Out of the Ashes
‘Fit as a fiddle and ready to go home.’
I recognised the determination in her voice.
‘Those stock boxes won’t unpack themselves and all the while the shop’s closed, I’m losing customers.’
I wanted to steer Rosa away from the shop so I asked her about the flash mob.
‘When everyone began dancing, it took me back to the tea dances Józef and I used to go to after the war.’ Her eyes glistened as tears formed.
It felt uncaring to cut off her reminiscences, and whisk her onto interview questions, so I listened for a few moments while she talked, mentally noting anything that might be relevant to the investigation.
‘There are hardly any Jewish families left in Brick Lane now. The Blums, from the bagel shop, were the last to move out. Golders Green, Józef said.’
Aware that Rosa could tire quickly, I directed her attention to the arson. ‘Thinking back to the last few days, have you noticed anything suspicious or unusual? People you didn’t recognise?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Anyone acting suspiciously or anything out of the ordinary?’
‘No. But to be honest, I’m so busy in the shop, the days shoot by and I don’t notice much. Just boxes of stock and dust.’
‘What about arguments? Anyone been rowing recently? Neighbours had fallouts?’
She paused to think back. ‘Sorry. I’m not much help, am I?’
‘Did you recognise anyone in the street or at the flash mob?’ Having lived in the area for so long, if anyone would recognise locals, it was Rosa.
‘No.’
‘The ward sister said you’ve mentioned black masks. Can you tell me about these?’
‘They all had them. Black bandana things. Tied round their neck, and when they joined the dancing, they pulled them up over their nose to just beneath their eyes.’ She shuddered. ‘They looked really sinister.’
‘How well do you know Simas and Indra?’
‘Only to say hello to. I try to be neighbourly.’ Rosa was pensive, nodding gently, as though she was sifting through her experiences and opinions. ‘Actually, now you mention it, they had rows. I’d often hear one of them shouting and slamming the front door.’ She seemed distressed by the memory. ‘But it’s not my business and you can’t get involved in other people’s lives.’ A wistful look spread over her features. ‘I can’t believe the husband was in the . . . ’ Her voice croaked and broke off.
‘Sorry to upset you. Can we call anyone for you? Get someone to help with the shop?’ Uniform had told us that Tomasz and Agnieszka had come to the hospital.
She shook her head, her fingers under her nose as if she was holding back a floodgate.
‘Tomasz arrived at the shop earlier. He was very worried about you. Would you consider staying with him until you’re back on your feet again?’
‘He’s very kind. Always has been. I’m very lucky with both my children. But Bethnal Green’s too far away.’ She sighed. ‘And I don’t want to put anyone out. My children have their own lives.’
‘If your son wants to help, why not let him?’ I voiced the question gently, realising that it was a sensitive subject.
Rosa shook her head. Determined. ‘He’s extremely busy . . . ’
I paused, trying to decide whether to press her. I got the impression that not wanting to put people out wasn’t the real reason.
‘I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.’ She smiled bravely.
‘What about your daughter? Would you consider staying with her?’
‘Oh, no. It’s all arranged. She’s popping back later to take me home to the shop.’
‘Is that wise? You’ve had a nasty scare.’
She shook her head. ‘Agnieszka and Olaf have a tiny terraced house and three children. They don’t have room for an old lady. I’ve made my mind up. I’m going home to the shop.’
There was pride in her features, and a reluctance to ask for help. I recognised it from Mum. A dogged refusal to accept limitations and change, and the need for help. But it was hard to know when pride became stubbornness. ‘Are you sure the shop is the best place though? It’s so damp and cold.’
She sighed. ‘I know but it’s my home. All my memories are there and it’s where I feel safe.’
Her face took on a wistful look and I felt desperately sad for her. ‘Would you mind if we contacted your daughter?’
She frowned, then shrugged in resignation. ‘If you want to.’ She was trembling now. ‘For years I had nightmares. My mother was pregnant with me when the Nazis resumed deportations from Warsaw to Treblinka. The Jews in the Ghetto mounted an armed resistance. There were twenty-seven days of bombs, blasts and gunfire while they fought the Germans. My brother was eight. He made the mistake of smiling at an SS officer, who ordered one of the Judenrat officials to shoot him. When the man refused, the SS officer shot him and my brother straight through the head.’
