After the Fire (Maeve Kerrigan)

by Casey, Jane

  ‘Not for a while,’ I said, thinking of the damage to Murchison House and how it would be a prime opportunity to demolish the whole thing. ‘But you won’t have to stay in hospital. They’ll find you somewhere else to go.’

  ‘You can come and live with us,’ Young Kevin said.

  ‘You don’t have room for me.’

  ‘We’ve got a spare room and no one’s using it.’

  Mrs Hearn smiled, although I thought she was on the verge of tears. ‘I’d love that. It would be like going home.’

  When I left, Young Kevin followed me into the corridor.

  ‘Have you seen the flat? Mrs Hearn was wondering about her things. Photographs, you know. Her jewellery. I didn’t want to ask you in there in case it was bad news.’

  ‘There was quite a bit of smoke damage but I don’t think the fire took hold in her flat. I’m sure some of it will be recoverable.’

  ‘Can I go and take a look?’

  I shook my head. ‘The fire investigator is still working there and I’m not sure if it’s safe for civilians at the moment.’

  ‘Can you let me know? It’s just’ – he glanced back at the hospital room – ‘she doesn’t have much. I helped her move and she had almost nothing left. She kept the things that really mattered to her. I want to get them back for her, if I can.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said. ‘You’re very good to help her out like this.’

  Kevin leaned against the wall. ‘I feel like I let her down.’

  ‘She doesn’t think that.’

  ‘She’s had a hard life. No kids. And her husband dying—’ He sighed. ‘She wasn’t the same after.’

  ‘These things happen,’ I said, knowing I sounded patronising. Husbands died, though. People had to deal with their tragedies. No one got out of life unscathed, in my experience.

  Young Kevin was still wallowing in guilt. ‘I left her there on her own and I never checked to see she was all right. She’d been mugged, did you know that? I didn’t know that. Broke her wrist. No wonder she was too scared to go into the corridor. Watching them all on the telly.’ He shook his head. ‘She was in prison, basically. And I helped to put her there. She’s not going back.’

  ‘It will be a long time before the flat is habitable.’

  ‘She’s not going back,’ Young Kevin repeated, looking as fierce as his rounded features would allow. ‘I don’t know where she’ll end up, but not there. Not if I have anything to do with it. I’m all she has left and I’m not going to let her down again.’

  Chapter 12

  I WAS IN two minds about whether to go and find Derwent, to relieve him from his lonely vigil. Mrs Hearn’s impression of the family suggested pretty strongly that Carl Bellew wasn’t a simple handyman, that he was up to no good and that Debbie had been right to have her concerns about the fire. On the other hand, I hadn’t found out anything substantive. I was wondering about drug-dealing. I was wondering if Carl and his brother were professional burglars. I had more questions than answers as a result of talking to Mrs Hearn, and Derwent was perfectly capable of asking the right questions himself without any input from me.

  But I desperately wanted to share with someone – anyone – what I had learned about the woman who was presumably Geoff Armstrong’s girlfriend. I headed for the double doors that led to the corridor, and had almost reached them when one of them burst open. I stepped back out of the way, as Mal Upton came through the door, looking flustered. Chris Pettifer followed, his face lighting up when he saw me.

  ‘Just the girl I wanted.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘You’re coming with us to see Melissa Pell, aren’t you?’

  ‘Is she awake?’

  ‘So I’m told.’

  I fell into step beside them. ‘Then yes. Thanks for including me.’

  Pettifer snorted. ‘Like I had a choice about it. Derwent would flay me alive and wear my skin as a coat if I didn’t.’

  ‘Picturesque,’ I said. ‘I’ll try not to get in your way.’

  Mal was still looking upset. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked Pettifer.

  ‘What – the kid on the door? Just taking his job seriously, I should think.’

  I started to laugh. ‘Did he give you a hard time?’

  ‘I didn’t think he was going to let us in.’

  ‘That would be my fault. I gave him a bit of a lecture earlier. I didn’t think he was being strict enough about people who were coming and going.’

