After the Fire (Maeve Kerrigan) Read online

  ‘What are you doing?’ Una Burt’s voice was loud and shrill behind us as she came out of the building. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting to find Derwent lying on the ground, but it wasn’t the right moment to explain why. I ignored her as I skirted the cars and I was sure Derwent was doing the same. It was hard to tell when his head and shoulders had disappeared under the Ford Focus that was on the left. I knelt down, ignoring the sharp bits of gravel that dug into my knees, and leaned to peer under the car. I could see Derwent, his head turned sideways. He was holding out his hand to the small figure that was curled up in a ball by the wheel. Derwent was showing him his warrant card, complete with a shiny metal crest.

  ‘Come on, mate. Out you come. I’m a police officer. I promise you can trust me.’

  ‘No.’ A small voice but very definite.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Thomas.’ His whole body jerked. ‘I mean, Sam.’

  Derwent looked across at me: had I noticed? I nodded.

  ‘Easy mistake to make,’ he said. ‘You can’t stay under there all night, Sam. Come on out and we’ll find your mum. She’s probably wondering where you are.’

  ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘Yeah. I have.’ Derwent glanced at me and I nodded again. I’d have said the same thing. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘Waiting. She told me to wait for her until she came.’ He unfolded enough to show us a dirty, tear-stained face. ‘But she didn’t come.’

  ‘Come on,’ Derwent said again. ‘We’ll find her.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ he asked, his voice very tiny.

  ‘Of course. We’re the police. We can do anything.’

  ‘Are the firemen still here?’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re better than the firemen,’ Derwent said. ‘We catch baddies.’

  ‘I don’t like baddies,’ the boy said, starting to shuffle towards Derwent. ‘They’re scary.’

  ‘The police are scarier. The baddies are scared of us.’

  ‘And prison.’ He eased forward another couple of inches.

  ‘That too. They don’t like prison.’

  ‘Why don’t you put them all in prison?’

  ‘That’s what I keep saying, Sam. Lock them all up. Then we’d have some peace.’

  He crawled over the last bit as Derwent wriggled back to make room for him. I stood up and came round the side of the car in time to see the boy stand up. He was small, his shoulder blades sticking out through the thin material of his t-shirt. His ears stuck out too, and his neck seemed impossibly slender for the weight of his head. His jeans were damp where he had wet himself. How long had he been hiding there, terrified? Hours, anyway.

  Derwent sat back on his heels, looking at him. ‘What’s your name, Sam? Do you know the second bit?’

  ‘Sam Hathaway.’ In a rush he added, ‘Not Thomas. I don’t know why I said that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate.’ For a second I thought Derwent was going to hug the boy, but he was reaching out to brace himself on the cars as he straightened up. I heard the groan he was trying to suppress and filed it away to tease him some time he was in a good mood. Getting old …

  ‘If you lock all the baddies up,’ the boy said quietly, ‘then Mummy won’t be scared any more.’

  Derwent looked down at him for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he smiled. ‘I’m working on it, Sam. I promise you, I’m working on it.’

  Chapter 6

  ‘HOW IS IT possible for no one to know who he is or where he came from?’ Derwent snapped. I took a step back.

  ‘Don’t shout at me. I’m as frustrated as you are. I’ve been going through paperwork in the management office. There’s no one named Hathaway listed as a resident here. I cross-checked with the PNC and the electoral roll. Not a thing.’

  ‘So where did he spring from?’ He turned and peered through the back window of his car. The boy lay across it, fast asleep under Derwent’s coat, his head on Derwent’s suit jacket. I assumed Derwent was cold, standing there in his shirtsleeves, but he didn’t show it and I didn’t dare ask.

  ‘Illegal sub-let?’ I suggested.

  ‘Which would mean no paperwork for us to follow.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So we have to assume his mother didn’t make it out. And she’s either one of the injured—’

  ‘Or one of the dead,’ I finished. ‘They’re still searching the flats for bodies.’

