Out of the Ashes

6.30 p.m.

When the girl woke up, she lay where she was, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. She knew something was wrong when she saw the ceiling. Her stars had gone. She tried to sit up. The mattress was slippery and smelled funny and didn’t have a sheet. Her head was spinning, like when she was poorly sometimes. She lay down on her side, trying to figure out where she was. Two windows. In a corner of one, black plastic was peeling away from the frame, and slivers of light fell on the carpet and walls. No posters. No lamp. Her bedroom at home had a blind and a fluffy rug.

While she was sleeping, she’d thought she’d heard footsteps. They’d stopped at the end of the bed. And voices. She must’ve been dreaming.

She listened now.

Nothing.

‘Mummy?’ She spoke quietly in the dark, but no-one heard.

Thirsty. Her mouth was dry.

She sat up again, and slid her legs off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. She’d sit here for a while, until her head stopped spinning. Beneath her toes, the thick carpet felt soft and squishy. She liked it. She liked being in a warm room with a lovely carpet, but she wanted Mummy. Mummy would bring her a drink and Mummy would know where the stars were and the slippy mattress with a drink . . . dizzy . . . and the stars in the shiny . . .

Maya, 7.30 p.m.

Back in the MIT room, the team were poised for our first briefing. The first twenty-four hours of the investigation were critical. We all knew that. Around the room, the boards were up and important information had been plastered over all available surfaces. Maps showed locations and routes. Shops had been plotted on a street plan. Facts and questions stood out in coloured board markers. We’d all examined the mug shots and got to grips with the key names.

‘Let’s get started, everyone,’ I said. ‘First, good news. The fire brigade has inspected the soup shop through the openings where the windows were, and only found one gas cylinder. It has already exploded, which probably contributed to the ferocity of the blaze, but it means we no longer have an explosion risk.’

A wave of relief swept through the team.

‘We have a tentative ID on the male victim. Simas Gudelis, age forty-two, originally from Lithuania. He was co-owner of the shop with his wife, who says he was ill in bed.’ I paused for breath. ‘We have no ID for the woman, who isn’t his wife.’

The next board had ‘VICTIMS’ as its heading. Here, we had multiple image sources for Simas: social media, the shop website and the ones from the fire officer. We only had the low-resolution photographs of the female.

‘We need to prioritise identifying the woman so we can notify her next of kin and consider who may have wished her harm. Have we had any calls?’ I’d only just briefed the media but I couldn’t help hoping we’d had news.

‘Nothing yet. And no matches on the MisPer register.’ I saw the concern on Dan’s face. ‘She could live alone or work away a lot? Sometimes it takes a while to realise someone’s missing.’

‘True. Another possibility is that she has dependents at home. This could help our chances of someone calling in or it could create additional risk factors.’ A terrible thought occurred to me. ‘If she’s got someone old or young at home, they might not be able to look after themselves. That bumps the need for her ID even higher up the order of priority.’ My brain was snatching at possible solutions. ‘What’s the situation with the facial profiler?’

‘She can’t make much progress because of the lack of detail on the photographs.’ Dan spoke quietly.

‘OK. Our other priority needs to be getting the bodies out of the building. That’ll be done the moment the building is deemed safe to enter. Then we can get better quality images, do a more specific media appeal, process DNA samples and search dental records.’ I approached the board and took in the woman’s wax-like features. It was impossible not to be reminded of my brother’s appearance after the fire that killed him, although our victim had more flesh intact than Sabbir’s charred bones. I swallowed down the dull thud of pain which the memory stirred, and took the cap off one of the marker pens to jot on the board.

Victim 2 (UnSub)

-Lives alone?

-Homeless?

-No family vs. dependents?

-Asylum seeker?

-MisPer?

‘Dan, I think you’ve got information on motives?’

Dan zapped on the overhead projector and stepped in front of the team. The light on the board exaggerated his Irish colouring. ‘Let’s consider why might someone might want to set fire to the soup shop. The key arson motives are crime concealment, financial gain and boredom.’ His iPad projected each motive as a bullet point on the board.

An angry mutter bobbed round the room at the mention of ‘boredom’.

