by DS Butler
“Wrong place, wrong time. Two boys, Vincent Pearson and Robert Baxter. They’re known locally as troublemakers. They probably saw the shop unoccupied, thought they’d take the opportunity to rob the place and got more than they bargained for.”
“I don’t understand why he did it here,” Charlotte said. “Why do it here in such a large area. If Syed Hammad wanted to kill himself, why not do it in a bathroom or a car, somewhere smaller, somewhere other people were less likely to get hurt.”
Tyler frowned. “People who take their own lives often aren’t thinking straight.”
“And why the elaborate set-up?” Mackinnon nodded at the buckets. “I mean, why not just mix the stuff himself.”
Tyler shrugged. “Could be religious reasons. Maybe suicide is forbidden. This way maybe he felt he wasn’t actually taking his own life.”
Mackinnon mulled it over for a moment, then said, “Syed Hammad died from inhaling the hydrogen sulphide?”
The crime scene manager stared down at the buckets. “I can’t say for sure, but it does look that way.”
“He was declared dead at the scene,” Tyler said. “But he wasn’t examined here. They have to take special precautions with this one because of the toxic gas.”
“What about the kids, Pearson and Baxter? Does it look like they’ll make it?” Mackinnon asked.
“They’ve been taken to St. Barts,” Charlotte said. “We haven’t had a status update on them yet. But the others disappeared into thin air.”
“The others?”
“Witnesses have told us at least two, maybe three, other youths were seen running from the shop before emergency services arrived.”
Mackinnon pointed at the security camera above the counter. “Tell me that was working.”
“It was working. But don’t get too excited. We can’t get it to playback.” Tyler ran a hand over his face. “It needs a bloody password. We’re taking it back to the station. We’ll get our guys to look at it.”
Mackinnon looked around the shop, taking in the mess. Newspapers and magazines lay scattered on the floor, splashed with vomit. Squashed chocolate bars lay on the floor where they had been trampled underfoot. He tried to imagine the panic the kids felt as the gas levels rose and it became hard to breathe.
Tyler’s theory was feasible, the kids noticed the shop was abandoned and decided to break in. Most thefts were opportunistic, after all. But what if it was something else?
“All right, Mackinnon, out with it.”
“Sorry?”
“You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“That pained look, that tells me that underworked brain of yours just had an idea. So spit it out.”
“Seeing as you asked so nicely,” Mackinnon said. “I was wondering if this was some kind of trap.”
“Trap?” Tyler frowned. “I can’t see it.”
“What if the kids were the target?” Mackinnon suggested, then shrugged. In recent years, there had been examples of people taking the law into their own hands. Mackinnon remembered a case where a man who’d had his car stolen three times in a year, wired up his BMW to give the thief an electric shock.
Mackinnon continued, “Maybe Syed Hammad wanted to scare them and underestimated how powerful the gas would be.”
Tyler gave Mackinnon a withering look. “Yes, because that is so much more likely than a straightforward suicide.”
Charlotte was a little more open-minded. “I suppose he could have been using the gas as a deterrent. The shops along here were wrecked in the riots last summer.”
“A harsh bloody deterrent,” Tyler said.
Mackinnon nodded. “True, but the stuff stinks. Maybe he thought the smell would be enough to get rid of a few kids. Maybe he screwed up his calculations.”
Mackinnon paused, then turned to David, the crime scene manager. “That’s something else that doesn’t make sense. I mean, it smells bad enough now and that’s at safe levels. So why didn’t the kids leave as soon as they smelt it? It must have been horrific.”
“Actually,” David said, “At high enough concentrations, hydrogen sulphide can paralyse the olfactory nerves. You can smell it at low concentrations, but when the gas is very concentrated, you can’t actually smell it anymore. That’s why it’s such an incredibly dangerous gas. And another thing...” David took a step to his left, so he was level with the door. “Opening the door caused the metal rod to smash the glass vials, but when the door closed, the rod slipped back across the door, effectively bolting it shut.”