  ‘Either way, until we find someone who can identify her for us, he’s on his own.’

  ‘Social services,’ I started, and Derwent rounded on me with a look that was pure rage.

  ‘Don’t even say it.’

  ‘They’re on their way.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’ Derwent turned away, clasping his hands at the back of his skull, the picture of frustration.

  ‘There isn’t anyone else. You can’t keep him.’

  ‘I know that. He’s not a puppy.’

  But that was exactly what the child had reminded me of, following Derwent around as if he and he alone could be trusted to look after him and find his mother. Derwent hadn’t made a fuss of the boy. He hadn’t tried to get his attention or gain his trust. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or irritated that he’d acquired a shadow, but certainly he hadn’t tried to get rid of him. When Una Burt had arranged for a female uniformed officer to look after the boy, he’d backed away to hide behind Derwent, who shrugged.

  ‘He can stay with me.’

  ‘You have other responsibilities,’ Una Burt said tightly.

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Let’s not make it too hard on the poor kid, all right?’

  And Una Burt had muttered something under her breath about priorities before walking off. I wasn’t totally sure how he’d managed to put her in the position of being the bad guy, but he’d done it.

  Derwent had searched the crowd until he found a woman who happened to be a registered childminder and lived in one of the other towers. He’d exerted his charm to convince her to take the boy to her warm, untidy flat and give him a change of clothes, replacing the damp trousers and dirty, torn t-shirt he was wearing. Unprompted, she offered Sam a snack. His eyes had been closing as he ate it, but he had said please and thank you nicely.

  ‘Polite, ain’t he?’ the childminder said.

  ‘Well brought up,’ Derwent said, his face sombre. A nice child, loved and nurtured by a mother who wasn’t there to look after him.

  ‘He could stay here,’ I said quietly in Derwent’s ear.

  ‘No, he couldn’t.’

  ‘She’s a registered childminder. He’s safe enough with her.’

  ‘He’s safe with me.’

  ‘Are you just doing this to annoy DCI Burt?’

  He turned to look at me, hurt. ‘Would I do something like that?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  The corners of his mouth turned up very slightly, but he shook his head. ‘I don’t know when you turned into such a cynic, young lady.’

  ‘Working with you would make anyone cynical.’

  ‘Oh, blame me.’

  My phone buzzed in my hand, so I answered it rather than Derwent, even though it was Una Burt on the other end.

  Derwent watched my face as I spoke to her. When I hung up, he asked, ‘What does the wicked witch want?’

  ‘Us, down in the car park. She wants an update.’

  ‘An update,’ Derwent repeated. ‘On what? Whether the kid ate up all his crusts? You can go. I’m staying here.’

  ‘She’s not going to like that.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Derwent said, and gave me a very sweet smile that told me there was no point in arguing with him.

  So it was that I’d been talking to Burt just outside the cordon around Murchison House when she sucked in a breath and expelled it in a long angry hiss.

  I looked to see what she had noticed. Derwent was carrying the boy across the car park. His head was lolling on Derwent’s shoulder, as
if he was more than half asleep. Derwent sent a brief glower in our direction and carried on walking.

  ‘That’s not his job.’

  ‘The boy trusts him,’ I said. ‘Derwent doesn’t want to abandon him. And finding out who he is seems like it might be important.’

  ‘Then you’d better get on with it.’

  And I’d tried. I really had. But standing beside Derwent’s car as the sky lightened on a new day, we’d made no progress.

  ‘We could try the local schools,’ Derwent said.

  ‘He’s too young. He could be in nursery but it’s optional at that age.’

  ‘Child benefits.’

  ‘Worth a try,’ I allowed. ‘The staff won’t be in yet. That’ll have to wait until after nine.’

  Derwent looked through the window again. ‘I don’t want to have to drag him around the hospitals trying to ID his mother.’

  ‘That’s very much a last resort.’ I looked around. ‘Here’s Liv.’