‘We also need to consider extremism, jealousy and revenge. The intention is always criminal damage or endangering life, sometimes both.’ He faced us now. ‘With those in mind, what should our working hypotheses be?’

‘An insurance job by Indra?’ Alexej offered, looking up from his monitor. ‘I’m checking whether Simas and Indra had the building insured, and whether Simas had a life insurance policy.’

‘Yes,’ said Dan. ‘What else?’

‘Who might not have liked the soup shop being in Brick Lane?’ Alexej pointed at the street plans and photos. ‘We know ethnic groups stick together. There’s also an element of immigrant kinship and turf-orientation, but when it comes down to business, people’s loyalties are to themselves.’

The atmosphere tightened.

‘Thanks, buddy,’ Dan said. ‘I agree. Other ideas?’

‘Maybe someone has their eye on the building?’ Shen had been listening to Alexej carefully. ‘A developer, perhaps?’ She had a small, delicate frame and her voice was quiet at first. ‘I often walk up Brick Lane to visit my brother. The shops change hands quickly and businesses move from one premises to another.’ She checked her notes. ‘The shop was gutted before the Brick Lane Soup Company opened. Perhaps the arsonist was targeting the freeholder rather than Simas Gudelis?’

‘Who is their freeholder? They’ll have the building insured.’ I tapped at the image of the shop on the board, as though encouraging it to speak to me.

‘Man called Solomon Stein. He owns a few freeholds in Brick Lane.’ Shen pointed to her notepad. ‘Seems legit but I’m doing a few more checks.’

‘It’s possible the arsonist was targeting the woman.’ Dan was typing the additional points into his list. ‘It’s difficult to assess until we know who she was.’ He was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘I want to know what bad blood exists between Indra and Simas, and between them and other people.’

‘If Indra knew Simas was having an affair, she might want revenge?’ Shen suggested. ‘Or perhaps we are looking for the partner of the woman in the fire?’

‘Yes, Indra has to be a suspect.’ I tucked my hair behind my ears, feeling the weight and scope of the task ahead. ‘If the woman’s partner is responsible, surely they’d have reported her missing so as not to arouse suspicion?’

Dan was in front of the board again. ‘I agree with both those possibilities. My gut feeling is that we can rule out extremism, but I think we need to consider that it may have been a racist attack.’

I gestured to the board. ‘OK, until we know what or who the targets of the arson were, we will need to consider all of these hypotheses. What else do we need to know?’

‘Was the flash mob a distraction so that the arsonists could start the fire?’ A familiar voice echoed through the room. ‘In other words, are we looking at organised crime?’

‘Jackie?’ I said, incredulous. ‘What are you doing here?’

Maya, 7.45 p.m.

‘Surely the grapevine hasn’t stopped working?’ Jackie chuckled as she cruised in confidently and surveyed the incident room.

The team were transfixed.

‘Hello, everyone. I’m DCI Jackie Lawson. I’ll be covering your DCI post until a permanent appointment is made. If you’re nice to me, you might get stuck with me. I’m looking for a cushy number.’ She peered at me and grinned, and I couldn’t help noticing that a curiosity-induced pink filter had slid over Dan’s usual white face. ‘I’m not here to be SIO, Maya. Don’t worry.’

‘The last I heard you’d moved from the Met to the North-West,’ I said.

‘Correct. I’ve been leading a new team there as part of the Serious Organised Crime Strategy. Masses of it in the North-West, lots in the South-East. The hotspot is in London. I’m going to be based here at Limehouse, but my brief is to monitor all ongoing Met investigations for elements of organised crime.’

The room was silent. All eyes were on the woman who was the epitome of smart-casual in her black jeans and white cotton shirt. It was clear she hadn’t gone soft. Jackie Lawson was known for her mischievous sense of humour and was one of the sharpest and toughest cops in the service. ‘It’s great to see you. I had no idea you were coming here.’ I’d only checked my email ten minutes earlier and there’d been no mention of Jackie joining the team. ‘We’ll catch up after briefing, yes?’ I faced the room again. ‘Dan, add DCI Lawson’s question to the board, please, and let’s continue. Who’s next?’

‘The analysts are working on a number of significant eyewitness statements,’ Shen said. ‘Their initial report is due any moment.’