‘Oh, Rosa . . . ’ I gasped.
‘My mother nearly miscarried, but I made it and was born in 1944, the year of the Warsaw Uprising. It was when Christian Poles rose up against the Germans. My parents escaped from the Ghetto, and we lived outside the city with a Polish family that Dad knew from his old shop. They say you remember things from in the womb. Sounds, words, voices. For me, it’s blasts and gunfire.’ The expression in her eyes was haunted. ‘And my mother’s sobbing.’ She looked away for a few moments. ‘I used to have the dreams regularly, even when the war was over and when we arrived here. Once we settled into life in Brick Lane, they receded. I haven’t had them for years, apart from the occasional one. The fire at the soup shop yesterday . . . ’ she was shaking her head, ‘ . . . brought it all back.’ She coughed, and I heard her chest wheeze. ‘There was a woman on the ground in front of me. The cracks and bangs were so loud, I tripped over her.’
Much as she seemed to want to explain, I could see it was distressing her, talking about Poland, and I wanted to move the conversation onto happier times. ‘When did you come to live in Brick Lane?’
‘Nineteen forty-eight. I was four.’ She released a sigh. ‘My family moved back to central Warsaw after the war, but life under communism wasn’t easy, and my parents found it impossible to settle amongst such horrible memories.’ Her expression changed again as the recollections came alive. ‘At that time, Józef and his family were already living in Brick Lane. His parents owned the newsagent’s. He worked for his father when he was at school, doing a paper round, and then helping with deliveries and putting stock out. The two of them worked alongside each other for twenty-five years. He took the shop over when his father died, and then he and I ran it together. I’d known him since I was four.’ Her mouth flickered a tiny smile and it was one of the saddest things I’d ever seen.
The arrival of a staff member prevented Rosa from saying anything further. ‘Time for your meds, Mrs Feldman,’ the nurse said cheerily, and she poured out fresh water.
I waved to indicate I was off. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’ My phone had been vibrating in my pocket, so I took the opportunity to check my messages.
It was a text from Shen.
Indra had woken up and was extremely agitated. She wanted to speak to me.
Maya, 8.30 a.m.
Dan and I were in the lift at the Royal London Hospital, on our way to interview Indra on the ward.
‘Rosa is adamant she’s going back to the shop,’ I told him, and pressed the lift button. ‘I’ve asked Shen to speak to the consultant. She’s a determined lady. I’ve got visions of her discharging herself, flagging a black cab down in her hospital gown and then falling down the stairs at the shop.’
‘Good idea.’
‘Given what Indra’s gone through, I’d have preferred to leave it a day or two before broaching the subject of money and murder motives, but we have to consider her a suspect.’
‘I hope for her sake the shop was well insured. Not just the building but their income and business.’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’ The lift dinged and I followed Dan out.
‘I want to know why she told the police she thought Simas had been murdered. Don’t you?’
‘I guess it’ll depend whether she knew about her husband’s infidelities. If that’s his body in their shop, and he was messing around with another woman . . . ’ The thought was upsetting. ‘I’m hoping there will be an innocent explanation for the woman being there. Perhaps the two of them huddled together to escape the fumes?’ One thing was sure, the interview was going to require careful handling.
When we arrived at Indra’s ward, rows of narrow beds greeted us. Nylon curtains hung on rails round each unit. It was hardly private. Marta was sitting beside her sister’s bed on the visitors’ chair, holding Indra’s frail hand. It was bruised, and Marta held it carefully so as not to aggravate the place where the cannula entered the vein.
Indra’s blonde hair lay around her head like a nest, and her eyes looked huge in her gaunt features.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Ulbiene. We all are.’
‘Ačiū.’
I pulled up a chair and gathered my thoughts. ‘Would you like your sister to stay with you?’
‘Таip.’ I knew this meant yes. Beside the bed, the drip stand held a bag of clear fluid.
‘I’ll keep it as brief as I can. They aren’t tactful questions, I’m afraid.’
She didn’t react.
‘Is your shop insured?’
‘Таip.’
‘Building and contents cover?’
‘Taip, žinoma.’
‘Are you OK to speak English or do you need an interpreter?’
‘I speak English.’
