by Vicky Newham
A large black dog pushed its nose round the teenager’s legs.
‘Sophie Williams?’ I asked.
‘That’s me.’
‘DI Rahman and DS Maguire.’
Her face fell.
‘Were you expecting someone?’
‘Oh, my mum. It’s probably nothing . . . ’ Her words drifted off.
‘Could we come in? We’d like to ask you a few questions about yesterday’s flash mob.’
Sophie’s cheeks flushed with colour and she froze momentarily before pulling the dog away from the door and showing us into a sparsely furnished lounge. The spacious room had no carpet, just board with paint splatters and stains, and underlay remnants all over it. A threadbare two-seater sofa and matching armchair took pride of place in the centre of the room, both of which faced a boxy, old-fashioned TV set, which was propped up by a pile of text books.
Sophie was in the first year of her A-levels, she told us. Politics, history and law. ‘Mum and Dad got divorced last year and it’s been a nightmare. Mum’s had to go back to work and she’s really struggling.’ Sophie’s teenage features seemed younger than seventeen. ‘Dad’s got a new family and he’s taken my sister to live with him.’ Her sentence oozed with hurt. ‘There wasn’t room for me though.’ She gestured to the bare floor and the sagging sofa and the crappy telly.
Dan was sizing up the room while Sophie was speaking but the distress in her voice must’ve pulled him up too, as he turned his attention to her.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ I said. ‘I know how difficult it can be when someone isn’t around anymore.’ Sophie wasn’t to know quite how intimately I understood this.
‘We only moved in here four months ago and now we’ve got to find somewhere else because the block is being sold for development. Mum had to buy furniture ’cause Dad needs ours for his new family . . .’ Her sentence petered out as she began to cry.
I felt sorry for Sophie and her mother, and wondered why she was telling us all this when I’d asked her about the flash mob. Either something was wrong, or she’d learnt deflection skills early in life. ‘What are you worried about? Is it your mum?’
‘She’s started drinking again.’ I detected shame in Sophie’s voice. ‘It’s why Dad left us . . . and left me to look after her. Last night she didn’t come home at all. I’ve rung her mobile but it goes straight to voicemail, and I’m starting to get scared.’
‘When did you see her last?’
‘Yesterday morning. Before I left for college.’
‘Did you speak to her in the day?’
‘No. I rang her to say I was going to Brick Lane, but she didn’t answer.’
This wasn’t what we’d come about but Sophie was still a minor and we had to refer on the fact her mother had been missing for thirty-six hours. More worryingly, it occurred to me that Sophie’s mother might be the woman in the fire. ‘Have any of her friends heard from her? Or anyone else in the family?’
‘I’ve rung everyone I can think of, including Dad. Nothing.’
‘We’ll need her full name, description, a recent photograph, work details and where she goes drinking, please. Plus her mobile number, and your dad’s contact details too. Can you do that?’
Sophie set about collecting together the information we’d requested, and it gave me the chance to check in with Dan, whose face was the mirror of mine.
‘Could be in the right age range,’ he whispered. ‘Missing since yesterday, mobile going to voicemail?’
I nodded.
Having got the information we needed, we returned to the subject of the arson attack.
‘How did you get involved with the flash mob?’ I asked her.
‘Oh yeah. Have you got my bag? It’s got loads of my uni stuff in it, and my phone.’
I explained about the forensic tests and that we’d let her have the returnable items as soon as we could. ‘We understand you’ve had some dealings with a website called LfA. Is that where you learnt about the flash mob?’
She called the dog over and began petting him. ‘A guy at college told me about LfA. John’s his name. I think he’s a mate of Riad and Ali’s. He said that LfA organises flash mobs and protests and sometimes you get food or a bit of cash.’ Something zipped across her face. ‘They post the date and venue on the forum, and say whether it’s going to be morning, afternoon or evening. You go on the website and enter your details, and they WhatsApp or text the location and time on the day.’
‘Did you know what the events were about?’ I asked.
