by L M Krier
Warren exuded good spirits. He was in the front row of the small congregation in the prison chapel, singing his heart out. He had a good voice, although he seldom let it be heard anywhere else inside the prison walls. He’d sung in the choir at school as a boy, though never in a church choir. Neither he nor his family had ever been remotely religious. His conversion to Catholicism was relatively recent. Since the arrival of the new prison chaplain.
Father Archer, by contrast, didn’t look good at all. He was pale. Dark rings under his eyes spoke of insufficient sleep. When Warren went up to receive communion, the chaplain’s hand trembled visibly as he placed the host on his tongue.
Archer always made a point of standing in the doorway as the prisoners were leaving the chapel to be escorted back to their cells, as he would outside any parish church. Although some of the prison officers tutted to themselves at the delay, he insisted on shaking each man by the hand with both of his and speaking to every one of them in turn. He knew all the members of his congregation by name and addressed them by their first name. Prison staff used surnames only.
Warren always managed to engineer things so he was the last to leave. The officers on duty were getting impatient by that point. When he stopped to say, as he did after every service, ‘Lovely service today, padre. Thank you so much. Bless you,’ one or other of them would usually snap, ‘Move it, Warren. Now,’ to which Warren would respond with a beatific smile and a ‘Coming, Mr Smith. Bless you for your patience.’
It pushed buttons, as he doubtless intended, but it was borderline. Not worth making a fuss about. More than one of them had discovered that if they did take him on over it, it could provoke one of his attacks which would delay all of them even more and require too much paperwork to be completed. Simply not worth the hassle.
Warren was making plans as he was escorted back to his wing. He had some free association time before lunch. He preferred to spend any such time alone in his cell, reading or watching his television. He wasn’t much of a mixer. But he was planning on issuing another visiting order for young Duncan. He enjoyed the visits he made. He was looking forward to seeing how his young protégé was getting on.
Ted managed to make it to just before he joined the M5 motorway before he gave in to temptation and phoned Jo. He’d left Trev at the hotel where his sister would be joining him for the night, after she’d seen to her horse, before they flew out to Paris the next day.
It had been a relaxed and enjoyable weekend, even if Trev was hampered by the discomfort from his new body art. Eirian had done well, coming third in her class. Even Ted, who only knew the basics about riding, could see how much she and her horse, Blue, had come on since he’d last seen them perform together.
Equestrian events were always a time of mixed emotions for Trev. They reminded him of what he’d had in his previous life, and of what he’d lost. But he was visibly proud of his younger sister, offering her any help and advice he could. It was typical of his generosity that he put his own feelings aside to be there to support the sister he hadn’t known about until relatively recently.
As on a former occasion, he’d seen people he’d known from his younger life, but had gone out of his way to avoid most of them, other than to nod and exchange a polite, restrained greeting. The setting opened old wounds which were as raw and painful as the new one on his hip.
‘You’re meant to be off duty until tomorrow morning, Ted,’ Jo reminded him when he answered.
‘You know me. I can’t keep away. I just wondered if there was anything I needed to know about before then.’
‘There is, and it’s not good news. Another arson, in the early hours of this morning. Again not far from Wellington Road. And a fatality in it, this time.’
Ted swore under his breath. Something he seldom did.
‘And before you say anything, no, I shouldn’t have called you about it. You weren’t on the rota for today so I left you to enjoy yourself. We’re handling it.’
‘Sorry, yes, I know you will be. How many casualties in total?’
‘Just the one fatality as far as we know, but it was quite a big blaze. It took longer to attend this time because the Fire Service were dealing with other incidents at the same time. Typical aftermath of a Saturday night. It had quite a hold by the time they got there.
‘Details are a bit sketchy at the moment but we have some survivors who’ve given us information. Another derelict building. One which was being squatted this time. Three older teenagers, well off their faces with god knows what, who’d been sleeping upstairs, but thankfully, somehow, managed to get themselves out of there. One of them had got up to go for a slash, realised what was happening and managed to rouse the others enough to drag them out.
