing Burt but, inevitably, Derwent was watching me.

  ‘I had a scan through the names and records and one of them jumped out at me,’ Bridges said. ‘Ray Griffin. He’s a local fixer for a gang of Albanians who’ve been running a people-smuggling operation across Europe for the last five years. They are some bad lads.’

  ‘The kind of people who’d have three girls locked in a flat on the Maudling Estate?’ I asked.

  ‘Exactly that kind.’ He took a photograph out of a folder and held it up. ‘This is Ray.’

  Ray was maybe thirty, with dark hair, a square jaw and a wide neck, his mouth a little bit slack in the picture. I was wary of reading too much into a custody photograph but he looked blank, as if there wasn’t much going on behind his small eyes.

  Colin leaned in, staring at the image intently. ‘What do you think, Maeve?’

  I bent to see, holding up a sheet of paper to cover half the picture so all we could see was a square jaw, an ear, a hint of downturned mouth and a wide neck. ‘That looks like the guy from the hallway to me.’

  ‘Scientific approach,’ Pettifer commented and I glowered at him.

  ‘Did you look at the CCTV, Chris? Or did you assume that was someone else’s job?’

  ‘Colin hadn’t shown it to me.’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’ Colin said it in a matter-of-fact way.

  ‘We got skin cells and saliva from him. You were looking for someone who touched his face,’ Kev said. ‘He fits on that front. Scientifically, I mean.’ He caught my eye and grinned.

  Pettifer turned to Burt. ‘I’ve never heard of this guy before. He’s nothing to do with Melissa Pell. If he did attack her, what possible reason did he have for doing it?’

  ‘Can we connect him with Mark Pell?’ Burt said.

  ‘Maybe?’ Pettifer rubbed his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If we can get something on Mark Pell, we should do it,’ Derwent said. ‘I don’t like him.’

  ‘Should we pick Ray up?’ Mal said. ‘No harm in asking him if he knows Pell, is there?’

  ‘I don’t see that we have much to lose,’ Una Burt said. ‘Do we have a good address for him?’

  ‘We’ve got his last known address from his probation officer, his ex-girlfriend’s house in Woolwich and we’ve got his mum’s address. He’s well known to my colleagues. They’re fairly sure we’ll find him,’ Bridges said. ‘I’d start with the Woolwich address, myself.’

  ‘Ex-girlfriend, though.’ Derwent gave Bridges his best chilling look. ‘Why would he hang around there?’

  ‘Two kids.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Derwent was quick enough to drop an argument when it looked like a loser. He turned to Burt. ‘What’s the plan, boss?’

  ‘We’ll split up into three groups. There are enough of us to go to all three addresses at the same time. I don’t want him getting a tip off from his mother and disappearing on us.’

  ‘Anything we should know about? Any form for carrying weapons?’ Derwent asked Bridges.

  ‘Known to carry a knife on occasion. No firearms that we know of. He’s a big guy, over six foot.’

  ‘Stab vests, then,’ Derwent said. ‘We can get TSG support. They’ll put in the doors for us.’

  They’d also be armed with Tasers, which was a lot better than turning up empty-handed.

  ‘Right.’ Burt cleared her throat, reasserting herself. ‘I’ll go to Woolwich. Josh, you take the last known address. Chris, you go to the mum’s house. I’ll sort out the TSG support and we’ll try and execute these warrants as soon as possible. So no wandering off.’

  The last bit was transparently aimed at Derwent, who was looking restless. He stood up and stretched. ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘Can I come too?’ Bridges was tapping his fingers on his kneecap. I recognised the hunter’s instinct that made a good cop; I knew it because I had it too.

  ‘Of course. You can join any of the teams.’ Burt smiled at him in a distracted way.

  ‘Can I look at the file?’ I asked Bridges as everyone began to shuffle out of the office.

  ‘Of course.’

  I took it with me, stopping at the nearest desk so I could lay it flat and leaf through it. Bridges came to stand beside me, looking over my shoulder.

  ‘Small time stuff.’