‘And we’ve made a start on the CCTV,’ Alexej said. ‘The fire took hold so quickly, and produced so much smoke, it’s difficult to see much but if there’s anything useful, we’ll find it. I’m still calling security operators for footage from the hours prior to the flash mob and the fire.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘That should help us with identifying timescales and routes, and hopefully suspects. Someone may have seen the arsonist entering the shop.’ I paused. ‘We need to check dog walkers, postmen, joggers, road sweepers, people going to work, people coming home from night shifts and nights out. A lot of those people may not live locally so we’ll need to ring-fence mobiles and send ping-outs on social media.’ I tried not to look too obviously at Jackie who’d need to agree budgets. ‘What’s the latest with LfA?’

Alexej waved a print-out. ‘I’ve got the technicians’ report. The website lists the objective of the flash mob as taking back control of the streets. It says: “Young people can’t afford to rent a place in E1, and shopkeepers are losing their businesses because greedy landlords are hiking rents. Let’s take back control of the streets from the capitalists and opportunist entrepreneurs.”’

‘Perhaps the fire was about gentrification too?’ Dan eyed us all.

‘If I can chip in here . . . ?’ Jackie said, and I could tell from her tone that things were about to get a lot more complicated. ‘I’m not saying gentrification isn’t a genuine issue, but it’s possible that it was a front for both the flash mob and the arson.’ She spoke quietly but her voice conveyed authority. She joined Dan and I at the front of the room. ‘It’s the Trojan horse model of sneaking something under the radar. If you want to create a distraction, you pick a theme which is guaranteed to stir people up. That way, you maximise the chances of getting a big crowd.’

‘From what I see as a newcomer, it’s definitely the cost of living that bothers Londoners most,’ said Dan.

‘And the more faces and bodies you can gather,’ Jackie continued, ‘especially when they dress the same, the more difficult it is to see what’s going on.’

‘The masks?’ It was obvious now.

‘Precisely,’ she said, gauging the reaction to her words. ‘Masks aren’t just about group identity. They render people faceless. Group dynamics quickly shift from the inter-personal to a mob.’

‘Do we know whether LfA simply publicises these flash mobs or whether they’re the organisers?’ Shen asked.

‘We don’t know.’ I felt frustration bite. ‘Some of the kids mentioned a man called Frazer. Hopefully the technicians can find out what his role is.’ I took stock. ‘Moving on to evidence. Alexej, can you summarise?’

‘The exhibits are all catalogued. Loads of personal items.’ He clicked his screen into life and read off it. ‘Bags. Clothing. Phones. Keys. The speakers.’ He turned to face me. ‘Dougie’s sent through a list of the top priority ones. Any chance of the lab fast-tracking these?’

Jackie must’ve caught his sideways glance. ‘I can see that the scope of this investigation is vast,’ she said, adopting a cautious tone of voice, ‘but I’ve literally just got off the DLR. Maya, I’ll need you to bring me up to speed on budgets, PDQ.’

‘Sure. Let me run through the main lines of enquiry and who’s doing what later.’

Jackie nodded her agreement.

‘Until evidence tells us otherwise, I’m going to suggest that Indra is our prime suspect. Anyone disagree?’

The room was quiet.

‘Right. Shen, can you assess the H-2-H reports? Check alibis and if anyone was seen entering the shop. We need background information on Simas and Indra. Bank and phone records. And insurance details for the shop.’

Shen leaped into an empty seat.

‘Alexej, the CCTV. There wasn’t any smoke when the arsonist entered the shop. It’s a small window of time but let’s find it. And keep checking for anything that’ll help ID our UnSub.’

‘Sure.’ He wheeled round on his chair.

‘Dan, can you chase the fire investigation engineer on when we can get the bodies out?’

‘Gotcha.’

‘I’ll ask Indra for a list of people who had beef with them or their business.’ We had more questions than answers, but at least we had a plan of action. ‘Let’s get some sleep and I’ll see you all bright and early tomorrow.’ I turned to Jackie. ‘Shall we nip up to the Morgan Arms? We can grab a bite to eat and I’ll bring you up to speed.’