‘He told our officers that there was an older man, someone he described as a tramp, who used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. They said he was very strange. A heavy drinker. Didn’t associate with them at all. He swears he tried to get him out, but the whole staircase was ablaze by the time he’d helped the others to safety and he couldn’t get near. Fire crew confirmed they found human remains in the cubby hole.’
‘Do you think our arsonist knew there were squatters this time? Pretty callous to walk into an occupied building and set fire to it. Taking quite a risk, too. If anyone had survived, they could have seen whoever it was. Unless whoever started the fire was counting on no one getting out.’
‘Apparently it was well known locally that this place was being squatted. Pretty obvious, too, from the outside of it that it wasn’t secure and people had been coming and going.’
If he hadn’t been driving, Ted would have been tempted to bang his head against the steering wheel in frustration.
‘Tell me there’s some good news in all of this, Jo.’
‘There’s some good news, boss. Big Jim came in to see how we were doing. He’s agreed extra staffing. We can keep Martha and Amelie and we can have Graham and Charlie as from tomorrow. Eric can stay and Kevin’s sorting out a couple more officers to work with us until we make some sort of a breakthrough.
‘I’ve had everyone available out all day trying to find any eyewitnesses. As you can imagine, the small hours of a Sunday morning are not traditionally a time for people to be out and about. So we’ve pretty much drawn a blank so far, but we might have more luck tomorrow morning.’
‘I’ll be back in about three hours. I’ll come in.’
‘Seriously, Ted, there’s not much we can do at this stage. Not until the Fire Service have finished and we can get our circus on site and start looking for some pointers. Why not go home and come in early in the morning? Then we can decide who we need to put on what, and how we’re going to make some sort of progress with so little to go on.’
‘On your feet, Warren. Chaplain’s asking for you. Extra cleaning duties.’
That was unusual. Warren didn’t normally clean the chapel on a Sunday. He had extra time allotted to do it on a Monday morning, after it had been used for service the previous day. He liked to have it looking spotless before the regular Monday evening meetings for the Listener group.
Warren knew there was no point in asking the reason or debating the issue. He’d long since learned that as a prisoner he had no control over his life and no say in what happened to them. It was the part of prison life which he found hardest to deal with.
He carefully slid his bookmark between the pages of his current read, laid it neatly on the bed where he’d been lying and got to his feet, smiling pleasantly.
‘Yes, Miss Gee.’
She marched him at a brisk pace from his cell to the chapel in stony silence, pausing only for him to collect his cleaning equipment on the way. He knew she was even less likely to engage in any sort of dialogue with him than some of the other officers, so he didn’t even waste his breath making the effort.
‘Warren for you, chaplain,’ the officer announced as she followed Warren into the chapel.
She stopped and looked around her, frowning a
t the disarray. The chapel was bare of many of the ornaments of a normal church. Devoid of almost anything which could be picked up and turned into a potential weapon. Fights were not unusual in the chapel, where prisoners from different wings came together and drug deals could be struck. Or scores settled between rival factions.
There was a solitary, sad-looking plant in the corner in a cheap plastic pot. A tradescantia, Wandering Jew. The chaplain’s ironic attempt at humour. It had ended up on the floor, scattering compost everywhere. A small patch of dark brown liquid was slowly being absorbed by the contents of the plant pot.
‘What’s happened here, chaplain? Trouble?’
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Gee. I was about to have my coffee but I spilled it then managed to slip in it and knock over the tradescantia. And I’m sorry to spoil your afternoon off, William, but I thought it needed cleaning as soon as possible in case it stained the floor.’
‘Right, well, I’ll leave Warren to do it and come back to collect him later.’
‘Thank you, Miss Gee,’ Warren said to her retreating back, inwardly seething at being talked about rather than addressed directly.
She’d barely left the room when the chaplain began to speak, his voice low, words tumbling over one another in his anxiety.