‘He did tell us but, to be honest, I just thought it would be a good way to make a bit of cash and have a laugh.’
‘Can you remember who you communicated with?’
‘It’s always a guy called Frazer who posts on the forum, then someone else gets in contact.’ She gave a sheepish smile and stroked the dog’s ears.
‘What were you told you were going to do?’
‘To dance in the street for half an hour.’ She laughed and fiddled with her top-knot.
Something felt off. I thought carefully about what to say. ‘Were any other elements described?’
She frowned. Confused. ‘He said something about gentrification, but it went right over my head. We were just there for a laugh.’
‘Anything criminal?’
She shook her head furiously. ‘God, no. If I got involved in anything like that my dad would kill me. It was just a laugh. When that fire broke out, we were all shocked.’ She looked from me to Dan.
‘Who else did you know there?’
‘Just Riad. He’s my boyfriend. His younger brother, Ali, and the guy called John that I told you about. I don’t really know him. I didn’t know half the people there. I recognised a few faces from other flash mobs, but no-one by name.’
‘Is John from New City College too?’
‘Yeah. I think Riad said he’s doing one of the new BTECs. Digital Technologies or something. He’s around fifteen.’ She screwed up her nose.
‘How do you know Riad and Ali?’
‘We met doing the climbing wall at the youth club.’ Her eyes danced with excitement. ‘It’s lots of fun. Have you ever done it?’ She giggled nervously.
‘Have you wondered whether the flash mob and the fire were linked?’
Her hands went to her face. ‘Oh my God, you don’t think . . . ?’
I studied her body language. Was she a good actress or genuinely naïve? ‘We think it’s very possible.’
‘Please don’t tell my dad that. He’ll kill me.’
‘Sophie, please be honest with us. This is important. Did anyone at the flash mob mention the fire?’
‘I swear, no. I did think it was a coincidence that the flash mob gathered outside a shop which then burst into flames, but that wasn’t because anyone said anything.’
‘What did Riad and John think?’
‘I haven’t seen either of them and you’ve got my phone.’
‘Didn’t you all leave together?’
‘No. We were terrified. Everyone scarpered.’
‘Have you been back onto the website since the fire?’
She began chewing at the skin round her nails.
‘Sophie, the arson caused two deaths,’ said Dan. ‘The fire was deliberate. That’s murder. If you know anything, we need you to tell us.’
‘Will you tell my mum?’ The question shot out.
‘It depends,’ Dan replied. ‘Only if we think she needs to know.’ He paused. Made his voice softer. ‘Did you get drugs for attending the flash mob?’
Wet blobs fell from her eyes and landed on her hands and lap. She buried her face in the dog. ‘Please don’t tell Mum. Or Dad. I swear, they’ll go mad.’
‘What sort of drugs?’ I chipped in.
‘We could choose. Weed or E.’ She sat up. ‘And they said they’d give us a tenner.’
‘Who was giving people their money?’
‘I didn’t see. I got there a bit late, so I never got mine.’
/> ‘When you arrived, was anyone greeting you? Giving instructions?’
‘No, it was supposed to be a spontaneous thing.’
‘And who was responsible for the music?’
‘Dunno. I went to college then my job. When I got there, the music was already playing. Riad and Ali arrived with John, I think, and I met them there.’
‘We will need their names and contact details.’
‘They’re in my phone. I don’t know any of their addresses, sorry.’ She picked up a pencil, scribbled on a Nando’s receipt, and passed it to me.
Riad Farzat
Ali Kousa
John
‘You don’t know John’s surname?’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘Do you have any photos of them on your phone?’
‘Yeah. Loads. The four of us and everyone.’ Her expression became panicky. ‘But we were probably pissed, and a bit . . . ’
‘We won’t worry about that now. When you were dancing, did you see anyone go into the soup shop?’
‘No. But to be honest, we weren’t looking. Someone had made a playlist and the tracks changed quickly, and we were all dancing. For a while, until the fire, it was fun. It helped to take my mind off my mum and dad.’ She looked worried again. ‘You won’t tell the olds about the drugs, will you?’