Charlotte shivered. “They were locked inside?”
“That’s my best guess,” David pointed at the window. “It’s probably why they broke the window to get out.”
“All right we’ll let you get back to it, David,” Tyler said, then turned to Mackinnon and Charlotte. “I want you two to go and speak to the other shop owners. Reassure them that it’s safe now. Then find out what you can. See if Syed Hammad has been going around like weeping Willy recently.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“And make sure you talk to that cafe owner, Mitch Horrocks. He was the one who called it in.” Tyler frowned. “He’s a funny bloke. See what you make of him.”
Mackinnon nodded. He might not always agree with Tyler’s strategy, but the detective inspector did have a good nose for dodgy characters.
6
CHARLOTTE AND MACKINNON DECIDED to talk to the cafe owner first. From the outside, as the sun began to sink behind the rooftops, the cafe seemed less than inviting. A faded sign hung above the entrance, and stickers covering the window, advertising an all-day breakfast for three pounds, had begun to peel away.
As soon as they pushed open the door, despite the fact the sign hanging on the cafe door had been turned to open, a vastly overweight man, dressed in a white T-shirt smeared with grease stains and an apron tied beneath his prominent belly, snapped, “We’re closed.”
The man wiped his meaty hands on his dirty apron and squirted the tables with a bottle of cleaning fluid. Its lemony scent mixed with the smell of fat and fried onions.
Charlotte showed him her warrant card. “We would like to ask you a few questions, sir,” she said. “It won’t take long.”
He banged the bottle of cleaner down on the tabletop. “I told you lot already, I don’t know anything. I just called 999 when I saw those kids collapse.” He scowled at them. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known I would get such hassle for being a Good Samaritan.”
“Are you Mitch Horrocks, the owner of this cafe?” Charlotte asked, then introduced herself and Mackinnon.
The man gave a surly nod.
Charlotte hooked her thumbs in the loops of her belt. “We appreciate you making the call, sir. Could you tell me what made you realise something was wrong?”
“What made me realise?”
Mitch Horrocks’ fierce expression dropped from his face and was replaced by a confused frown. “They were making a bloody racket. I saw the little bastards walking down the road, and I knew they were up to something. It doesn’t take a genius to work that out.”
“How many of them were there?” Mackinnon asked.
“I saw five of the little buggers.”
“Did you get a good look at any of them? Recognise anyone?”
“I recognised that bloody Vinnie what’s-his-name,” he snapped. “But I didn’t get a good look at the rest of his little gang. I was too busy locking up. I wanted to get the place secure before they decided to wreck it.”
Mitch Horrocks rubbed vigorously at a dried ketchup stain on the table. “I’m sure it was the same gang that trashed my place last summer. Not that you lot...” He pointed a hairy finger at Mackinnon. “...did anything about it.”
Charlotte made a note. She looked around the cafe, taking in the yellowing walls and scratched linoleum floor. The equipment in the kitchen and behind the counter hadn’t been updated for a few years. It wasn’t the type of cafe to have a fancy coffee machine, b
ut she expected perhaps a few more mod-cons if it had been done up since last summer.
“Were you insured?” she asked. “Did you have to get the place done up afterwards?”
“Of course I was insured,” Mitch said. His bushy eyebrows met in the middle as he frowned. He scratched his belly with a chubby finger. “That didn’t make it any easier to clean up, though. And my old mum’s nerves were wrecked for weeks.”
“Your mum? Does she live upstairs with you? Perhaps we could talk...”
The confused frown slid from Mitch Horrocks’ face. He started to undo his apron strings. “You leave my mum out of it. Look, are we done here? Only I’ve got stuff to do.”
He looked towards the back door and chewed on his fleshy lower lip.
“You both live upstairs?” Charlotte asked again.
“Yeah, but she didn’t see anything,” he said and slapped his apron down on the counter.
They were interrupted by a crash sounding from upstairs, followed by a high-pitched screech.
“What was that?” Mackinnon said and moved forwards.