‘I heard it on the early local news this morning, William. There was a fatality. A person is dead. That was never meant to happen. You promised me that. You said he would take care of that.’
Warren glanced towards the door to check if the officer was safely out of earshot.
‘Hush, padre, calm yourself. An unfortunate accident, that’s all. Tragic, but unforeseeable.’
‘But you said we could trust him. You said it would be damage only. Empty buildings. Never anything more than that. I can neither condone nor accept this turn of events. You must see that. I have to talk to someone.’
Warren had set down his mop and bucket and now looked directly into the chaplain’s eyes, his stare hard and calculating.
‘Now that would be very unfortunate, padre. Very unfortunate indeed. Because, you see, I’ve been thinking more and more that I should risk breaching a confidence and talk to someone. About the things young Joey has been telling me. Disturbing things. Very similar to those of which Duncan Dooley spoke to me when we shared a cell. The very same things which led me to seek you out and talk to you in the first place.’
The cats came swarming round Ted as soon as he opened the front door. All of them, for a change, not just Adam, his hero-worshipper. He shut the door carefully behind him to avoid any escapes and led the way to the kitchen, picking up the envelope from the floor just inside.
‘And you can all stop trying to give me the guilts. You know perfectly well you’ve had visits and fresh food and probably lots of cuddles,’ he told them sternly.
It hadn’t been worth getting a live-in pet-sitter for one night away. Nor had Ted got his mother to come up, knowing Trev was going to be away all week and he would be too busy, with two big cases, to spend any time with her. And that was before he’d found out both cases involved a fatality.
Instead he’d booked a local pet sitting service who had come in both days, using the spare key Ted had given them. They had, as instructed, pushed it through the letterbox before leaving on their final visit. Ted disliked having strangers in his personal space, especially when he wasn’t there. But he’d vetted the company thoroughly, interviewed the sitter they were going to send and he’d never had a problem with them before when he’d used them.
Trev had left a sticky note on the kettle before they’d left the previous day, knowing it was the first place Ted would head for when he got home. Amazingly, the cats hadn’t removed or eaten it.
‘Ffoniwch dy fam. She worries. Xx’
Ted could still remember a few of the Welsh words and phrases he’d learned from his mother as a small boy. He could certainly work that one out. An instruction to phone his mother. Trev was getting good at Welsh. He hoovered up learning languages.
It was late in the evening for Ted to call Annie now, but he took his phone out to send her a reassuring text. It rang as he did so. Trev.
‘Safely back?’
‘Just got in. And seen your note. Yes, I’ll text her in a minute. It’s getting a bit late to call.’
‘Phone her. You know she won’t sleep until she hears you’re home. She knows you’re driving back today so she won’t settle without hearing that you’re safe. You know what she’s like.’
‘Is Eirian with you yet?’
‘She called to say she’s in a taxi on her way here. And yes, I told her all the things you said to tell her about safety in taxis. I think she’s scared the driver so much he might just drop her off and not ask for a fare.
‘Anyway, now I know that you’re back in one piece, I better go. She’ll be here soon and perhaps the sight of me standing outside waiting for her might be the clincher for the poor driver. Kiss all the boys and girls for me. See you soon. Love you.’
‘You too. Have a lovely time and don’t do anything I wouldn’t approve of. Either of you,’ Ted added, more in hope than anticipation.
Trev was still laughing when he rang off, as Ted found his mother’s saved number to call her as ordered.
Chapter Twenty-two
Ted arrived early to read up on the latest arson, then to sit in on Kevin Turner’s morning briefing before his own. He was going to need the help of Uniform more than ever, with both cases going as slowly as they were. The days of beat bobbies and regular patrols were largely gone, but the Uniform officers had greater contact with the goings-on within their patch on a regular basis than CID officers often did.
‘We need eyewitnesses. Even if it’s nothing more concrete than our tall man in what might have been fancy dress from the earlier case. Please can you ask your contacts. Especially anyone in and around the area of yesterday’s fire. We don’t have an ID yet on the victim. The youngsters who were in the building only seemed to know him as Dirty Len, if that means anything to any of you.’