*
Back in the car, outside Sophie’s block, I called in the details of her mother’s disappearance while Dan ran Riad, Ali and Sophie’s names through the PNC. John would have to wait until we had a surname for him.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation that Jackie and I’d had yesterday evening in the Morgan Arms. ‘Jackie’s just finished an investigation in Manchester. Criminal gangs are using eleven, twelve and thirteen year-olds there to deliver drugs and collect money. What if those kids we met in Brick Lane earlier are involved with something similar?’ The implications filled my mind. ‘How the hell are we meant to protect them? Homelessness is off the scale in London, and so is child poverty.’
‘Sadly, I think there are going to be a load more kids in that situation,’ Dan added. ‘Every day, there are more people needing asylum, and more vulnerable kids. I guess we can start with these jokers.’ He gestured to the block where Sophie lived. ‘I’ll chase the technicians for Sophie’s comms data. I have a feeling that’s going to be interesting.’
But something else was worrying me. ‘That poor girl hasn’t a clue what she’s getting mixed up in. She’s so upset about her parents’ divorce, and so worried about her mum, she’s going anywhere there’s drugs and booze.’ I turned to Dan. ‘I really hope it wasn’t her mother in the fire with Simas. She’s not coping as it is, and it doesn’t sound like Daddy wants to know.’
Maya, 1 p.m.
Now in daylight, and without the enhanced reality of artificial floodlights, the arson scene was grey and drab. The ambulances, fire engines and two aerial platforms had returned to base. The building carcass was still water-drenched, and debris had been pushed into piles. The remaining apertures had smoke-stained gashes round them. The entire roof had caved in and two new forensic tents stood at either side of the shop.
Something had happened.
Dougie met Dan and I at the cordon. ‘We’ve had engineers working through the night to try and strengthen the rooms where the floors and ceilings collapsed,’ Dougie told us. ‘Unfortunately, they’ve had to demolish what remained of the top floor as it simply wasn’t safe. The ceiling collapsed just after I spoke to you.’
I groaned. ‘That’ll mean limited forensics from that section then.’
‘Unfortunately. The two bodies came down with the ceiling.’ He pointed at the tents. ‘Dr Clark has just left, and the CSIs are preserving evidence.’
I surveyed the scene. ‘I hope this speeds up identification of the woman.’
‘Should do. The bodies had quite a fall though, and a load of debris came crashing down on top of them so that’s going to work against us.’
‘Any idea when we can get them over to the mortuary for PM?’
‘They will be taken over any minute now. I don’t want the bodies exposed to the elements any longer than necessary. We’ve already lost twenty-four hours.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you want to see them?’ He paused. ‘They aren’t pretty.’
‘Have we got close-up photographs?’
‘I made sure Cathy uploaded several of each body onto PCloud.’
‘In that case, I’ll pass.’ I shuddered. ‘Bit close to home.’ An image of Sabbir’s remains flashed before my eyes. ‘I’ll call Dr Clark for a verbal.’
Shen was arriving, and I walked over to meet her at the Portakabin.
‘Any developments?’ I asked her.
‘We’ve got some useful leads. The analysts have reported on the eyewitness data, and intelligence is coming in from smartphone users following the social media ping-outs.’ She had really taken to her new role and was shaping up as a valuable team member. She took out her notebook and mentioned several things that confirmed what Dan and I had learnt. ‘Mixed feeling about Simas and Indra . . . everyone says they were polite and hard-working . . . local shopkeepers in competition with each other. And . . . ’
My ears pricked up.
‘. . . several people mentioned that Simas Gudelis had lady visitors when his wife was out.’
This corroborated what Marta, and the shopkeeper, Natassja, had told us. ‘Any descriptions?’
‘A few people mentioned a tall woman with a black bob and a silver BMW. She used to park it round the back of the shop. Someone else mentioned a fair-haired woman with a nose-stud, and pink tufts in her hair.’
‘Did no-one recognise either of them?’ Everyone knew everyone round here. Even if certain groups didn’t actively mix, they still knew what was going on and who everyone was.
