Out of the Ashes

by Vicky Newham

  ‘Oh, yes. They were great friends for many years. They belonged to a few of the same clubs and would spend hours discussing politics and religion.’ A warm laugh bounced around the room. It was heartening to see a smile on her aching features. ‘Your father was interested in finding out about Judaism and Józef had never met a Sufi before. They both found each other—’

  ‘Was Dad a Sufi?’ It was a minor detail and only bothered me because it was something else I’d forgotten about him.

  She looked puzzled. ‘I’m sure that’s what Józef said.’ She paused to review what she knew. ‘I don’t want to talk out of turn.’ Her fingers were pulling at her lip. ‘Yes, he did.’ She frowned. ‘I suppose you must’ve been young when he left.’

  ‘I was twelve.’ I still remembered it vividly. The tense atmosphere when he came home from work. The sharp words between Mum and Dad, and then him leaving. The candles and bagels. ‘It was a long time ago.’ I was walking up and down Rosa’s bedroom, scouring my memory for any hints or mentions of Dad having been a Sufi.

  Rosa was still looking thoughtful. ‘Józef had a nickname for your dad because he was always reading verse.’ She smiled. ‘What was it now?’ She tapped her lips gently.

  I was eager for this new piece of information.

  ‘Ba . . .’ She broke off. Looked at the photograph again. ‘Baba. That was it. He called him Baba.’

  The name rang a bell. Something to do with Dad telling Jasmina and I about whirling dervishes once in our old flat in Sylhet. My head was thick with thoughts. ‘Who are the other two?’

  ‘Let me see.’ She put her glasses back on. ‘This one is Ody. That’s what Józef called him. Can’t remember his surname but I’m sure he was from Uganda. The other one is Cyril. He was born in Bow.’

  ‘I remember them now. They were often at your shop. Can I take a picture of this? Jasmina would love to see it.’

  ‘Take it. There are lots more somewhere. If only I could find things in this darn pl—’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t take it.’ I snapped a couple of photos on my phone and gave it back to her. ‘This’ll do fine. Thank you.’ And then I realised that I had simply come to say hello and I’d got lost in reverie about my father. ‘I’m so sorry. I hadn’t meant to talk about my family. It was a shock seeing Dad like that.’ I was looking round the room for an anchor. ‘Could I nip to your loo?’

  ‘Of course, dear. It’s at the end of landing.’

  Along the corridor, in the bathroom, I was relieved to feel the cold air on my face and be alone. It had been an odd conversation, and my mind was aflutter with thoughts of Dad. The vivid memories of the night he left, and our abject confusion. The harsh words with Mum in gabbled Sylheti; him telling us to be good for our mother; Mum’s sickening scream once he’d shut the door behind him. And once again I felt the pain of the two questions which had been ghosts for Jasmina, Sabbir and I ever since that day: whether the person who left candles and bagels on the doorstep was Dad, and what Mum knew about him leaving.

  *

  Ten minutes later, Rosa and Agnieszka were seeing me out when voices caught my attention over at Alchemia, the new Polish bar which was two doors along from the arson site. The building’s slick black fascia and smoky glass stood out amongst the dated decor of the other businesses. The shop door was open, and the lights were on, giving a glimpse of a black bar with chrome stools. In the doorway, a small woman in an apron was cleaning the windows in the dark.

  Dan had arrived and was walking over to us. ‘Thought I might find you here.’ He grinned at me. ‘Any sign of Ali?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘That’s the Posners’ old place,’ said Rosa, behind me. ‘Do you remember, Agnieszka?’ Nostalgia had crept over Rosa’s features again and she was watching the woman clean. ‘So, we’ve lost our shoemaker and got another bar.’

  ‘I’ve been spying on her from upstairs while you and Mum were chatting,’ Agnieszka said. ‘She and her hubby are acquaintances of Olaf’s. He does their accounts.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Anyway, let’s get you back in the warm, Mum. Thanks for your help with the bags, Inspector.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ My mind was buzzing with questions, including why the bar owners hadn’t come up in the H-2-H inquiries or mobile phone ring-fencing.