An older PC sitting at the back nodded. ‘I know Len. I’ve had to move him on a few times for begging and getting aggressive with it. Always claimed to be ex-Forces. Invalided out with PTSD and down on his luck, but I don’t know how much of it was true. I’ll ask around. I know folk who might know. Pity, if it was him. Whatever his story was, he clearly had some serious mental health issues. Not helped by the booze, when he could get his hands on it.’
‘Was he known to us? Any record?’ Ted asked him.
‘Not as far as I know, but like I said, I only ever knew him as Dirty Len. I tried to chat to him a couple of times, to see if I could do anything to help. Sometimes the lights were on but no one was home, if you know what I mean. But if he really was ex-Forces, there’s a chance his DNA might be on military records somewhere, so you might be able to get a match that way.’
‘Was the nickname a reference to a personal hygiene issue? Or some indication about his behaviour. Indecent exposure?’
‘Guv, from what I ever saw of Len, he had trouble standing up straight. Doing that long enough to undo his flies and put himself on show for someone to see sounds unlikely.’
‘Thanks, Keith. Any idea of what regiment he might have served in? Or where he could have seen action? Regimental tattoos or anything?’
‘Afghanistan’s the most likely, I would guess, from the age I’d put him at. I don’t think he was all that old. He just looked it. And as for tatts. I don’t know when he stopped serving or when he finished up on the streets, but I reckon he’s been a stranger to soap and water for most of that time. I couldn’t tell you for sure if he was IC1, IC3, IC4, IC6 or something in between.’
Ted went straight from there to the morning briefing for his own team. They’d had to move from the main office to the briefing room to accommodate the larger numbers. Big Jim Baker was attending. It was Ted who signed off on the decision logs for both cases, but Jim held the purse strings. Wherever he could, he ne
eded to ensure best value for money without loss of efficiency.
Maurice Brown was back from his parental leave, looking as if he’d hardly slept at all during the two weeks, but beaming with pride and showing photos of the twins to everyone. They still hadn’t toasted the twins’ arrival. Ted and Maurice had agreed between them to leave it until the following week when they might finally have some better news on the two cases.
Ted fed back the information he’d just picked up about the victim and asked Eric Morgan if he’d known the man.
‘Contrary to rumour, guv, I don’t know everyone on the patch. I know of him. Passed him a time or two. But if anyone knows more about him and his background, Keith will find out for you.’
‘Mike, have you or Jezza checked up yet on Duncan Dooley’s existing alibis after you spoke to him? Can you two concentrate on those for now? And Jo, can you please send someone else round to speak to him about yesterday’s fire?’
‘We haven’t yet, boss. The personnel manager we needed to speak to was off, but we’ll chase that up first thing.’
Jim Baker was too sharp a copper to miss a trick. He picked up on the detail straight away.
‘If Mike and Jezza have already had contact with him, why don’t you two go again?’
Jezza was always prepared to meet potential trouble head on. Even if it came in the shape of the Big Boss.
‘Because he didn’t like the look of my friendly smiling face the first time, sir. So he legged it, tripped over DS Hallam’s car bonnet and is threatening to lodge a complaint.’
‘That’s all we bloody need. Ted, let me have a full written report on that, so we cover our backsides. And whoever goes this time, for god’s sake be diplomatic. We don’t want him screaming police harassment as well.’
Jezza opened her mouth to speak, saw Ted’s look and wisely decided to shut it again. Ted continued, ‘I’ve got all the lists of the prisoners who William Warren has had contact with in the time he’s been inside. They’re going to have to be gone through carefully and cross-checked. Visitors are few and far between. Mostly his father, a couple of times a year, and Duncan Dooley more frequently. So if he is persuading someone on the outside to start fires to try to clear his name, those two are the most likely. Rob, you spoke to Mr Warren Senior. Could it be him?’