  ‘He doesn’t look like a master criminal,’ I said. He looked like a violent but dim-witted goon, good for beating people up, including his ex-girlfriend. He’d been inside most recently for armed robbery, but he was the kind of criminal who spent half his life behind bars without fear or remorse. Like a long commute, it was the price he paid for doing what he loved. The idea of prison as a deterrent would have made him laugh.

  ‘Thanks for sticking up for the trafficked women the other day.’

  I looked up, surprised. ‘Oh – when Belcott was being vile about them, you mean? Not a problem.’

  ‘It’s not the first time I’ve encountered that attitude to sex workers.’

  ‘Everyone needs someone to look down on. Belcott has to try very hard to find someone inferior to him.’

  Bridges grinned at me. ‘You like working with him, then.’

  ‘I put up with it.’ I shut the file and handed it back to him. ‘He’s a twat and he always has been. Now and then I tell him what I think of him.’

  ‘Poor guy.’

  ‘He deserves it.’

  I started to walk away but Bridges called after me. ‘Which address are you going to?’

  ‘Oh – probably the last known address.’

  Mal looked up. ‘Do you want to come with us? The mum’s in Stepney.’

  ‘Um …’ I looked across at Derwent, who was on the other side of the office, talking to Colin Vale. ‘I think I’d better not.’

  ‘Don’t you want a break?’ Mal said, dropping his voice so Derwent couldn’t hear.

  ‘That would be nice. But it’s more diplomatic to go with him.’ Besides, I didn’t like to think what kind of trouble Derwent would get into without me.

  ‘That’s where I was thinking of going,’ Bridges said. ‘To the last known address, I mean.’

  ‘Don’t feel you have to put yourself through it,’ I said quietly. ‘Most people wouldn’t volunteer to spend time with Josh Derwent if they didn’t have to.’

  ‘He’s a charmer.’

  ‘There are those who think so.’ It baffled me too.

  As if to prove the point, Derwent glanced over and frowned at me. ‘Get a move on, Kerrigan. Kit up. If we make a quick exit, we can grab a sandwich on the way.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  Derwent shook his head. ‘No. You need to eat.’

  I glowered. ‘I said I’m fine.’

  He moved a little closer, so he was right in the middle of the room, but if anything his voice was louder when he said, ‘You didn’t manage much breakfast this morning. I almost sent you back to bed.’

  It wasn’t my imagination: the room went quiet. And Derwent knew exactly what he’d done, his expression more innocent than a choirboy’s. Bridges’ phone rang and he walked out of the office to take the call. I watched him disappear through the door and turned back to Derwent, raising my eyebrows.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He couldn’t have sounded more insincere if he’d tried. He swaggered off towards Una Burt’s office, pausing to whisper into my ear, ‘He’s not what you need at the moment. You have enough problems.’

  ‘So you didn’t notice his wedding ring?’

  Derwent looked amused. ‘Would that stop him? Or you?’

  ‘We know you have no principles whatsoever, but don’t assume everyone else behaves the same way.’ I was dizzy with anger: how typical of Derwent to misinterpret Bri
dges’ interest in me. ‘Piss off, sir.’

  ‘Just trying to help.’ He disappeared through Una Burt’s door. I went to Mal’s desk.

  ‘Can I change my mind about coming to Stepney?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked past me to where the back of Derwent’s head was visible in the boss’s office. ‘I mean, if you’re sure.’

  I didn’t allow myself to think about the consequences. What I knew was that it had taken a long time but I had finally reached my limit.

  ‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘I’m certain.’

  Chapter 28

  RAY GRIFFIN’S MOTHER’S house in Stepney was in a small street of 1950s council housing, in-fill building to replace Victorian slums that had been blasted off the face of the earth during the Blitz. We stopped around the corner so Pettifer could brief the TSG officers who had come along to support us. The TSG were the muscle of the Met, big men who specialised in knocking down doors and quelling violent protests. Their van was squatting on the pavement in front of us, the white livery tinted orange in the streetlights. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was gone for the day, the sky darkening by the second. The air was icy, and the rain that glinted on our windscreen was gritty with sleet.