  Agnieszka and Rosa clattered through the shop, and back up to the flat, and Dan walked over to speak to the crime scene guard. It was then that the turmoil of the day hit me. I stood outside the newsagent’s, facing the street, taking in the cool evening air. What an awful day it had been. The squat, Ali, the UnSub. And now this stuff with Dad.

  I sank to the ground and perched on the shop step for a few moments, my back against the door. How I wished Jasmina had been with me to see the photos of Dad with Józef and the other two men. Had she forgotten things about Dad too? I stood up, wanting to see Rosa’s shop as I had as a child. I turned and looked up at the glass-panelled door. The CLOSED sign. The window displays.

  And there it was, above the door frame, the Star of David that Rosa had seen earlier, etched into the brickwork.

  And I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling I’d had when I first saw it. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that we were missing something. What if it wasn’t a despicable act of anti-Semitism, but a missing link in our case?

  Dan, 9.30 p.m.

  ‘What d’you think it means?’ Maya asked him, and pointed at the Star of David outside the newsagent’s. She’d called Dan over to look at it again, and he could feel her studying his reactions.

  ‘Definitely looks new.’ He shone his torch on the brickwork and stepped back to get a longer view. ‘Could be kids. Most people will know Rosa’s a Jew. Maybe anti-Semitism . . . ?’

  Dan caught Maya’s worried expression.

  ‘On the other hand,’ he looked over at the remains of the soup shop, ‘. . . it could be those low-lifes leaving us a message that they’ve got their sights on Rosa’s shop too?’

  ‘Which d’you reckon is most likely?’

  Dan sucked air in through his teeth. ‘That’s a tough call. But having her windows smashed is a lot less serious than having her shop set light to.’ He glanced at Maya. ‘What’s your take on it? You’re usually Ms Instinct.’

  ‘Same as you. If the fire at the soup shop wasn’t intended to be serious, and got out of control quicker than they expected, these scum-bags could have the same plan for Rosa’s place. The star could be the arsonists leaving us a message that Rosa’s shop is the next to be torched.’ She craned her neck to get a good look at Alchemia. ‘Isn’t that a CCTV camera over there? It looks like one of those high-spec rotating ones. If it is, it might have some film of Rosa’s shop when she was in hospital. Let’s go and see what the shopkeeper can tell us. See if she’ll let us view their CCTV.’

  As they approached Alchemia, the woman they’d seen was replacing the COMING SOON sign in the shop window with OPENING NEXT WEEK. The tinted glass was even darker than it had looked, and the charcoal-grey interior gave a disconcerting impression.

  ‘They’ve transformed this place in the last twenty-four hours,’ Dan muttered. ‘They must’ve had half the local tradies on their job.’

  They showed their warrants and Maya introduced themselves. ‘Are you the owner?’

  ‘Yes. Monika Waglowa.’ She had a pleasant manner and a cheerful face.

  ‘You’re working late.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said wearily. ‘We lost so much time yesterday and we’re opening soon.’

  ‘That’s what we’d like to speak to you about,’ Maya said. ‘Our records show that the house-to-house teams didn’t manage to speak to you after the fire at the soup shop yesterday. Weren’t you around?’

  ‘I was at home all day, looking after my dad.’ She continued to buff the glass as she spoke. ‘He had a hip replacement last week and has moved in with us for a few weeks. The first I heard about the fire was when the fire brigade called me around two.�
��

  ‘Where is home?’

  ‘West Ham.’

  ‘Was anyone working here on Friday?’ Maya was peering through the window.

  ‘Until the fire officers switched off the electricity.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I rang my husband and he locked the shop up.’

  ‘One more thing.’ Maya pointed at the CCTV camera and Dan could see her assessing viewing angles.

  His phone vibrated.

  ‘Does your system at the front reach the newsagent’s?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, it covers two premises either side of this one, on both sides of the street. You’re welcome to have a look at it, but I’ll have to get my husband over. I haven’t a clue how to work it.’