  ‘Well, he sure as shit is now.’ Pettifer grinned. ‘And Mal got the worst of it.’

  ‘That makes a lot more sense.’ Mal glanced at me. ‘No wonder he was scared if you shouted at him. You’re terrifying.’

  ‘This is a total myth,’ I said. ‘I’m not scary.’

  ‘That’s what you think. If you told me to jump, I’d ask how high.’ Mal’s face was very serious.

  ‘I’m so tempted to try.’

  ‘Please do.’ Pettifer folded his arms. ‘This I would pay to see.’

  ‘Some other time.’ I stopped. ‘This is Melissa’s room.’

  ‘How do you want to play this?’ Pettifer asked.

  ‘Let me take the lead, at least at first, in case she’s wary of men. Let’s see how she is. She’s been injured so she might not be feeling too bright.’ I bit my lip. ‘I don’t want to push her too far today. But I do want to know how she ended up with such serious injuries when Thomas walked out of the building unharmed.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I want to know why she had to run away in the first place.’

  Melissa had her eyes closed when we walked in. The room was dim, the blinds drawn. I glanced back to warn the other two to be quiet. By the time I looked back at the bed, she was staring at me with one eye. The other was still swollen shut. Her eyelashes were dark but her hair was very fair, the curls far more delicate than mine. She was astonishingly pretty, allowing for the bandage on her head and the bruising.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Maeve Kerrigan. I’m a detective constable. These are my colleagues.’ I indicated Upton and Pettifer, who were doing their best to look small and unthreatening. ‘We’re investigating the fire at Murchison House, Mrs Hathaway.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked up at the ceiling, drifting a little. Then she snapped back to full attention. ‘Have you seen my son?’

  ‘I saw him after the fire,’ I said carefully. ‘He’s being very well looked after.’

  ‘Who’s got him?’ She reminded me of a cornered animal, halfway between angry and terrified.

  ‘Social services at the moment. But we’ve been in contact with your mother.’

  Melissa coughed, her whole body shaking, before she could speak again. ‘Is she coming?’

  I nodded. ‘As soon as she can.’

  ‘She knows where we are?’

  ‘We had to tell her.’ I hesitated. ‘Mrs Hathaway, do you want me to keep calling you by that name? Or should I use your real name?’

  ‘My real name?’ she said, making it a question.

  ‘You were Melissa Moore before you got married in 2009, when you became Melissa Pell. And your son is Thomas, isn’t he? You changed his name when you ran away. You became Vivienne Hathaway and he became Sam.’

  ‘You must have found my handbag.’

  I actually didn’t know if we had. I looked to see Pettifer shaking his head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘We tracked you down through Harriet Edmonds.’

  Tears filled her eyes. ‘She promised me I could trust her. I believed her.’

  ‘She took some persuading.’ I sat down in the chair beside the bed, conscious that I was standing over her. ‘We thought you’d want us to find someone to look after Thomas. In case you weren’t well enough.’

  ‘I’m getting out of here today,’ Melissa said, sitting up and starting to unpeel the tape holding the IV needle in place. ‘I’m going. And Thomas is coming with me.’

  ‘Mrs Pell, you’re not well enough.’
I put a hand out to stop her and she flinched away from me.

  ‘You don’t understand. I have to go. I can’t leave him.’

  ‘But your mother—’

  ‘She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand. She believes him, not me.’

  ‘Him?’ I could tell she didn’t mean Thomas.

  ‘My husband.’ Melissa looked as if she was about to be sick. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, which were lacking all colour. ‘Mark Pell. I have to keep Thomas away from him. He’s dangerous.’

  ‘Did he hurt Thomas?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She looked straight at me, daring me to doubt her. ‘Over and over again.’

  ‘Why doesn’t your mother believe you?’

  ‘Because he’s so fucking good at persuading people he’s a good man and I’m insane,’ she spat. ‘He’s been halfway to getting me sectioned before now and no one ever believes you if you’re mad, do they? Mental people can’t possibly be telling the truth about their handsome, rich husband, and how he manipulates everything they say.’

