Harvey had his eye on Gray, who was listening intently as the story unfolded. He had a feeling Tom was picturing the scene, walking through the building with them as they fought the dense smoke.
‘We tried for the back door,’ Mina said, tears beginning to well, ‘but the kitchen was so dark, and Ken couldn’t find the key. It took forever to get the door open, and by that time Melissa had stopped crying . . . . ’
She trailed off and looked down at the plastic crib, tears running down her face.
Gray hugged Mina once more, assuring her that she’d done as much as she could for the little girl.
‘Tom, I have to go,’ Harvey said. ‘I’ll give you a call later.’
Gray nodded, then remembered that his phone had been confiscated a few days earlier. ‘I haven’t got a mobile.’
‘No problem, I’ll get one and bring it round this evening,’ Harvey said. ‘I take it you’ll be here?’
‘I’ll be here.’
As Harvey opened the door, Gray stopped him. ‘What did you find out about the fire?’
‘I haven’t seen all the details, but it appears to have been accidental.’
He could see it was little comfort to Gray. His wife was gone and his daughter was fighting for her life, all down to happenstance.
‘Get something to eat, all right? I’ll be back soon.’
Harvey left, wishing he could stay and try to bring his friend back from the brink of despair, but unfortunately life went on for the other seven billion people on the planet. He reached Thames House an hour later, having stopped off to buy Gray a phone and shaving kit. Hamad Farsi was sitting at his desk, and Harvey took a seat opposite him, a bank of monitors dividing the pair.
‘How’s Tom taking it?’ Farsi asked.
Harvey shrugged. Farsi had met Gray a couple of times, most recently when Harvey had helped bring him safely back from Durban. ‘About as well as you’d expect, under the circumstances.’ Harvey logged into his terminal and brought up the fire report that Farsi had sent to his station. He read that the investigation was still in the early stages, with crews having just finished the damping-down process. Initial checks showed no sign of forced entry, and no accelerants were found near any of the doors or windows, usual indicators of an arson attack. The fire appeared to have started in the living room, where the single fatality had been found.
Harvey cringed at the impersonal description. It was easy to dismiss the detached narrative when the victim was a stranger, but when it was someone you’d known, had spent many an evening with, it seemed so cold. He felt sure Gray would react the same way if he saw it.
The report went on to say that the flash point had been next to an empty bottle of sambuca, and a cigarette was deemed to have started the fire, with the alcohol acting as an accelerant.
That struck Harvey as wrong, just as it had when Farsi had mentioned it over the phone. Vick didn’t smoke—hadn’t smoked, he corrected himself. She had enjoyed a drink, though he’d only ever seen her drink wine or the occasional beer, never spirits.
Perhaps she’d gone for sambuca as that was all there was in the house, but it didn’t explain the cigarette. Could she have been smoking in anger at Tom’s absence, or because of it? He didn’t think so. She was a healthy girl who’d loved her exercise, and there was no way she’d inflict the second-hand smoke on her infant daughter.
He decided to have a word with Vick’s aunt and uncle to see if they could shed some light on it.
One thing he wouldn’t do, however, was question them in front of Tom. Much as he liked the man, he knew Gray would jump on the inconsistencies and start seeing phantoms that might not be there. He made the decision to withhold those details from Gray for the time being, though he knew Tom would eventually get a copy, for insurance purposes if nothing else.
When that happened, the shit was sure to fly.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tuesday 15 October 2013
Tom Gray woke at five in the morning and threw on his running gear, hoping to get a few miles in before his house guests rose for the day.
He’d offered Ken and Mina a place to stay while their housing issues were sorted out, and Vick’s mother and father had arrived from Australia the night before. To say the atmosphere had been solemn didn’t even begin to describe the mood of the house.
He jogged out to the street and did a few stretches to loosen up his muscles, then began pounding the streets, pushing harder than he normally did on the opening circuit. Sweat soon soaked his T-shirt, and his breathing grew increasingly laboured, but he maintained the pace, the discomfort taking his mind off recent events.
He finished the second lap of the area, but instead of heading home, he continued on, pumping harder and harder. After another mile, he slowed to a stop, leaning against a wall as he caught his breath. As he closed his eyes, gulping oxygen, a vision of Vick drove into his head, flames licking at her as she screamed his name . . . .
Gray vomited, dry-heaving after what little bile that lined his stomach had been expunged. He knew the visions would continue until he sought closure, so he promised himself he’d again ask Harvey what had happened. According to Andrew, the report deemed it an accident, and he hadn’t offered any further details.
To Gray, it just didn’t add up. What was Vick doing downstairs at that time of night? Ken and Mina thought she’d gone to get the changing bag, because Melissa had been half-dressed when they’d found her. If that was the case, why did she stay in the living room and close the door?
Gray wiped his mouth and walked home, making the decision to go to the office that morning. Burying himself in work would perhaps take his mind off things, and as he hadn’t been there for a week, there was bound to be plenty to do.
When he arrived back at the house he took a shower and dressed before forcing himself to eat a meagre breakfast. He’d had no appetite for days, but knew the importance of keeping himself fuelled.