  She was breathless, but she looked pleased with herself. ‘Right. I’ve been at the local leisure centre, talking to the people who were evacuated from Murchison House. I showed Sam’s picture around and a Mrs Jordan said she recognised him. She’s pretty certain he was living in flat 102 on the tenth floor with his mother, but she’d never spoken to them. They only moved in a few weeks ago. She’d seen them in the corridor together. She noticed him because he looks like one of her grandchildren.’

  ‘Flat 102 is one of the flats that was burned out completely,’ I said. ‘We’re not going to be able to recover any ID.’

  ‘No, but we can find out who was supposed to be living there.’ Derwent shivered as the wind blew some dead leaves around our feet. ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘If the owner knows the boy’s mother, they can ID her for us.’

  Derwent nodded. ‘Get back to the management office and find a number for the owner, Kerrigan. Don’t come back without it.’

  I went. I even hurried. But by the time I got back, Derwent was shrugging his coat on and the back seat of the car was empty.

  ‘Did social services take him?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He had his back to me.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  It was as if I’d never asked the question. ‘Did you get the owner’s details?’

  ‘Harriet Edmonds. I’ve got her address. She lives in Islington.’

  ‘Then let’s go to Islington.’

  ‘I’ve cleared it with DCI Burt already.’

  Derwent paused, still facing away from me. ‘I was going anyway.’

  ‘I know.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘IS THIS THE right place?’

  ‘That’s the address I have.’ I looked up at the neat Georgian townhouse: five storeys of prime London property, facing onto a pretty square that was completely silent at ten to six in the morning. ‘Bit of a step up from Murchison House.’

  ‘Let’s go and see if they’re awake.’ Derwent bounded up the steps to the front door, leaning over the railings to peer in through the basement window. ‘Someone’s up. The lights are on.’ He rang the bell and the sound echoed through the house.

  ‘Yes?’ The man who came to the door after a longish wait was pink-faced and dishevelled. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and had a towel slung around his neck. The t-shirt was too small and clung to a fairly substantial belly. An early morning workout, I guessed, fighting middle-aged spread. Fighting quite hard, if his sweat patches were anything to go by.

  ‘Sorry for interrupting you. Police.’ Derwent held up his ID. ‘Is there a Harriet Edmonds at this address?’

  ‘There is.’ He mopped his forehead. ‘I’ll get her for you now. Come in.’

  He led us down to the kitchen, a long narrow room that ran the length of the house and ended in a small sitting area. There was a rowing machine by the garden doors, in front of a wall-mounted TV. It was on, showing a business news channel. The sound was muted.

  ‘Multi-tasking,’ he explained, moving the machine behind the sofa with an effort. ‘Sit down. Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Derwent said.

  ‘Back in a minute.’ He wandered out, rubbing his head with the towel until his iron-grey hair stood up in spikes. I could hear his footsteps on the stairs, climbing up and up. I wondered how far he had to go.

  Derwent raised his eyebrows at me. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘He wasn’t surprised to see us. He didn’t even ask why we were here.’

  ‘Maybe this is a regular occurrence.’

  I looked out at the garden, which was narrow but long, like the house. There was a small studio at the end of it, little more than a shed. ‘What do you think that is?’

  ‘An office?’

  ‘If it was my house, I’d turn that into a gym and find space for the office in the house.’

  ‘You’re never going to have a house like this. Not unless you marry money.’ He hadn’t meant it to hurt but I flinched all the same and he saw it. ‘Sorry. I forgot.’

  He’d forgotten that my boyfriend had been keeping all sorts of secrets from me, including the fact that he was wealthy, even by London standards. It was the betrayal that had wounded me far more than Rob being unfaithful. I could understand how Rob had ended up in bed with someone other than me. I couldn’t understand why he’d lied to me.

  Except that I hadn’t grown up with the kind of privilege he’d taken for granted, and I didn’t altogether trust people who had a lot of money. They assumed they could buy their way out of trouble.