  Dan’s phone vibrated again. He scanned his messages and felt his spirits rise. This was what they’d been waiting for. Indra Ulbiene had been discharged from hospital. Hopefully now she’d tell them who the woman was that Simas had been having an affair with.

  Maya, 10 p.m.

  It took several knocks to rouse Indra, and her pretty face was bleached of colour when she finally opened the door of her sister’s flat in Upton Park. A white hospital wrist-band stuck out of the arm of a fluffy silver dressing gown.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s so late.’ I smiled apologetically. ‘I know you’ve only just got home but I need to ask you a couple of urgent questions. Could I come in?’

  Indra groaned loudly, and I didn’t blame her. She turned slowly, as though it was uncomfortable to move, and led me inside. A waft of something floral greeted me. Despite her surgery, her movements were agile and graceful, as if she’d had dance training.

  A pang of guilt jabbed at me for descending on her so quickly after her discharge. I’d keep it as brief as possible so she could get some rest.

  ‘Marta’s at work. I’d just got into bed when you knocked.’ Her speech was flat, and I got the feeling that the last couple of days had squeezed almost every trace of life out of her.

  I followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘My sister left some food out for me but I’m not hungry.’ She stood at the worktop, coat-hanger thin in the baggy gown. Next to a pot of multi-vitamins and the microwave, cling-film lay over a plate of chicken and potatoes. ‘I don’t know how to tell her, but I don’t want this food. Or vitamins. Or bloody lavender oil.’ She sounded exhausted. ‘I just want to lie down and sleep.’

  I took a gulp. ‘Why don’t you pop it in the fridge? You might fancy it tomorrow.’ I paused while she got her bearings, then gestured to the table. ‘Shall we sit down?’ I pulled a chair out for her and got myself settled. ‘As you know, we’ve been fairly certain from the start that the male body in the fire is your husband’s, and we’ve had DNA confirmation of that.’

  She didn’t comment, just nodded her head up and down in large sweeps. ‘And the woman?’

  ‘That’s what I need to ask you about. We still don’t know who she is.’ This was going to be a hard question to ask, but we had to know. ‘I realise you might not feel sympathetic towards her, and I’d probably feel the same, but we’d really appreciate your help. She will have relatives who will be wondering where she is.’ I paused again to see how my request was landing. ‘She may have dependents who are relying on her.’

  Indra faced me, pools for eyes.

  I swallowed hard. ‘If you have any idea who she might be, please tell us.’

  Indra’s hands were shaking and she lowered her gaze.

  ‘At the moment, we don’t know who or what was the target of the fire.’ I spoke gently. ‘As long as we only have your husband’s ID, we only have half the information we need to find out who did this.’

  She looked up now and fixed her eyes on mine. They were deep, dark green. ‘You might think so, but the truth is I have no idea. When Simas and I moved to Brick Lane, and bought the shop, we said we’d make a fresh start.’ She stopped, as if she wanted to check whether she was sure about what she was going to say. ‘We made a pact. He’d stop shagging other women and I’d stop being suspicious. I wasn’t convinced, but eventually I let Simas persuade me.’

  I knew what was coming.

  ‘Unfortunately, only one of us kept our word.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I know it must be incredibly painful to talk about and it’s rubbish timing after . . . ’ I couldn’t say it. ‘We spoke to a shopkeeper who told us you’d accused her of having an affair with Simas. She said you apologised, and admitted that you’d made a mistake. Now, that’s none of our business except that she said that you know who the woman is.’

  Indra’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She’s lying.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t know?’ I asked gently. ‘If it was her in the fire, she may have parents somewhere who are out of their mind with worry. What if she’s got a child at home?’ I thought of the Polish woman at Alchemia, looking after her dad. ‘Or an elderly relative?’

  ‘She’s making it up. She’ll just be saying it to make herself look like a victim.’ Her mouth contorted as the words came out. ‘I bet it was that red-haired woman who sells clothes? Natassja?’

  The force of Indra’s anger hit me, and I stood up and took a deep breath. I understood how betrayed she must feel and knew her anger wasn’t directed at me. I kneeled in front of the wooden table where Indra was sitting, and spoke gently. ‘If you know the names of any of the women your husband had relationships with, Mrs Ulbiene, please tell us so that we can find out who is responsible for his death.’

