For whatever reason, Emily Fisher had neglected to take her sleeping tablets. Perhaps it was because she had treated herself to one drink too many. As a result her sleep had been fitful. She just could not settle. In a fruitless attempt to induce sleep she switched on one of the interminable early hours chat shows on Radio Anglia. She hoped that the dull discussion would lull her to sleep.
She glanced towards the window and thought she detected a faint red glow. She shook her head and closed her eyes and attempted to listen to some caller prattling about street lights. For some reason she opened them again. There was a definite red hue on the window and it sort of waxed and waned.
Curiosity got the better of her and she walked to the window. She gasped, and put her right hand on her heart. She gulped and momentarily stood transfixed.
Flames engulfed the downstairs of the Patel's shop across the road. Suddenly, she could hear popping sounds like fireworks going off. She thought, but was not certain, that she could see a terrified face at the upstairs window. But it looked as if the upstairs was full of smoke. She couldn't be sure if she had seen a face or whether it was the swirling smoke that appeared to be getting denser by the second.
Then all of a sudden, the shop windows exploded with a loud bang. Her windows rattled and she jumped back. She saw that lights were coming on in other houses in the street. People were running out onto the street and shouting. Some ventured towards the shop stepping over the shards of broken glass from the exploded windows.
Emily ran to her phone and dialled 999. They informed her that the fire and ambulance services had been alerted and were on their way. She quickly threw on a dressing gown and went down onto the street. People were milling around the shop, albeit at a safe distance.
Popping sounds like fireworks were still erupting from within the building. Now one could hear screams and smell burning plastic. Sirens wailed in the distance and drew closer and closer. Someone in the crowd picked up a stone and threw it at the upstairs windows,
'Come on' he said 'if we manage to break the windows the smoke can escape and then they can be rescued'.
Others joined him and found bricks to throw. They managed to smash the windows and thick acrid smoke billowed out of the top windows. The acrid smell of burning plastic intensified. They heard screams once more. Then bright orange flames leapt through the windows. The screaming stopped.
Silence descended. Everyone knew that their neighbours had perished. No-one could have got out of that blazing inferno alive. All that remained was to wait for the emergency services. No-one envied them the grim task that awaited them.
As the night progressed both the police and the local media arrived. They questioned people. At times they got in each other's way and tempers frayed.
'When you see a fire like that you just freeze. You don't know what to do. It's terrifying'
'There were loads of people trying to help. Our first thoughts were could anyone get out?'
'When the flames burst through the upstairs window we knew that no-one would get out. No one said anything. It was deathly quiet. I had tears streaming down my face but I couldn't cry'
These were comments made by some of the residents of the street.
Later that morning the local news bulletin transfixed John Blunt as he breakfasted on his two boiled eggs and marmite and toast. A police spokesperson said 'The circumstances and cause of the fire are currently under investigation and officers would ask anyone who has information regarding the incident to please contact them'.
Blunt grabbed his phone and dialled the Maid's Head. Ahmed was neither in his room nor breakfasting. He left a message in case the other had gone for a walk. He then snatched his car keys and raced to the Gladstone Street. He couldn't give a dam about the road rats as the traffic police were known!
One of the joys of living in Norfolk is the preponderance of tractors on the road. You must be prepared to meet one of these beasts at any time on any stretch of public tarmac. If you were not patient when confronted by a huge piece of farming machinery you quickly had to learn to be patient. If not the risks of a coronary could increase exponentially.
On the way to Gladstone Street Blunt had run into three of the damn things. Patience had not been at the forefront of his mind.
When he eventually arrived at Gladstone Street the newsagent's end of the street had been cordoned off. The rumble of the fire engines could be heard as the fire officers were carrying out the last few checks on the building and beginning to pack their gear away. The Socos had been given the all clear and were commencing their work on the inside of the house. The fire brigade's own investigation team had already begun their own inquiry.
A Sergeant McNally met Blunt and escorted him to the fireman,
'We think that there were at least five people in the house sir, two were children.
Blunt nodded whilst recalling his visit to the property with Ahmed only a couple of days ago.
A stocky man with a florid face was carefully sifting some of the downstairs debris,
'Morning, John Blunt' the policeman extended his hand
'Morning, fire officer Hurst' came the broad Norfolk reply as they shook hands.
'Any initial ideas or thoughts' and then on seeing the other's eyes narrow, 'we will not hold you to anything. We just need to get a handle on this as soon as we can. The people in this house provided evidence in a case we are pursuing.' enquired the policeman
'Well, my view is that it appears to be deliberate. It appears that the fire started at the rear of the house in the storeroom. That in itself indicates to me that we are looking at possible arson. The strong alcohol would have certainly helped to intensify the blaze. All the cardboard packing would have helped the blaze get off to a good start. Then when the bottles of spirit began exploding and spraying the contents around the room they would have intensified the blaze.
The door to the storeroom appears to have been left open. That would have enabled the flames to leap into the shop and to be pulled up the staircase towards the living quarters. The staircase is so badly damaged that we are having to use ladders to get to the first floor. Just as important the amount of toxic smoke produced from all the plastic bottles and cartons would also have spread up to the living quarters. The only saving grace for the occupants is that they would have died from asphyxiation rather than burned alive'
'Any evidence that can be utilized at this moment?' from Blunt
'None. We have to sift through this lot which can take time. However, because kids are involved I'll try and push it through for you so that hopefully it will help you catch the bastard or bastards sooner'
'Thanks' responded Blunt who turned around as he heard the crackle and squelch footsteps behind him.