I smiled an acknowledgement. ‘Do you remember the name of the insurers?’
‘My husband deals with that side of the business. The paperwork is in the flat and . . . ’ Her arm flailed in the air because the rest was obvious. Hopefully, she’d have details of their insurers in an email account.
‘Did your husband have a life insurance policy?’
‘Žinoma, ne.’
‘Does your husband have any family in the UK?’
‘A brother in Bethnal Green.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Artem Gudelis.’
Dan opened his phone browser.
‘Were they close?’
‘Of course.’
Dan shifted his gaze from his mobile to Indra in the bed. ‘Does Artem run the club COCO?’
‘Таip.’
‘Get hold of him,’ I whispered to Dan. ‘Tell him we need to speak to him in person, ASAP.’
Dan slid away from Indra’s bedside and marched towards the ward exit with his mobile already clamped to his ear.
‘Mrs Ulbiene, did you speak to your husband yesterday?’
‘Таip.’
‘Are these questions necessary?’ Marta stroked her sister’s forehead soothingly. ‘You can see she —’
‘They are,’ I said to Marta. ‘What did your conversation entail?’
‘It was short. We’d just arrived at the hospital and the security man told me I’d need to switch my phone off when we reached the ward.’
‘Was your husband home all day?’
‘As far as I know.’ Indra shielded her face with her hand.
‘What were you doing?’
‘I had . . . ultragarsu at the hospital in the morning for the baby. After that, Marta and I went for lunch to celebrate, then to a salon for facials and masažas.’
‘What time did you leave home to meet your sister?’
‘Nine-ish?’ She glanced at Marta for confirmation.
‘Were you with Marta the whole time until you came to Brick Lane?’ This would mean they were each other’s alibis.
‘Таip.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘Am I a suspect? Is that what these questions are about?’
‘I’m sorry. We do need to know whether you were involved with the arson, yes.’ I winced as I said it. It was horrible to think Indra could have been responsible, and even worse to have to raise it so soon after she’d lost her baby.
‘Kristus.’ Indra raised her arm in irritation and let it fall back on the bed. ‘Why would I kill my husband? And set fire to my own business? We’ve worked our arses off trying to get it off the ground. We wanted to expand.’
‘Which day do you normally close the shop?’
‘We never close in the daytime. Neither of us has had a day off in two years. We work seven days a week. We were trying to build up the business so we could open another shop. Maybe set up franšizės around London.’
‘Has your husband ever suggested closing the shop before today?’
‘Ne.’
‘When you spoke to him, did he mention having any visitors at all?’
‘Ne.’
‘He didn’t say that anyone had called round to see him or that he’d arranged for someone to come round? Your GP? Or a friend?’
‘He was sick. I told you. He called me. Said he was in bed with a fever. That was it.’
‘Was he in your bedroom? The left-hand room at the front of the house?’ I gestured with my left hand to make sure there was no misunderstanding.
‘Of course.’ She frowned. ‘Where else would he be?’
‘I have to ask this, I’m afraid. Can you think of anyone who might wish your husband harm?’
Anguish spread over Indra’s face, and she looked at her sister and then me. ‘No. I cannot.’ No Lithuanian this time.
‘You told the 999 operator that you thought someone had tried to kill your husband. Why did you think that?’
She blushed.
‘Mrs Ulbiene?’
Dan had joined us again. He gave me a subtle thumbs-up.
‘If I remembered saying it, I’d say.’ Indra’s tone of voice told me she knew exactly what she’d done and why, but something was stopping her from saying.
‘Are you saying you don’t remember calling 999 or you don’t remember saying it?’
Marta sucked a breath in through her teeth.
‘Calls to 999 are recorded and this one was traced to your mobile.’
‘She said she doesn’t remember.’ Marta’s expression was mutinous.
Dan played the recording on his phone.
‘Poleece? My husband is in the fire in Brick Lane. I think someone’s tried to kill him.’ In the background, a female voice was talking. ‘I think someone’s murdered him.’
‘I take it that’s you, Mrs Ulbiene?’
‘Taip.’
‘Is that you in the background?’ I watched Marta.
She groaned. ‘Yes.’
‘Why did you think someone had tried to kill your husband, Mrs Ulbiene?’