‘You read my mind.’ Her tone shifted and she smiled warmly. ‘Tell me to mind my own business,’ she lowered her voice, ‘but I’m pleased Dougie is still around. I hope you two are still . . . ?’

I chuckled. It was so ‘Jackie’ to make a comment like this, moments after joining the team. ‘We are.’

She began gathering up her bag and jacket, then stood still for a moment. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother last year.’

‘Thank you. At the time, his suicide was a terrible shock for all of us. Particularly Mum.’ I felt my eyes filling up and my throat tighten. This wasn’t like me. Was it Jackie’s kindness?

‘Maya, I know how much you cared about him and—’

‘. . . It’s Mum I worry about. She’s never recovered from Dad leaving. It’s like a huge black cloud rolled in front of her and she can’t seem to emerge from behind it.’ Mentioning Dad reminded me that I still hadn’t opened the forensic results. ‘When Sabbir moved back to Bangladesh, she took it personally, as though it was another betrayal and he was leaving her rather than a life that wasn’t the right shape for him.’

Jackie was nodding gently, and I appreciated her not churning out comments about ‘sympathising’ and ‘time healing’.

‘. . . She was never going to understand Sabbir committing suicide. Do you know the really sad thing though?’ I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and looked at Jackie. ‘It shouldn’t have been a shock to any of us. All the warning signs had been there for years. We just didn’t see them.’ I paused. ‘The truth is, I can’t stand on Brick Lane without remembering him and wondering whether I could have done things differently.’

Brick Lane, 1984 – Maya

Jasmina holds the packet of Love Hearts to her nose and sniffs. ‘You have a go.’ Her giggle rings out in the enclosed space of the shop. She stuffs the packet at my face. ‘It’s like breathing in luuuurve.’ She makes her voice go all dreamy and breathy as she says the last word, and pulls a silly face.

‘Urgh. They’re too sickly.’ I push her hand away, grabbing several Cough Candies instead.

‘Come on, you two.’ Sabbir’s frustrated plea falls on deaf ears as usual. He’s at the door, flicking through a magazine which he’s already paid for. ‘Dad’s waiting.’

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Mrs Feldman whispers to Jasmina and I conspiratorially, and it sends me into giggles because she’s deliberately made her voice loud enough for Sabbir to catch. ‘If I know them, your father will be having a good chinwag with my husband.’

Sabbir’s demeanour relaxes and he returns his attention to his magazine.

Jaz peers at the contents of my paper bag. ‘I don’t like Cough Candy. They cut the roof of my mouth. You always get Parma Violets. How can you say that Love Hearts are too sweet and like them?’ She chuckles.

Coming to Mrs Feldman’s shop is such a treat. Dad came home in a good mood and announced that he was taking us out.

‘The wholesaler delivered some new sweets this morning,’ Mrs Feldman says. ‘My son put the order through and only told me when they arrived. Shall I get him to bring them out for you?’

Jasmina and I beam at her.

‘Thanks, Mrs F,’ says Jaz.

‘Knowing him, he’s probably putting through a few more orders while his father’s not looking.’ She chuckles, as though she’s secretly proud of Tomasz’s interest in the shop. She disappears out the back and begins calling. ‘Tomasz? Tomasz, love, could you bring the new sweets through for the Rahman girls?’

A few moments later, she arrives back with a mousey-haired boy in tow. He’s about Sabbir’s age but taller. I’ve seen him in the shop before. He’s carrying two boxes with an air of cool about him.

‘Here you go, girls,’ Tomasz says. ‘Lemon Sherbets and Black Jacks.’ He places the two boxes on the glass counter and his smile warms the room. ‘Bet you haven’t had them before.’ He gives a friendly chuckle. Rips open a black and white packet and offers us a wrapped cube.

‘My Agnieszka loves the Black Jacks. Soft and chewy, she says, but they make your tongue go black.’ Mrs Feldman looks a little worried.

‘Chill, Mum. They’re only sweets. No-one’s going to die.’

‘Cheeky wretch.’

Sabbir’s face softens and he joins us at the counter. ‘Alright, mate,’ he says to Tomasz.

‘Thanks, Thomas,’ Jasmina says, and it makes me giggle, because she’s said his name wrong. I catch the way she avoids eye contact with him, and blushes when he speaks.