  ‘If I cared about money, I wouldn’t be a copper,’ I said lightly. ‘But I could win the lottery.’

  ‘You never buy a ticket.’

  ‘I forget,’ I admitted. Then, ‘Someone’s coming.’

  And at top speed. The kitchen door burst open and a slender woman rushed in, tying the belt of her dressing gown. She had curling shoulder-length red hair that was exceptionally well cut, and if she was in her pyjamas she had made time to put on dark red lipstick before she made her appearance. She crossed the kitchen and pulled down a mug from a shelf, then started fiddling with a vast, shiny coffee machine.

  ‘What can I do for the police this fine morning? Can I get you a coffee? Tea? I’m so sorry, I have to have caffeine before I can speak to anyone.’

  If this was Harriet Edmonds before caffeine, I wasn’t sure I could cope with after.

  Derwent introduced himself, and me. ‘We’re here about—’

  ‘Just a second.’ She dived into the fridge. ‘Soy milk. Disgusting. I’m a vegan so I’m not allowed to hate it but I do.’

  ‘Mrs Edmonds.’

  She stopped. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We need to speak to you about the Maudling Estate. You own a property there.’

  She put the carton down. ‘I own two.’

  ‘And you let them out to tenants.’

  ‘No. Not officially. I have friends who stay there.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘People who need somewhere to stay indefinitely. Has – has something happened?’

  ‘You haven’t seen the news?’

  ‘I only watch the lunchtime news. I don’t like to look at the news in the evenings. It disturbs me.’ She ran her fingers around her eyes, massaging the skin. ‘I have trouble sleeping. I can’t switch off.’

  ‘There was a fire, Mrs Edmonds. In Murchison House.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘That’s where I put Melissa. What happened to her?’

  ‘Melissa?’ I repeated.

  ‘She had a little boy. Oh God, not them.’

  ‘We found Sam. He’s fine,’ I added.

  ‘Oh … yes, Sam.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘But Melissa? Is she—’

  ‘We don’t know. We haven’t been able to identify her yet. She may be among the injured. But there were also some fatalities, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The poor, poor girl. As if she hadn’t had enough to deal with.’ Harriet Edmonds began to cry, quite openly and help
lessly.

  I hurried over to her and guided her to the sofa. Derwent crouched down in front of her, and it wasn’t quite confrontational but he wasn’t giving her much space either.

  ‘Why was Melissa living in Murchison House?’

  ‘It was supposed to be a safe place for her while she found her feet.’ Harriet dug in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘That’s what I do. I provide safe places for the women I help. I run a charity for victims of domestic violence. Women’s refuges are all very well and good but they’re not ideal places for women with children. Some women won’t consider a refuge. They’d rather stay with their abuser than bring their children there. They want to keep them in a home environment, even if it’s not what they’re used to.’

  ‘Too good for a refuge?’ Derwent said. ‘God bless the middle classes.’

  Harriet paused for a moment. ‘You don’t have to be working class to get beaten up by your partner. You don’t have to be poor, or badly educated, or stupid, or whatever it is you’re assuming.’

  ‘He knows,’ I said, glaring at Derwent. He pulled a face at me while Harriet was occupied with wiping her eyes.

  ‘They put themselves under such pressure. They think they can protect the children from knowing about it and keep up the façade of the perfect marriage, the perfect life. And of course they can’t. They all break eventually. Or they are broken.’ She sniffed. ‘I’ve been doing this for twelve years. I’ve had a lot of police officers come here and tell me there’s no need for me to run my organisation. I’ve had a lot of condescending advice from people like you. And I’ve also had hundreds of women thank me for saving their lives.’

  ‘I apologise,’ Derwent said. ‘I really do.’ He sounded sincere, too.

  ‘It’s hard to walk out on a life that looks enviable. It’s hard to deprive your children of the things they are used to having. The flats aren’t luxurious but they are far away from the abusers, and they’re free, and private.’

  ‘How long had Melissa been staying there?’ I asked.