‘Things are difficult.’ Indra seemed annoyed with herself, as though she’d given away something she hadn’t intended, or was hiding something.
‘In what way are they difficult?’
‘Detektyva, we are immigrants.’ She raised her fist in frustration, and dropped it back on the bed. ‘We work long hours. We’re in a lot of debt because we had to borrow money to set up the business and haven’t paid the loans off yet. Because we are foreigners, we didn’t get the best interest rates. Banks see a Lithuanian passport and immediately see you as high risk.’
I picked up the bitterness in her reply and my heart went out to Indra again. It had been the same for my parents when we arrived in the UK. It’d taken a good ten years for Dad to establish himself, earn enough money for us to live off and gain respect. ‘I understand that. My family were immigrants too, but I don’t see how that relates to you thinking your husband was murdered. Can you fill me in?’
Indra rolled her eyes.
She was a smart woman. Given she’d asked to speak to us, she must’ve known we’d ask her about the call to emergency services. There was something she wasn’t telling us. I was sure of it. ‘Did you think he’d been murdered because you heard that the fire was arson or because you suspected that someone might want to kill him?’
Marta muttered to her sister in Lithuanian.
Indra gabbled a reply and they had a heated exchange. Marta’s speech became faster and louder, and her hands gesticulated in agitation.
‘I don’t remember what I thought,’ Indra said finally. ‘I was in shock when I heard about the fire. I was scared for my husband, and the business is our livelihood.’
I suspected she was going to say something like this. ‘Of course. It must’ve been upsetting news to receive.’ I waited a few moments for her to regain her composure. ‘Who told you about the fire?’
‘Pardon?’
I repeated the question.
‘Tomasz Feldman.’
That was a surprise. ‘Why did Tomasz Feldman tell you about the fire? Do you know him?’
Maya, 8.45 a.m.
I was keen to hear Indra’s response to my question about Tomasz Feldman.
‘I don’t understand—’ Indra said, her voice weary.
‘Is Mr Feldman connected to your shop in some way?’ I was wondering why he had Indra’s phone number.
She muttered to Marta again, then spoke to me. ‘No. We are neighbours. He knows everyone round here.’
Dan raised his eyebrows at me.
‘OK. Last few questions – did your husband have any arguments recently?’
‘Ne.’
‘Anyone unhappy about you two opening the soup shop?’ She’d dodged my question about how things had been difficult for them recently.
Marta spoke to her sister in a low voice. Then to me, she said, ‘She can’t think of anyone. If she does, we’ll call you.’
‘I’ve almost finished. Mrs Ulbiene? It’s very important. Who might want to harm your husband or your business?’
Indra glanced at her sister for a cue. Marta was shaking her head from side to side.
‘I’ve answered. I don’t know.’
I didn’t believe her but there was something else I needed to ask before she clammed up. ‘OK. This is the last question. I’m so sorry. There’s no easy way to tell you this. We found a woman with your husband. They were curled round each other on what looks like was a bed. Do you know who the woman might have been?’
‘No idea,’ came her quick response.
Shock was written all over Marta’s face.
‘I don’t want to answer any more questions. I’m tired. Could you leave me now, please?’ Indra flashed me an angry expression. ‘Nurse. Nurse.’
‘Of course.’ I bundled my notepad into my bag. ‘An officer will come later today to take a formal statement from you. You will be asked to provide details of all the people your husband had fall-outs with, and anyone you think might want to harm him or you, or your business.’ I placed my contact card on the bedside table. ‘I’m sorry, but you will also be asked about the woman in the fire. If you remember why you rang 999, please call me. I hope you feel stronger soon.’ I turned to Marta and said gently, ‘Could I have a word, please?’ I gestured for her to follow me towards the ward exit and the lobby area where the lifts were.
Marta placed her hand reassuringly on her sister’s arm for a moment. ‘Nebus ilgas.’ She tailed me across the ward, dragging her boots on the linoleum and tutting loudly, in case we hadn’t got the message that she was pissed off with us.
Once we were out of earshot, I turned and faced her. ‘I understand that you’re concerned about your sister, but two people are dead, and you were hindering a murder investigation back there. Given you brought things to a halt, perhaps you can help us with the information we need? Do you know who might have had it in for your sister and brother-in-law?’
‘No.’
‘How about just Simas?’