Shen shook her head.
‘It’s possible they don’t want to say.’ I was processing the information. ‘Any other eyewitness data?’
‘Two further teenagers mentioned Frazer and LfA. A Somalian boy said that a guy called John had been at his youth club – it’s the one on Shandy Street . . . ’
‘Arbour Youth Centre? I know it. Busy place.’
‘That’s the one. Apparently, this John encouraged lots of the kids there to join the forum. Told them it was a laugh and he’d make it “worth their time” if they came along to protests. And something about masks.’
I felt a flurry of excitement. With so many people mentioning Frazer and John, I sensed we were onto something, along with reports of masks with logos. ‘Sophie Williams has just mentioned a guy called John. He’s a student at New City College. She knows him from their youth club.’
She nodded. ‘No-one seems to know his surname.’
‘I’ll drop in at the Arbour place. Someone has to know where he lives.’ I was thinking aloud. ‘Can you get onto the registry at New City College and ask them for the full names and addresses of all students called John?’ With such a common name, it was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but we had to try.
‘Sure.’
‘Dougie said the garden isn’t secure behind the soup shop,’ I told Shen. ‘The gate barely shuts, the posts are wobbly, and the entrance is from an alley which runs behind all these shops, parallel to Brick Lane. The CSIs are still processing the forensic evidence from that area.’
Shen was still leafing through her notebook. ‘A female eyewitness said she heard about the flash mob on Facebook. The analysts say there’s an LfA Facebook page, as well as a website, and Frazer posted there last week about the protest in Brick Lane.’ Shen paused. ‘There’s more.’ She pointed out of the Portakabin window at a restaurant, two doors along from Rosa Feldman’s newsagent’s, in the other direction from Alchemia. ‘See the Raj, over there. One of the chefs told H-2-H that he saw a group of teenagers arrive on Friday with speakers. They set them down, switched on the music and started dancing. He was out the front, having a cigarette. Commented on how yo
ung some of the kids were. We showed him the photograph from Ali’s witness statement, and he’s identified one of the boys as Ali Kousa.’
‘That’s interesting. Sophie Williams told us that Ali, Riad and John arrived at the flash mob together, but Ali denied having anything to do with the music.’
Shen passed me the chef’s name and address.
Iqbal Chowdhury
247a Raleigh House
Sclater Street
I shuddered at the mention of Raleigh House. ‘That place is a blast from the past. It’s on the Gunthorpe Estate.’ Memories flooded into my mind. ‘Have any of the witnesses said they knew the flash mob’s theme was anti-gentrification?’
‘Some did. Some claim they didn’t.’ Shen rolled her eyes.
‘Did none of them think to question how a dance in the street to music was going to do anything about gentrification?’
‘Reading between the lines, I think lots of them didn’t bother to ask.’
‘Ali is ten, for goodness’ sake.’ I cursed under my breath. ‘Who the hell are LfA? Is no-one checking how old these kids are? It’s so irresponsible.’
‘I haven’t seen any mention of age checks, Boss.’
Jackie was right. ‘These bloody websites and protest groups are luring kids into stuff they’re too young to understand.’ I kicked at the floor of the cabin and it sent a rattle through the entire space. ‘For kids who are bored or hacked off, a mixed-gender event with music, booze and drugs might seem like a good laugh, but they don’t seem to realise they’re vulnerable to exploitation.’ I thought about the London riots in 2011, where youngsters were recruited into illegal activities simply because they were bored, angry and fed up with their lives.
‘Have any of our witnesses actually met Frazer? Any idea of his age, background? Is he even male?’
Shen screwed up her nose. ‘We asked each witness.’
Of course, it was possible that no such person existed. The internet created so many opportunities for anonymity and un-traceability. I needed to speak to Jackie. Get her input. ‘It’s time to put out another public appeal. Get onto the media liaison officer and Megan in PR right away. We need to get the message out to everyone who saw the fire start that their eyewitness accounts are vital.’
