by Vicky Newham
‘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.
‘We will need you to give a statement too.’ She’d no doubt want to stay at the hospital. ‘I’ll ask the officer to take yours after Indra’s. The sooner we can find the person responsible for the fire, the sooner your sister can make an insurance claim and move on.’ I gave her my contact card. ‘Can you email me those photographs of Indra and Simas?’
‘OK.’ This time she met my eyes, and I sensed she was trying to decide whether she could trust me. ‘I will talk to my sister.’
‘I’m really sorry about what’s happened. I know how hard these questions are to answer. I can’t promise that it’s going to be easy for anyone, but I give you my word that I will not rest until we find out who did this.’
She acknowledged the comment with a curt nod and closed her eyes, as though she couldn’t believe what had happened.
‘A few final things – back on the ward, why was Indra looking to you to tell her what to say?’
Marta fiddled with her cigarettes and lighter.
‘It was the same when she called 999. You were in the background.’
‘My sister is much nicer than me, but she isn’t as strong as me. Living with Simas ground her down. She works all day, every day, and she’s been doing language classes. You can see how thin she is. Everyone thinks immigrants are lazy and can’t be bothered to learn English, and Indra was determined to prove them wrong.’ She paused. ‘I’m her big sister so now it’s my turn to look after her.’
I took in Marta’s explanation. What was bothering me was whether Indra had any inkling what her husband was going to get up to when she’d left for her sister’s yesterday. Did she believe they’d made a fresh start and that Simas had changed his ways? What a horrible mess.
‘Why did Indra phone 999 and say she thought someone had murdered her husband?’
‘I don’t know. I told her not to. It’s what we were arguing about. If you get someone to translate, what you will hear in the background is me asking her what the hell she’s doing.’
I recalled something that Indra had mentioned. ‘Why didn’t Simas accompany Indra to the hospital for her scan?’
‘Because he’s an asshole.’
‘Did he know that his wife was pregnant?’
Maya, 9.15 a.m.
I was at the hospital reception, still taking in the implications of Marta’s answer.
Dan was talking on his phone. ‘We’ll go straight there,’ he said into his receiver. ‘Tell him not to leave the premises.’ He ended the call. ‘Alexej has spoken to Artem Gudelis and arranged for us to interview him at his club. Shall we go?’
‘Where’s Rosa?’
‘She’s gone to her daughter’s. She got the consultant to discharge her. I managed to have a word with him about the state of the shop and the damp, and he knew about the dreams and her asthma, so he only agreed to let her go home if she promised to stay at Agnieszka’s for at least a week. I’ve just put her in a black cab.’
‘Phew. At least she’ll be safe there.’ We discussed recent developments as we walked towards the exit.
‘Ten weeks pregnant and Simas didn’t know? Jeez.’ Dan stared at me in disbelief. ‘Did Marta say why Indra hadn’t told him?’
‘Apparently, Simas was adamant he didn’t want children.’
‘Meaning what? Indra hoped he’d change his mind and was building up to telling him? She was waiting ’til she was past the three-month mark? Simas wasn’t the father?’
‘Marta swore she didn’t know why. All she said was she and Indra don’t discuss Simas any more.’
Dan tutted. ‘That’s convenient.’
‘Actually, I believe her. She clearly has a low opinion of her brother-in-law. Perhaps she found it easiest, and kindest, not to talk about him.’ Mum flashed through my mind. Had this been why she hadn’t wanted to talk about Dad?
‘I wonder what Artem will say about his brother’s philandering.’ Dan pulled a face. ‘I’d put money on two things. He’ll be on the defensive and he’ll take Simas’ side.’
At the exit, as the glass doors swung back, a swarm of reporters surged towards us, firing out questions and wanting their pound of flesh.
‘Inspector, is it true that the other person in the fire was a woman?’ asked one.
‘Keep walking,’ I hissed at Dan, blinking amidst the blinding flash lights.
‘Given the woman in the fire wasn’t the shopkeeper’s wife, who was it?’ another shouted.
‘Inspector, what precautions have you taken to keep the capital safe in the face of fe
ars about copy-cat fires?’ It was Tony from the City Eye again.
Something slid round the back of my hair and ear. I turned to see a microphone below my chin, and it was then stuffed towards my mouth.
‘Can you confirm reports that a child was in the fire?’ The beefy hulk of a journo bellowed at me, practically spitting in my face.
‘A what?’ Damn. I’d responded before I could stop myself. I pushed his mic away from my face and addressed the gaggle. ‘There have been NO reports of a child in the fire. No further questions for now. All communication will go through the usual channels. Thanks.’
*
Half an hour later, Dan and I were outside a large glass-fronted business premises in Bethnal Green. Silver lettering twinkled in the morning sunlight and showed the name COCO. Two shiny-suited security guards stood outside, wearing headsets and attitude, next to a roped-off section on the pavement. One of the bouncers lumbered towards us, tight-faced and suspicious.
‘We’re here to see Artem Gudelis,’ I said, and we showed our warrants.
The security guard didn’t acknowledge what I said but immediately started to speak into his headset in Lithuanian, and then turned to his colleague and made a comment to him. They both sniggered at whatever he’d said. It was hard not to wonder if they were indicative of what their boss might be like.
The man snapped, ‘Come,’ and marched inside the building.
We followed him up a set of steps. The lights were low. The carpets were thick and grey, and the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Cashier staff were arriving and getting ready for the customers, who would be buying payment chips in an hour or so and hurrying to the lap-dance booths.
Downstairs, it was a warren of corridors with subdued lighting, and this was where Artem had his office. As we entered, I gave the lavish basement room the once-over. In one corner, two plush sofas lay in an L-shape. In another corner, behind a giant desk, the sort you might expect to find in a multi-national oil company, sat a stocky man with thinning hair. He had proud, heavy features and metal-framed glasses, and looked far from delighted to see us. Had I not known differently, he could easily have been Simas’ uncle.