'Morning Sir' from Ahmed Saeed
'Morning Ahmed'
The two walked to one side of the charred building, dodging the drips of water as they did so
'Well, we won't be getting any further information from the Patel's... that is for sure.'
'How did it happen?'
'The fireman is pretty certain that it is arson'
'Could it have been kids with a grudge?' Ahmed thought of his mother's message on his ansaphone.
Blunt responded with a melancholy laugh 'No, it is doubtful whether kids would have the wherewithal to light a fire in a storeroom with lots of spirit.' he paused then wistfully continued, 'No it had to be someone who knew how to light a good a blaze'.
'The Russians?
'Possibly' a pensive response from Blunt, 'Go and see the SOCOS try and find out what you can, although they will be reluctant to say much, and understandably so?'
'Ok sir. Who is organizing a search of the back yard and the alleyway?'
'Good point. Find that out and also ascertain who is interviewing the neighbours . Get the rest of the team here. It will help if they carry out some of the interviews.'
Blunt looked around and saw a detective wearing a white bulletproof vest talking animatedly to some colleagues
'Who is that poser over there. See what he is doing and what his rank is. He appears to think he is important'
A team of eight uniformed officers were given the task of combing the back yard on hands and knees to collect anything that may be deemed to be evidence, no matter how unlikely. A task that did not appeal to them one whit. The yard was dirty, wet and littered with shards of glass. However, the sergeant whipped them into shape by asking them to imagine that the incident had involved their own wife or children. Their job involved helping to get the bastards responsible. They carefully sifted through the debris putting anything that may look useful into bags and stating what part of the yard they were found. Into the bags went waste paper, bottle shards, or what appeared to be bottle shards, bottle tops, sweet wrappers, crisp bags, pieces of cloth, whatever. Following the search of the yard they would move into the alleyway. They would employ the same meticulous and painstaking, in more ways than one, method.
The many bags would find their way to the station and be sifted through once again to see if they contained anything that would yield vital information.
Flint, Leibnitz and Cushion arrived during the search. The number of police at the scene and all the attendant activity alerted the media to the fact that they were not dealing with a simple house fire. A request from the police that the media broadcast as a priority a plea for anyone with any information whatsoever to come forward , only confirmed their supposition.
All their attempts, and there were many, to engage the officers were rebuffed. A uniformed inspector advised the media that a press release would follow at some stage. He also requested that the media did not attempt to get to the residents of the streets before the police did. However, he knew that this was a forlorn hope.
The police extended the cordon to not only include Gladstone street but also the street on the other side of the alley. Whilst the search and interviews were going on they had decided to stop any one from leaving the two streets until they had been interviewed. The only exceptions being those that were sick and had important hospital appointments. Much grumbling and heated complaints sprinkled with a good deal of Anglo Saxon filled the air from those that were on the street.
Leibnitz stood alongside Flint and surveyed the scene. 'Isn't it a bit over the top?' she questioned..
'No' re-joined Flint, 'if this had happened in cases like the Ripper and it had all been properly collated on computer then probably he would have been caught a look quicker and perhaps at least two lives would have been saved.'
Leibnitz just nodded and Flint continued, 'It's boring, its time consuming and 99.9% of what we collect and what we hear is just dross. However, that .01% could give us the information we need'
'And what if doesn't?' questioned the younger woman
Flint looked quizzically at her before answering, 'Then we're fucked and have to hope for breaks.'
'Oh no' Leibnitz groaned. She had spotted Gayde approaching.
Flint turned and spotted a male about 5 foot 9 inches tall with sparse curly hair marching towards them. The main feature of the man being his bullet proof vest: it was white!
'Leibnitz it looks as if you and your colleague are part of my team., This is what I expect you to do....'
Before, he could finish Flint interjected, 'Who are you and what's your rank'
'Detective Constable Gayde and Inspector Simmons put me in charge. So come on girls here is your list of addresses. Report to me immediately if you come across anything that looks useful.' He puffed out his vested chest before turning and marching off towards his next victims.
'What a tosser!' Flint spat out
'In more ways than you can imagine' agreed the younger woman
Let's go. We have got our addresses. Have you seen Blunt?' the older woman started walking.
'No, I wonder if Ahmed has?' rejoindered the younger woman struggling to keep up.
Six hours later the police had completed their interviews and the ground search. Now the mammoth task of collating and attempting to make sense of all the information gathered and garnered would begin. No-one looked forward to it: apart from the criminals on the streets. They knew that police resources would be stretched and the probability of pulling of a successful crime rendered more likely.
Not many people had known the Patels. They were a very private family consisting of a young boy and girl, mother, father and grandmother. One interviewee whose children attended the same Primary School as the Patel's said that she believed that they regularly attended the mosque. Others stated that they seemed to be good people. Ok, yes incidents occasionally occurred with some of the rowdier and more stupid pupils from the secondary school. Apart from that the Patels were always polite and for a small shop the prices were good. No-one had any idea who might want to burn the house down.
Before heading back to the station the two women met up with Ahmed and Cushion and compared a few notes.
It appeared that several people mentioned that not long before the flames appeared they thought they had heard a motorbike sparking into life and driving off. However, the accounts provided conflicting evidence of the sort of noise the machine made, if indeed there was a machine. The sounds described ranged from the noise made by a moped to that made by a Harley Davidson. Flint thought it may have some bearing but couldn't quite get her head around it at the time.
Ahmed provided the information that it seemed likely that all the victims were hand tied. If that were the case then it was almost certain that the Patels were murdered because the perpetrators had to have been inside the house before the torching of the place. However, the tying and the torching, however unlikely, could have been done by different people.
So that led to motive. And as it stood only one group of people appeared to have that!