A patient fury, p.1
A Patient Fury, page 1
A Patient Fury
SARAH WARD
Table of Contents
The Wrong Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
The Right Part Two
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
The Wrong Part Three
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the same author
Copyright
For my brothers, Adrian and Ed
Part One
The Wrong
1
In Derbyshire there’s a tale that if you want to conjure up the devil then you need to take a trip to an ancient village sheltered in the brow of one of the dark peaks. There, in the churchyard, lies an empty stone coffin. A classic example of an early medieval sarcophagus, say the history books, but generations of children have been reared on a bedtime story that remains in their souls until their own turn to occupy a place amongst the dead. You take a walk around the bare tomb three times, then climb inside and lie still with your eyes closed. Your reward, if you’ve been very bad, will be the sound of the rattling chains of Old Nick.
But children also instinctively know that the devil comes in many forms and pretences. It arrived this evening, in disguise, out of the shadows where they’d been waiting with a patient fury. The still night belied a wind that was making its way across the rough Irish Sea towards that middle England town. There would be no Shakespearean weather backdrop to this night’s tragedy, though. The tempest would come in its own time.
The figure looked down on the sleeping form of the small child. Charlie had spent a fractious evening crying because of a lost Spiderman figure that he’d buried in a forgotten location in the garden. The genuine sobs had become crocodile tears and, in desperation, he’d been given a small cup of sweet hot chocolate and carried to bed still dry-heaving at the perceived injustice of the world.
Charlie’s father was the first to die. He’d been fearful of recent heart flutters and had made several trips to see his cardiologist that spring. He had the heart of an ox, the specialist informed him, a metaphor that had made the evening glass of cognac all the more enjoyable. The cardiologist had failed to appreciate that even the heart of a beast of burden cannot outlive the ministration of a claw hammer. It continued to beat for a few seconds after the first blow but then stilled, now unconscious of the sustained ferocity of the continuing attack.
The noise in the adjacent bedroom failed to waken the exhausted Charlie, who slept on, his breath whistling softly as he slumbered. The figure also felt the pull of exhaustion but there was the second part of the three-act tragedy to complete. Padding across the thick-pile carpet in the hallway, the figure reached the sleeping child, paused for a moment and then raised the hammer.
2
Detective Inspector Francis Sadler woke with a start as the phone on his bedside table shrilled across the night silence. His first instinct was to check he wasn’t dreaming. Twice in the last week he’d woken abruptly, positive his landline was carrying an urgent summons. The dreams had been so vivid, his subconscious had replicated exactly the pitch of his home phone’s ring. Both times there had in reality been no call, just a reminder of the primeval fear that news of a matter of life or death could be delivered by that worst of instruments, the telephone. It left him unnerved, the sound so clear in his head, but this third time it was no dream. His phone was ringing in the night. Sadler switched on the bedside lamp and scrabbled for the handset.
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.’ The voice of the duty CID officer was subdued. ‘There’s a fire out at one of the detached houses on Cross Farm Lane. The response car has called in to inform us of the likelihood of fatalities.’ The voice hesitated.
Sadler raised himself up to check the time on his alarm clock. Four thirty in the morning. ‘Is there something else?’
‘The fire officer in charge has indicated the blaze is of doubtful origin. Those were his words, sir. But our guys on the scene say he’s also, well . . .’
‘What?’ Sadler was now out of bed and pulling on a pair of trousers, the phone cradled in his neck.
‘He’s saying CID needs to come down as soon as possible. I was going to go. They’re still putting out the fire but, given that there are fatalities, I’m calling you. There needs to be a senior investigating officer present.’
‘You’ve no other information?’
‘According to the constable I spoke to, the Chief is pretty agitated. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘Right.’ Sadler headed towards the bathroom. The glass of wine he’d drunk with his evening meal had long ago left his bloodstream but his mouth still had a sour, metallic taste. ‘I’m on my way. What’s the address?’
‘The house is called Whitegates. It’s number 42 Cross Farm Lane. Do you want me to call anyone else?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll telephone Connie, DC Childs, myself. Leave it with me.’
Sadler clicked off the call and, after brushing his teeth, rang his colleague who answered immediately, her greeting hoarse. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Sadler. I’m sorry for waking you.’