  ‘Did you report him to the police?’

  ‘I tried. They thought I was doing it to myself – pretending he hit me, or pushed me downstairs, or burned me, or pulled out my hair. I mean, that’s what he told everyone. The police, everyone. No one believed me, because how could it be true? Mr Perfect doesn’t hit his wife. Even if she really, really deserves it for being a lying bitch. I accused him of all of these things, you see, and no one could believe it, so I had to be lying. And I had to be evil, too, to try to take his son away.’ Two tears streaked down her cheeks. ‘All of our friends. Our neighbours. Our families. He persuaded them all that I’d stolen Thomas. They’re all sorry for him – can you imagine that?’

  ‘You must have felt very much alone.’

  ‘He made it so I couldn’t even trust my own mother.’ She corrected herself. ‘I can’t trust her. That’s why I have to get out of here.’

  ‘I spoke to her.’ Pettifer sounded guilty. ‘We wanted to get in touch with her because of Thomas. So she could help with him, I mean.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said she’d come. She said she wished she’d supported you. She cried.’

  Melissa covered her face with her hands so we couldn’t see her weep. I glanced back at Pettifer. He mouthed, ‘Ask about the fire.’

  I pulled a face which was supposed to imply, I had thought of that, thanks. He shrugged.

  Melissa’s voice was muffled when she spoke. ‘When is she coming?’

  ‘Soon, I think.’ I leaned forward. ‘Mrs Pell, I need to ask you about what happened yesterday.’

  ‘The fire.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  She sniffed, gathering herself together. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

  ‘Did you see anything suspicious? Or hear anything?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What do you mean by not really?’

  She managed a half-smile. ‘That’s the trouble with being scared all the time. Everything is suspicious. Every sound is terrifying.’

  I did actually know what she meant, but I didn’t think I’d try to join in. Let me tell you about my stalker … ‘Was there anything in particular that seemed different yesterday?’

  She thought for a moment, really considering the question. ‘It was just the usual sorts of things. Footsteps. Voices. People coming and going all the time. I’d never lived anywhere so noisy. You know, when there’s someone above you and someone below you and someone on either side, you feel like a battery hen.’

  ‘Especially if you’re used to a detached house,’ Mal suggested. His tone was gentle but it inspired pure aggression in Melissa Pell.

  ‘You don’t know anything about what I’m used to.’

  ‘No, I’m just saying—’

  ‘Think back,’ I said, interrupting. ‘What sounds did you hear that made you scared before the fire?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Voices from the flat beside us. I thought I was hearing things. There wasn’t anyone living there, as far as I knew. But I could hear voices.’

  Armstrong and his girlfriend. ‘What else?’

  ‘A few random screams and shouts from upstairs – they were always noisy – and doors banging. But none of that was unusual. It was a noisy place.’ She laughed. ‘I was probably the only person who was glad when the lift was broken. It terrified me when it was working. The doors shake. They rattle when they slide back and I always think – thought – it was someone trying to break in to my flat.’

  ‘That someone being …’ Pettifer prompted. She gave him a clear, cold stare.

  ‘My husband, obviously. It wasn’t a great place to live but I never felt unsafe in Murchison House. People were kind. They were nice to Thomas.’ She smiled a little. ‘Maybe I was naïve but I thought they wouldn’t bother trying to break into our flat. It was so obvious we had nothing much to steal. My clothes—’ she broke off to look around the room. ‘I don’t know what happened to them. But they were cheap. My bag was from Primark. Thomas’s clothes were nothing special either, and he didn’t have a scooter or a bike. We had an old TV that was basically worthless and a tiny amount of cash and I never wore any jewellery or anything – I mean, I left it all behind. I left everything behind. I didn’t want him to be able to say I’d stolen anything.’

  ‘Did you call 999 when you realised there was a fire in the block?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. They told me it was up to me if I waited or if I tried to leave.’ She frowned. ‘That wasn’t fair, I thought. If I made the wrong decision it was on me, wasn’t it? If we stayed and the fire got to us before the firefighters, we were screwed.’