Mitch trotted after Mackinnon. But before either of them reached the door, it slammed open.
A slim man rocketed through the entrance. He raked a hand through his floppy, brown hair, catching it in wet tangles. The front of his blue shirt was splattered with some type of brown liquid.
He ignored Mackinnon, shoving past him to storm up to Mitch Horrocks. “That is it! That is the last straw. You can find someone else to look after your mother. I’ve had enough.”
Mitch Horrocks’ cheeks flushed. “Don’t be soft. She’s only an old lady.”
“She’s a vindictive old cow. And she…” He trailed off as he seemed to notice Mackinnon and Charlotte for the first time. “She’s just awful.” He picked up a cloth from the counter and tried ineffectively to wipe away the mess on his shirt.
Mitch Horrocks crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s your job. How difficult can it be to look after a little old lady in a wheelchair? You’re getting paid enough for it.”
“You’re not paying enough for me to put up with that... that kind of thing. She just chucked her dinner over me because the beef in the stew was too tough.”
Mackinnon decided it was time that he introduced himself and Charlotte. After Mackinnon explained why they were there, the man’s eyes widened, and he dropped the cloth he’d been holding.
“You told me it was a minor gas leak,” he said to Mitch.
“I didn’t want to distract you. You find it hard enough to do your job properly as it is.”
“What’s your name please, sir?” Mackinnon asked.
“Tim Coleman.” He held out a hand to shake Mackinnon’s. “I’m a carer. I look after Mrs. Horrocks in the evenings, but not for much longer.” He shot a dark look at Mitch.
Tim Coleman tried to run a hand through his hair again but as his fingers came into contact with the gloopy, gravy-splattered strands he gave up, letting his hands fall down by his sides. “I did think it smelled funny earlier. At first, I thought it was the drains.”
“Bloody idiot,” Mitch mumbled under his breath.
Tim Coleman picked up the gravy-covered cloth he’d dropped on the floor and threw it at Mitch Horrocks. “That’s it. I’m off. You can find some other poor sap to look after your mother.”
“Wait a minute, please,” Mackinnon said before Tim Coleman reached the door. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”
Mitch Horrocks hung his apron on a hook behind the counter. “Well, if you can’t be arsed to do your job, Tim, then I suppose I better go and check on her. Leaving a poor old woman up there to care for herself, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Mitch Horrocks looked down his nose at the three of them. “Close the door on your way out, Tim,” he said and disappeared through the doorway. His heavy footfalls carried down the stairs.
Tim Coleman shook his head. “Bastard. We were at school together. You know, I only took this job because I felt sorry for him. I should have known better, though. He was an unlikeable sod then as well. People don’t change.”
“How long have you worked here?” Mackinnon asked.
“Longer than I should have. I guess it’s been almost six months. Feels a hell of a lot longer. It’s only for a couple of hours in the evenings, to give Mrs. Horrocks her dinner and help her with anything else she needs.”
“Did you know Syed Hammad?”
“Syed who?”
“Syed Hammad from the newsagent’s next door.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’ve popped in the shop now and again, but I haven’t seen him recently. I didn’t even know his name. Is he all right? Was he the man who died?”
Mackinnon nodded.
“Because of the gas leak? God, how awful.”
“It wasn’t a gas leak,” Mackinnon said. “We believe the gas was generated inside the shop intentionally.”
“Jesus. I had no idea what had happened. Bloody Mitch bloody Horrocks. He told me there had been a minor gas leak. Was anybody else hurt?”
“A couple of kids were taken to hospital suffering from gas inhalation. Did you see anything, or hear anything? We think it is likely a gang of youths broke into the newsagent’s.”
“Again?” Tim Coleman shook his head. “The little gits. But I didn’t get here until eight o’clock tonight. Mrs. Horrocks doesn’t sleep well, and she prefers to eat late. I doubt she heard anything either. She always has her radio blaring out all day.”
After they’d finished the routine questioning, Mackinnon turned back to Tim Coleman as they walked to the door. “Do you only look after the elderly?”