  She was silent, and I hoped she was weighing up what I’d said. I was going to have to mention children to a woman who’d just lost her child and her husband, and found out that he’d been cheating. It seemed so cruel. ‘If the woman in the fire has young children at home, they might not be able to get water or know how to get help.’ I paused again to let her absorb the information. ‘At best, they may be scared stiff. But if they’ve been without water since first thing yesterday, that’s two days already. A young child, or one’s who’s sick, might not last much longer. If you know something, please —’

  ‘OK, OK.’ She raised her hand to silence me. ‘Enough of the emotional blackmail.’ Despair threaded through her delicate features. ‘What Natassja said is true. I do know who she is but I don’t know her name or much about her. She lives over in Essex and has a child.’

  Finally.

  The news was bitter-sweet but at least we had a bit more to go on, and the team could check for Missing Persons in Essex.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I overheard Simas on the phone one day. He didn’t know I was there. He said something like, “Get the kid sorted and I’ll come over to Essex later.”’

  ‘You didn’t catch a name? Any more details?’

  She shook her head. ‘He rang off after that and I froze. I didn’t want him to know that I’d overheard. I also found some restaurant receipts from Essex.’

  I paused to recalibrate; to decide what else I needed to ask her. ‘Can we go back to yesterday for a moment? When you left the shop to go to your sister’s, did you believe your husband when he said he wasn’t feeling well?’

  ‘Taip. Inspector, I don’t know if you’ve ever had a partner who’s cheated on you but it’s difficult to move on. The . . . abejonių . . . what’s the word? Doubt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doubt eats away at you like a cancer. Once a lover has been unfaithful, you become suspicious of everything they do. I told Simas I wanted a divorce. He begged me not to leave him. We made an agreement. The rest is as I’ve told you.’

  I got the picture. I admired her. What she had done was brave. ‘Without wishing to pry too much, why did you decide to stay with your husband?’

  ‘We are immigrants. We are from a country no-one has heard of and we speak a language no-one understands except us. Other than my sesuo, I have no family here. Simas was my family for six years. I forgave him because I hoped he�
�d be different. That way, I would have no regrets.’

  It was an extraordinarily brave attitude and I admired her courage. She was going to need it to sustain her. ‘Did you get any antagonism from any residents or shopkeepers in the area?’

  ‘Of course. Brick Lane is very cliquey, but I think that’s the way immigrants end up living, you know? When we move, we form cliques with other people like us.’

  ‘If you had to put money on who might have wanted Simas dead, who would that be?’ I was hoping she would mention why, when she rang 999, she’d said she thought someone had murdered her husband.

  Indra shifted in her seat and winced as the movement in her abdomen caused her pain. She got up and went over to the kettle. Shook it and flicked it on to boil. ‘When you live like Simas, taking what you want and not caring about the people you hurt, there will always be people who want you dead. When Tomasz told me about the fire, it was my first thought. I can’t really explain why – just that it’s something I’ve been scared about the whole time Simas and I have been together.’ She switched the kettle off again and took a bottle of vodka from a cupboard. ‘In lots of ways I made excuses for him. I told myself he wasn’t a bad person, not like Artem. He couldn’t help it. That, despite the other women, he loved me. I tried to make myself believe all of it because I was scared to think otherwise.’ Her eyes flinched with pain as she glugged vodka into a glass.

  It was a story I’d heard on many occasions, yet each time it was slightly different, and it shocked me anew. I was relieved she’d explained, as it meant I hadn’t needed to force the issue.

  ‘Also,’ she said, and then took a gulp of vodka, ‘when Tomasz called,’ she swallowed it and coughed, ‘I can’t remember exactly what he said, but I think he asked if anyone was in the shop. I know now that it was just because he was worried about us, but his call sent me into a panic.’ Her face was distraught. ‘As for who might have wanted Simas out of the picture, I gave you a list of all the people I could think of. There will be many more I’ve forgotten.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘How did your sister get on with Simas?’