Ken surfaced just before seven and joined him in the kitchen, helping himself to a coffee. Conversation was light, neither of them in the mood for idle chit-chat, though they did discuss the funeral arrangements.
The ceremony was scheduled to take place the coming Friday, leaving them just a couple of days to finalise the preparations. Gray was grateful that Ken and Mina were taking on most of the responsibility, leaving him time to be at Melissa’s side, and although he now realised that his presence made no difference, he felt like he was abandoning his daughter every time he left her room.
Gray left the house before eight and struggled through the rush hour traffic to the office, where he found a pile of mail in his in-tray. Taking centre stage on his desk was a bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase, along with a message of condolence from his secretary. He was touched by the gift, but it immediately brought back memories of his wife, and he sat for some time with his face in his hands.
Get a grip, Tom!
He forced the memories aside and made a start on the correspondence, mostly bills and invoices. His secretary Gill appeared just before nine.
‘Tom, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this happened to you again. How’s Melissa?’
Gray explained his daughter’s situation, his voice shakier than he would have liked.
‘Bless her. Why did this have to happen?’ She handed over the day’s mail and disappeared without waiting for an answer, wiping her eyes as she went.
At the top of the small pile was a plain, white envelope with the address printed on the front. He opened it, expecting more marketing crap, but inside was a single sheet of A4 with a succinct, typed note:
Your wife was murdered by Robert Harman on William Hart’s instructions.
Gray was stunned by the brief message. He read it over and over, not quite believing his eyes. Under the message was printed an address in Manchester. Gray assumed it belonged to Robert Harman.
He reached for the phone and started dialling Harvey’s number, but halfway through, he stopped. If Vick had been mur
dered, then surely there would have been something about it in the fire report, which Andrew had a copy of.
It was no secret that the government didn’t like Gray, given that he’d held them to ransom a few years earlier and further embarrassed them since by exposing one of their kill squads, but would Harvey take their side? Gray refused to believe it. Harvey had put his life and career on the line to help Gray escape from James Farrar’s clutches in Durban, so it was unlikely he’d withhold anything this important.
If Andrew had information that the fire was no accident, he would have shared it.
Wouldn’t he?
Gray was going round in circles. He grabbed his jacket and strolled along to the café, where he bought a latte to go, all the time trying to figure out why Harvey was withholding information from him. When he arrived back at the office, his mind was no clearer, so he decided to call the detective who had asked him to drop the assault charges against Hart’s sons. He found the calling card in his desk drawer and dialled the number.
‘DI Wallace.’
‘Hello, Inspector, this is Tom Gray. Is it possible to meet? I may have some information regarding William Hart.’
‘What kind of information?’ Wallace asked.
‘It relates to the fire that killed my wife. I think he may be involved, but I need something from you first.’
‘You have my condolences, Mr Gray, but I can’t give you anything relating to an on-going investigation.’
‘That’s fine. I just need a copy of the report into the cause of the fire. It may be important, and as it has been classed an accident, there’s no reason for the police to investigate it, is there?’
Gray waited while Wallace digested the request. ‘Okay, I can spare you fifteen minutes. There’s a pub called the Sandford in Battersea. I’ll meet you there at eleven.’
Wallace hung up, leaving Gray wondering if he’d made the right choice. If it was true, and this Harman character had started the fire on Hart’s orders, was it possible that Harvey knew about it?
More to the point, if he showed Wallace the anonymous letter he’d received, would the detective do anything about it?
Gray hoped so, because if the report turned up anything suspicious, Harman had a lot to answer for.
Gray took a tube to the Sandford and was sitting at a table with a pint when Wallace arrived. He gestured to Gray’s half-empty glass, but Tom shook his head. Once armed with a neat whisky, he joined Gray at the table.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Gray?’
‘Did you bring the report?’
Wallace handed over a manila folder and Gray extracted the three-page document. He took his time, digesting the information and skipping nothing. When he got to the cause of the fire, he stopped and re-read the paragraph three times before placing the report on the table.
‘My wife was murdered, Inspector.’
‘Call me Frank,’ Wallace insisted. ‘What makes you say that?’
Gray pointed to a section on the second page. ‘My wife doesn’t drink spirits, and she certainly doesn’t smoke.’
‘Perhaps she took it up without your knowledge,’ Wallace offered. ‘Postnatal stress can do that.’
‘Not Vick. She hated cigarettes. And even if she was going to have a drink and smoke, why would she do it halfway through changing her daughter? Why would she leave Melissa crying in the bedroom?’
‘It does seem strange,’ Wallace admitted, ‘but the fire investigator found nothing to suggest a forced entry, and the only accelerant was the alcohol your wife was drinking.’
‘So what are you saying? She’s in the middle of changing her daughter’s nappy and decides to go to the living room, take up smoking and immolate herself?’
‘Tom, I know you want to blame someone for her death. It’s only natural. But it was an accident, and I don’t see what else I can do.’