She snorted contemptuously and her eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘That’s a completely different question. Lots of people. Simas was a piece of shit but love is blind – and my sister has always loved him.’
‘“Piece of shit” in what sense?’
She did an unzipping gesture at the level of the flies on her jeans, and I felt my heart sink.
‘Do you know who the woman in the fire is?’
She opened her hands wide. ‘Could be anyone. If he burnt in that place, it’s what that bastard deserved.’
‘Has he been unfaithful to your sister before?’
Disgust forced air out of Marta’s mouth. ‘Many times. She should have left him but it’s not easy when you’re from a country like ours. This shop, and the baby, were supposed to be their “new start”.’ She made a quotation mark gesture with her fingers as though she never believed it was going to happen, and they were empty words.
‘We have some photographs of the bodies in the fire. Could you look at them for me, please? I’m afraid they aren’t pleasant, or particularly good quality, but until we can see Artem, or persuade Indra to look at them, you’re the best person to identify them.’ On my phone, I brought up a cropped image of the man lying cupped round another person, and showed it to her. ‘Is this your brother-in-law?’
‘Jėzus Kristus.’ She turned away, doubling over, her hand over her mouth in revulsion. ‘Tai virsta.’ She staggered away from me. ‘Yes, that’s him. That bastard. I’m glad he’s dead. Except my sister will continue to suffer because of him.’ She lurched and stumbled around the lobby area and beat her fist on the lift door several times, muttering agitatedly in Lithuanian.
‘Marta, are you certain that’s Simas in the image?’
She spun round. ‘Yes. I recognise the stud in his ear and the watch. Indra gave them to him for Christmas. Spent far more on him than he was worth.’ She took her phone from her jeans pocket and swiped it into life. ‘Here. Look. This was at Christmas.’ She scrolled through the images and showed me a photo of Indra and Simas around a table, plates loaded with food. Crackers and wrapping littered the tablecloth. They both wore paper hats, and he had his arm round his wife’s shoulders. The watch was clearly visible. She scrolled to another image, one that showed Simas’ face and ear. ‘See. It’s white gold with a diamond.’
‘Are those images date stamped?’
‘Yes. Look.’ Beneath the images, location, time and date were shown.
‘Could I get copies of them, please?’
‘If you’ll let my sister have a bit of time to come to terms with losing everything before you show her these.’ There was an edge to her voice, as though she was used to having to negotiate.
I felt the pressure in her words and let it float for a moment. ‘Marta, I can’t commit to a timeframe, but I give you my word that we won’t put Indra through any unnecessary distress. It’s in your sister’s interests that the murders are solved. She can’t claim on her insurance until the investigation is over.’
‘People always promise us things.’ She said it in a sarcastic, sing-song-y way and disengaged her glance. ‘ . . . and they’re always lies.’
I’d seen the wariness in Marta’s eyes when we were on the ward, but this wasn’t just that. Beneath the sarcasm was a quiet rage. And beneath that, something else lay, like a rumble of distant thunder. ‘Is there a reason why your brother-in-law might have been sleeping in the spare room rather than his own bedroom?’
She used the back of her hand to blot the tears from her eyes. ‘The spare room is his way of pretending it didn’t matter. He could shag whoever he liked as long as he didn’t do it in their bed.’
I was absorbing what she was telling me. ‘Was Indra OK with that?’
‘Of course not.’ She flashed an angry glance. ‘He promised he wouldn’t do it anymore, and then did it again and again.’ She muttered now. ‘Some men should have their dicks cut off at birth.’
‘Marta, do you recognise the woman in the photo? Or have any idea who it might be?’
She glanced at the image again and quickly shook her head. ‘I don’t recognise her but he could’ve just met her. Indra knows how I feel about Simas, and when they decided to make a fresh start in Brick Lane, she said she wasn’t going to discuss him with me anymore.’
‘OK. I appreciate that you may not feel sympathetic towards the woman in the fire, but someone is likely to be searching for her. Indra may know who she is. If either of you do, we can inform the woman’s next of kin. Also, her identity may provide vital clues on who might want to set the shop on fire, and why.’
‘I get that.’
‘Good. And to be clear – when my officer comes, we will need to interview your sister alone.’
She opened her mouth to protest and clamped it shut.