‘Thank you,’ I say and don’t even try to say his name. ‘What else shall I have?’ I wonder aloud. ‘I need to add up what it comes to. We could get some Aniseed Balls and share them?’

Jasmina isn’t listening. She’s pretending to count her sweets but I can see her, watching Tomasz Feldman out of the corner of her eye.

‘What about Gob Stoppers? Shall we get some of them?’ I elbow her. ‘Or some rhubarbrhubarbrhubarbrhu . . . ?’

She hasn’t realised I’ve stopped talking.

‘You’re dribbling,’ I whisper.

‘Am not.’ She elbows me, recovers her poise and smooths her hair.

‘I’m off now, Mum.’ Tomasz glides towards the door of the shop. ‘I said I’d pick Agnieszka up from Brownies.’ He sees us watching him. ‘Definitely the Aniseed Balls,’ he says and gives us a huge wink, and I honestly think I’m about to burst.

SATURDAY

Maya, 7 a.m.

First thing the next morning, I grabbed a shower and steeled myself to check the media coverage of the arson. I hoped it would be reported responsibly but experience told me it was too good a click-bait opportunity to pass up.

From the lounge, I heard the soft burble of the television news. Dougie had stayed over, so I made a fresh cafetière of coffee and took it in with a couple of mugs. ‘On a scale of one to ten, with ten as perfectly hideous, where are we?’ I slid the tray onto the coffee table and sank onto the sofa next to him.

‘Eleven.’ He picked up the cafetière and began pouring.

‘Shit.’

‘I’ve screenshot them for you.’ He passed me his iPad.

The City Eye headline said: LOCALS FEAR COPY-CAT ARSON ATTACKS.

‘Tony couldn’t resist, could he?’ I swiped at the images on the screen. The broadsheets were benign. The Messenger had taken ethnicity as their angle: IMMIGRANTS’ SHOP BURNT TO THE GROUND IN RACIST ATTACK.

‘Scumbags.’ I took a swig of coffee. ‘What about the news channels?’

‘BBC News seems to be sticking to the facts.’

‘That’s a relief.’ I continued to scroll through Dougie’s screenshots. ‘WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN IN THE FIRE? Blimey. I hadn’t expected that from Sky. Who’s told the press there was a woman in the fire? Media Liaison haven’t released the information yet and I didn’t mention it.’

‘Someone must’ve been blabbing.’ Dougie didn’t sound surprised and continued checking his emails.

‘Anything from Suzie?’ She’d be hard pressed to come up with anything worse than the City Eye or The Messenger, but milking national concerns wasn’t Suzie’s style. Her penchant was to go for people, personally, and her favourite target was me.

‘Nothing on their website yet.’

*

Dan was joining me at the hospital. Hopefully, as well as asking Indra some questions, we could persuade Rosa to stay on the ward or go home with her daughter and spend a few days in East Ham.

When I walked in through the entrance doors, I was greeted in the lobby by a solemn-faced Shen.

‘Bad news, Ma’am, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Indra Ulbiene was ten weeks pregnant and she’s had a miscarriage.’

Shit. The poor woman. ‘So, her husband is dead and it looks like he might have been having an affair. And now she’s lost her baby?’ I kicked at the linoleum. Occasionally, the news we had to convey was good but most of the time it wasn’t. ‘Where’s the silver lining in this situation?’

‘I know, Ma’am.’

‘Is she conscious?’ Questions were circling in my mind. ‘Does she know she’s lost the baby?’

‘Yes, the medical staff have told her. We’ve not said anything to her about her husband yet. I think she knows he’s dead but we were waiting for you. She’s extremely distressed. They’ve got her sedated. She was asleep when I left the ward a few minutes ago.’

‘Thanks, Shen. I’ll speak to Rosa Feldman first then. Give Indra a bit of space. It’s the least we can do to help her.’

*

When I arrived on the ward, colour had returned to Rosa’s cheeks and her facial expression was resolute. She was sipping a mug of tea, and a half-eaten breakfast tray was on the side table.

‘You look better than when I last saw you,’ I said. ‘Thought we were going to lose you. How are you?’