  Mal twisted in the passenger seat to talk to me. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ I was finding it hard to stay awake, if anything: Pettifer liked to drive with all the windows up and the heating on full, so the car was stuffy.

  ‘You seemed a bit annoyed earlier.’

  ‘With Derwent?’ I pulled a face. ‘I shouldn’t let him get to me.’

  ‘He was sort of implying you’re living together.’

  ‘He sort of was.’ I hugged myself, trying not to yawn. ‘He’s staying with me at the moment.’

  Mal nodded as if he understood, but the expression in his eyes was pure confusion. ‘Does that mean you and Rob have broken up?’

  ‘It’s – it’s complicated.’ It came back to me with a shock that Chris Swain might be listening to our conversation through my phone. ‘I’m not really sure what’s happening.’

  He sighed. ‘Look, I know this is out of line and I completely understand if you and Josh are together, properly, but if it’s a casual thing and it comes to an end, maybe … you could circulate an email to interested parties?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m not even going to pretend I mean someone else. Sorry. I’m really bad at this but I—’ He hesitated, then finished in a rush. ‘I like you.’

  Mal was so absolutely the opposite of every man I’d ever been involved with – rumpled, shaggy, gentle, awkward – that I couldn’t wrap my head around what it would be like to be with him.

  ‘I think Una would have a view on me working my way through the team.’

  ‘Does she know about you and Derwent?’

  ‘No.’ I bit my lip. ‘You know, there’s really nothing for her to know. He’s – well, it’s not serious.’

  ‘I always wondered if you’d get together.’

  Never, I thought. Never ever. It would be like sticking my head in a hornets’ nest: briefly interesting, perhaps, but a terrible, stupid mistake I would regret.

  But because I couldn’t be sure Swain wasn’t listening, I had to find a way to suggest we were engaged in a passionate affair, without actually saying so or throwing up in my mouth. ‘We know each other very well. You can’t lie to one another when you spend so much time together.’ It was, in fact, true.

  Mal nodded. ‘Sorry for asking about it. None of my business.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘Just when he said that at work. It made me wonder and then I had to ask.’ He smiled. ‘I was pretty sure there was something going on when he made Bridges back off.’

  I closed my eyes briefly at the memory: the purest embarrassment. ‘I don’t think it was necessary. Bridges wasn’t flirting with me.’

  ‘Maybe not. But you do get a fair bit of attention.’

  ‘I’m not married and I don’t happen to be a lesbian. That means a lot of men will consider their chances, especially in the Met. There aren’t a lot of single straight women around. You know that. There are three women on our team and Liv is very happy in a long-term relationship with another woman. Una Burt is the boss. That leaves me.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s just statistics.’ Mal grinned at me. ‘I’ll try to remember.’

  Without my noticing, Pettifer had come back. He yanked open the driver’s door and I jumped.

  ‘All right, you two. We’re ready.’

  I uncurled myself reluctantly, feeling chilled as I got out of the car into the teeth of the rain and wind. Head down, I walked around the corner, half-listening to Mal and Pettifer as they talked tactics. Somewhere out there on this dark, cold evening, Chris Swain was living, breathing. Watching. Listening.

  Hating.

  He was hunted too. He knew the police wanted to speak to him, even if he didn’t know about Derwent’s unofficial attempts to track him down. He should have been nervous. He should have been looking over his shoulder, not drawing attention to himself by scaring me and vandalising my car. But he was arrogant, and obsessed. Anyway, it was different for him. He was choosing that for himself, coming to London, putting himself in harm’s way. I’d done nothing and yet I was caught up in his sinister little games. He could stop, if he liked. I couldn’t make him leave me alone. At least, I hadn’t managed it yet.

  The house was part of a terrace but there was an alleyway that ran behind the gardens, so Pettifer sent a group of TSG officers and Mal around to the back.

  ‘We don’t want him to run off before we’ve had a chance to talk to him, do we?’

  They went quietly, keeping low, and as soon as they were in position Mal radioed through to tell us. The longer we drew this out, the better Ray Griffin’s chances of noticing that something was going on and trying to escape. Pettifer rang Una Burt.