Charlotte shot him a puzzled look, clearly not following.
“I just go where the agency sends me. Usually it’s someone elderly, but sometimes I’m employed to help disabled people who can’t get about on their own.”
“Bruce Evans’ lad, Luke.” Mackinnon said, answering Charlotte’s unspoken question. “Fiona told me his carer left, and she’s struggling to find a replacement.”
Tim Coleman shrugged. “I’ll give you the agency’s card. They do take on NHS work sometimes. Tell Fiona to give them a ring.”
“Thanks.” Mackinnon took the card and slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket.
All three of them stepped out into the warm summer evening. The sulphurous smell had dissipated and even the traffic-choked air on East Street smelled fresh compared to the heavy odour of old fried food in the cafe.
“That’s all right,” Tim Coleman said. “I’m off home to wash this bloody gravy out of my hair. Honestly, it’s the worst job I’ve ever had.” He pulled out a set of keys from the pocket of his trousers and locked the door of the cafe.
“I take it Mrs. Horrocks is a little difficult,” Charlotte said with an amused smile.
“She’s evil. Just plain nasty,” Tim said and shoved the keys through the letter box. “And you saw how Mitch is, rude, arrogant, throwing his weight around. But he’s absolutely terrified of his mother. He turns into a nervous wreck whenever she’s around. It’s weird.”
7
AFTER CHARLOTTE AND MACKINNON left Tim Coleman, they spotted a small, blonde woman standing outside the hairdressing salon on the other side of the newsagent’s. She held a cigarette in her hand and tilted her head to one side, looking at them curiously.
She flicked the ash from her cigarette onto the floor and walked towards them. “You’re the police, aren’t you?”
Charlotte and Mackinnon introduced themselves, and the woman told them her name was Kathy Walker.
“I’ve been a nervous wreck tonight,” she said. “I can’t believe this has happened. Syed was such a nice man, really polite.” She shook her head. “Is it true what people have been saying? You think he killed himself?”
“We can’t say anything for sure at the moment.” Mackinnon knew that wasn’t very reassuring. Kathy Walker raised a shaky hand to her cheek. She seemed beside herself with nerves.
“Is this your shop here?” Mackinnon asked nodding towards the salon.
The woman nodded. “Yes. Usually I work late tonight. But when we were evacuated, I had to cancel all my appointments. Good job really.” She held out a trembling hand. “Look at that. I’m shaking. I couldn’t go near anybody with a pair of scissors in this state.”
“We don’t have any reason to believe that there is any danger to you or the other residents in the street,” Mackinnon said. “The gas has been contained.”
“I’m sure I can still smell it,” she said. “It’s awful. It smells like bad eggs.”
Mackinnon nodded. “The smell will linger for a while, but the gas is no longer at harmful levels. We’ve had specialist crews out here and they’ve measured the level of gas.”
She looked sceptical. “That’s what they said when they came to check out my place, but I don’t know what they were looking for.”
“Just routine,” Mackinnon said.
She blinked and pressed a hand to her chest. Appealing to Charlotte, she said, “This sort of thing doesn’t usually happen around here. Are you really sure it is safe?”
“We can come in and take another look if that would make you feel better.”
Kathy Walker smiled. “Oh, yes please. I’d appreciate that.” She led the way back to the entrance of her salon. She dropped the cigarette on the floor and stamped it out with her heel before picking up the cigarette end and carrying it inside.
Opening the door wide, she gestured for Mackinnon and Charlotte to follow. A slight sulphurous smell tinged the usual salon smells of hairspray and shampoo. There were four hairdressing stations, two on each side of the room, each with large mirrors, adjustable chairs and a selection of brushes and combs scattered in front of them.
Kathy Walker bolted the door behind them, walked across to the reception counter and put her packet of cigarettes down next to the till and then led them out the back into a small kitchenette.
Kathy switched the kettle on. “Can I get you some tea? Coffee?”
Both Mackinnon and Charlotte declined.