  ‘It’s because of what happened in Camberwell in 2006,’ I explained, having had a lecture from Northbridge on it the previous evening. ‘There was a fatal fire in a block of flats. The coroner found that some of the victims could have escaped if they’d been encouraged to go. The people in the control room aren’t always in the best position to decide what’s safest.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know.’ She coughed again. ‘I didn’t want to have to leave. I just didn’t feel we had a choice.’

  ‘Having seen your flat, I think you made the right decision,’ I said.

  ‘Is it gone?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘We couldn’t go back there anyway.’ Her voice was flat. ‘And I had everything important in my bag.’

  ‘Your bag – what did it look like?’ Pettifer asked.

  ‘It’s a green shoulder bag. It’s not leather but it’s supposed to look like it. It has a navy blue tassel on the zip and a navy strap. Primark, as I said before.’

  ‘We haven’t found it,’ Mal said.

  She looked confused. ‘I had it over my shoulder.’

  ‘There was no ID on you or near you when they found you,’ I said. ‘That’s why it took us a while to work out who Thomas belonged to. You were on the eighth floor and you were unconscious.’

  ‘How did I get there?’ She looked from me to Pettifer, then Mal. ‘I was going straight downstairs. Thomas was in front of me. I let him go first so I could watch him walk down. I didn’t want him behind me in case we got separated.’

  ‘Was there anyone in the stairwell?’

  ‘Not on our floor,’ she said instantly. ‘There were people coming down from the eleventh floor – I heard them coming through the door, coughing. And other people were ahead of us. But we were on our own.’

  ‘Do you remember someone attacking you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Someone grabbing you?’

  ‘No.’ She frowned. ‘I remember someone running down from behind us, very fast. I told Thomas to hold on to the handrail in case he got knocked over.’

  ‘Do you remember anyone speaking to you, or passing you on the stairs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about a man in a black zip-up jacket and a red baseball cap?’
I asked, and saw her eyes flicker as it triggered something.

  ‘I don’t— why are you asking about that?’

  ‘Does it ring any bells?’

  ‘Not from yesterday.’ Her face was as white as the hospital pillows. ‘My husband wears a red cap. It’s his favourite.’

  I felt the familiar rush, the moment a shape began to emerge from the darkness that surrounded the case. A pattern. A connection. A witness and a suspect.

  A killer with a face and a name.

  Maybe.

  ‘Melissa, does your husband have a black zipped jacket?’

  ‘Probably.’ She rolled her head on the pillow. ‘I don’t know. He has lots of jackets.’

  I leaned forward a little more. ‘Melissa, this is important. I need you to think about this and answer me honestly. Do you think – if he found you – he’d do something as reckless as set a fire to make you leave your flat?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Did he ever do anything like that?’

  ‘He likes fires.’ She licked her lips. ‘He burned my things in the garden. Clothes he didn’t like. Pictures. Letters.’

  Better and better.

  ‘Hold on a second,’ Pettifer said. ‘He knew you had Thomas with you, didn’t he? Thomas is his kid. Is he really going to put him in harm’s way – risk his life in the fire, or even just leave him on his own in a car park for hours – to get back at you?’

  I could have killed him. The hurt on Melissa’s face was obvious.

  ‘I thought you were different.’

  ‘We’re not saying we don’t believe you. We just have to test every theory,’ I said, talking quickly. ‘It’s what we do. It’s how we get to the truth, and that’s what we want in this case. We’ll talk to your husband, Mrs Pell. We’ll find out if he had an alibi for last night and we’ll turn his life upside down if he looks like being a suspect. But we have to ask these questions first.’

  She was tired, and injured, and she’d been under strain for a long time, but Melissa Pell had an inner strength that hadn’t yet deserted her. ‘I understand,’ she said, her voice low. ‘All I can tell you is what I know. You asked if he was capable of putting his son in danger.’