  ‘We’re ready when you are, boss.’ He listened for a second, then nodded to the TSG sergeant. ‘When you’re ready.’

  I’d seen it done before but there was always something impressive and slightly terrifying about watching the TSG gain entry to a house and search it. Four of them were between me and the front door, big men standing shoulder to shoulder. I caught a glimpse of Griffin’s mother when she opened the door, a small woman with her hair scraped back into a high ponytail, her face tight with anger.

  ‘He’s not here. I don’t know why you’re looking for him here. He’s not been here for weeks.’

  They ignored her, filling the house with broad shoulders and loud voices. Pettifer and I followed, standing in the hall while the TSG guys thumped up the stairs.

  ‘They’d better not be making a mess up there.’ Mrs Griffin’s arms were folded. One foot tapped meaningfully in a fluffy slipper. ‘Why do they want him, anyway?’

  ‘We’re just making some inquiries,’ I said.

  ‘He ain’t done nothing wrong. Not since he came out of prison last time. He’s promised me.’

  ‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about,’ Pettifer said, with that heavy police humour that made people think we were arrogant. Maybe we were. It was often the cockiest boxers who won their fights.

  Suddenly there was a lot of noise from upstairs: officers shouting orders and a deep voice swearing a blue streak.

  ‘There’s a surprise,’ Pettifer said calmly. ‘He was here after all. Fancy that.’

  Mrs Griffin’s mouth was puckered like a cat’s backside. ‘You should leave him alone. He’s simple. He gets himself mixed up in stuff and it’s not his fault.’

  The TSG sergeant rattled down the stairs, looking pleased with himself. ‘He was hiding in the loft. Looked as if he’d been there a while. He had a mattress up there, and a camping toilet.’

  ‘Naughty Ray.’ Pettifer grinned indulgently. ‘Bring him down. I’ll call the boss and let her know.’

  ‘You’ll need a van to transport him,’ the sergeant said. ‘He’s not what I’d call a model prisoner
.’

  Upstairs, Ray was screaming. ‘You’re breaking my arm – you’re breaking my fucking arm, man. Get off me.’

  ‘This is police brutality,’ Mrs Griffin said. ‘I’m going to make a complaint.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Pettifer bounced out of the house, his phone to his ear. There was nothing like being the ones who struck gold on a raid.

  ‘We’ll need his phone,’ I said to the TSG sergeant. ‘Can you check if you’ve got it?’

  ‘He didn’t have one on him.’

  I turned to Mrs Griffin. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Right.’ I snapped on some gloves. I was good at searching, and glad to have something to do. ‘I’ll find it myself.’

  We took Ray Griffin straight back to the office – with his phone, which I’d located in the toaster – and dumped him in a secure interview room. Dave Kemp and Mal stayed with him while we waited for a solicitor so we could interview him. Griffin had kicked off at the house, and in the back of the van, but once he was in the interview room he calmed down. He looked defeated, as if the fight had gone out of him.

  As it happened, all the fighting was happening one floor up, where Una Burt and Derwent were toe to toe.

  ‘You should let me interview him,’ Derwent said.

  ‘Why would I do that? I’m perfectly able to handle it myself.’

  ‘You should be supervising, not involved. You’re in charge, not one of the troops.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ Pure acid. ‘I don’t see the two things as incompatible. And as you say, I am in charge, so I decide what happens. I will be conducting the interview myself.’

  ‘He’s not going to tell you anything.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Derwent struggled for a moment to say why and I could see the thoughts crashing around in his head: you can’t charm him with looks like yours; he won’t be scared of you; he’ll go no comment all the way and you don’t have any people skills so you won’t be able to coax him out of it. ‘I just think I have a better chance of making him talk.’

  ‘Right. Well, I do not. You can watch the interview if you like and I’ll be grateful for any suggestions you may have but I am going to take the lead on talking to Griffin. I’m going to have Tom Bridges with me too because he knows more about Griffin’s past and his associates. I don’t have room for anyone else.’