‘You could bring Hart in for questioning,’ Gray said, steel in his voice.
‘I already checked, Tom. He was in Gran Canaria the night of the fire, as were his sons. Speaking of which, you mentioned that you had some information about him.’
Gray pulled out the envelope and handed it over.
‘Not really a lot to go on,’ Wallace said, after reading the brief note. He looked at the post mark. ‘Looks like it was posted locally, so based on that I’d say it’s one of Hart’s competitors trying to frame him. If I can come to that conclusion after a few seconds, I’m sure Hart’s solicitor could eventually come up with another feasible explanation.’
Gray was beginning to regret his decision to involve the inspector. ‘So you won’t do anything?’
‘I’ll run the name and ask Greater Manchester Police to pop round and have a word with this Harman bloke, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Tom. The CPS is unlikely to take this on unless they had some forensic evidence or eyewitnesses. It’s especially hard to get a conviction when the alibi is irrefutable.’
Gray snatched the letter back and shoved it into his pocket. ‘Thanks for nothing. Frank.’
He rose and left the pub, his anger mounting as he walked back to the tube station. Vick’s death was no accident, he was convinced of that, and yet once again the authorities were going to do nothing.
He considered doing an interview with the newspapers, shaming the police into action, but soon saw the futility of those actions: Hart might be pulled in, but with a cast-iron alibi, nothing would be done. Perhaps it would prompt a more thorough investigation of the fire scene, but by then the house would have been cleared out, with any forensic proof long gone.
Gray thought for a moment about Robert Harman. A large part of him wanted to drive to Manchester and confront him with a baseball bat, but he knew that was now out of the question, as Wallace would finger him for anything that happened to the man.
He needed something more subtle, a way to gather evidence against Harman, and that meant involving Harvey. Gray still wasn’t sure if he could trust Andrew, especially after he’d withheld the details about Vick smoking and drinking at the time of her death. Harvey knew full well that Vick wouldn’t have done those things, especially with Melissa crying upstairs, so there must have been a damn good reason for not sharing the information.
Gray pulled out his phone and hit a pre-set number.
‘Andrew,’ he said once the call connected, ‘we need to talk.’
Frank Wallace savoured the remains of the whisky as he sat back in the chair. The meeting had gone quite well, but when Gray had pulled out the letter, he’d thought the opportunity had gone. He’d hoped Gray would set out to find Harman and beat a confession out of him before going after Hart, but Gray was nobody’s fool. That way lay trouble, and Gray would soon realise it. At least Wallace had managed to stress that a conviction was unlikely if Hart could prove he was elsewhere at the time of the offence. Hopefully Gray would be able to make use of that fact.
Wallace emptied his glass and decided to give it a few more days. If Gray hadn’t made his move by then, he’d press a few more buttons.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tuesday October 15th 2013
Gray watched Harvey pull up outside the offices of Minotaur Logistics and ring the bell. The door buzzed open and the secretary took his name. She was about to place a call to Gray’s office when he opened his door and gestured for Harvey to follow.
‘What’s so urgent, Tom?’
Gray locked eyes with his friend. ‘How did Vick die?’
‘I told you, it was an accident.’
‘Okay, then what started the fire.’
Harvey paused. ‘A cigarette,’ he eventually said.
‘And you didn’t think that strange?’
‘Of course I did—’
Gray exploded. ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded, rising from his seat.
Harvey was visibly shocked at the sudden rage. ‘This is why I didn’t tell you. Right now, you look like you’d kill anyone who looked at you.’
‘And how do
you expect me to react? My wife’s death is suspicious and my daughter is in a coma, but nobody is going to investigate it. Am I supposed to just shrug it off and move on with my life?’
‘Tom, you need to—’
‘Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Andrew. You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me. I thought we were friends.’
‘We are. It’s just . . . ’
Gray glared at Harvey, waiting for him to finish the sentence. It was a long time coming.
‘Don’t you think it odd that after all you did, kidnapping those kids and getting one over on the home secretary, I’m still allowed to hang out with you? If I want to date a woman, she has to go through a thorough vetting programme, yet they allow me to spend my Friday nights with you.’
Harvey waited for the penny to drop.
‘You’re spying on me?’ Gray asked.
‘Not so much. I’m more . . . Jiminy Cricket to your Pinocchio. My job is to make sure you stay out of trouble, and certainly don’t start any.’
Gray sat back in his chair, stunned at Harvey’s revelation. He was overwhelmed as a myriad of feelings assaulted him, each fighting for dominance.
One bubbled its way to the surface.
Betrayal.
‘I want you to leave.’
Harvey didn’t move. ‘I can’t, Tom. Trust me, I wanted to tell you a couple of days ago, but you weren’t ready.’
‘What do you mean I wasn’t ready?’
‘I mean you were emotionally unstable. Giving you information that may or may not suggest foul play would have pushed you over the edge, and you can’t afford to lose it. Your daughter is in the hospital, and when she gets out she’s going to need her daddy. She can’t have that if you’re dead or locked away in a cell.’
4. Gray Retribution Page 17