Connie gave a deep cough down the line. ‘You haven’t . . . I couldn’t sleep. I mean I must I have slept for a bit and then woken up. Can you hold on a sec?’ In the background, Sadler could hear more coughing and then the sound of a tap being turned on. When she came back on the line, her voice was clearer. ‘Are you still there? Has something happened?’
‘There’s a suspicious fire with fatalities and I want to get there as soon as possible. Are you okay to come with me?’
Connie’s reply was tinged with irritation. ‘Of course I am. I just need to get dressed.’
‘Is ten minutes enough?’
‘Umm, sure. I’ll be on the street waiting for you.’
Sadler wondered if he should have called a different DC to assist him. After six months’ sick leave, Connie had only recently returned to the team, subdued and refusing to attend any social occasions, not even the one to celebrate the birth of DS Palmer’s son. Sadler had opted for a wait-and-see approach but, as he contemplated her insomnia, he wondered if they needed to have a more substantial discussion about her health.
The night was mild. They’d had a week of blazing weather, shocking the tourists who’d arrived for their holidays with raincoats and a list of attractions suitable for inclement days. The cloudless sky revealed a panoply of stars and the waxing moon meant Sadler could reach his car parked by the canal without resorting to the torch he kept by his front door. He turned back towards the row of terraces where he lived and saw a light leaking from one of the upstairs windows of his neighbour, Clive. Clearly wakefulness was rife this night.
Connie, as promised, was waiting by the entrance to her apartment block, a converted warehouse further along the same stretch of canal where Sadler lived. Despite the mild night, she was wearing a black trench coat belted over her thin frame. She was smoking a cigarette, the vaporiser she’d been using last year consigned to the bin. She threw the half-finished stub down the drain and climbed into his car.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m not particularly looking forward to this,’ she said, her voice subdued. ‘I don’t like house fires.’
‘I don’t think anyone does.’
‘You know what I mean. The ferocity is unbelievable and we have to just watch and wait until everything is made safe. It’s frustrating.’
Sadler caught a glimpse of her tired face. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
She kept her face turned away from him. ‘Of course. Why?’
‘It’s nearly five in the morning—’
‘I told you, I was already awake. Is it far?’
‘About ten minutes’ drive, but brace yourself for a lot of hanging about as they’re calling us in early. The watch commander app
‘When are they? Do you have any more info? Arson?’
‘I don’t know.’
She gave a deep sigh.
‘Doubtful origin, that’s the message I got,’ said Sadler, ‘which probably means arson.’
‘And fatalities, you said?’
‘Yes. Although there seems to be something else.’
Connie turned to him now. ‘Like what?’
Sadler put his foot hard on the accelerator. ‘I don’t know. We’ll find out when we get there.’
Cross Farm Lane was an arterial road leading out of the west of Bampton towards the hills of Manchester in the far distance. It was a long single carriageway lined with large detached houses that showed the expansion of the town over the twentieth century. Nearest to the centre were twenties and thirties properties with white rendered exteriors and rounded windows decorated with small panes of glass. Next came commuter houses from the fifties, their red bricks out of place in the Derbyshire countryside. Finally, as the town petered out, a hotchpotch of sixties and seventies executive homes, closed off and secretive behind tall hedges. After that, nothing, the town planners finally cottoning on that unless they called a halt to development, Bampton would merge into nearby Buxton. Sadler’s architect father had designed one of the houses; a huge modern building, all angles and glass, that he’d been inordinately proud of. Sadler mentally clocked the building as they passed, decelerating quickly as they approached a police car with flashing lights parked behind traffic cones blocking the road. One of the constables came over to speak to them but, recognising Sadler, moved a cone to one side.
‘You can only go as far as the fire engines, sir. It looks like it’s going to be a while. The house is a furnace.’
‘Do you know what’s happened?’
The constable inclined his head. ‘I think the watch commander wants to speak to you.’
Sadler drove slowly towards the yellow lights of the pumps. Despite the closed windows a smell of burning now permeated the car. Not the soothing wood smoke of countless winter fires but something much darker. A wretched, astringent smell.
Connie pointed towards an orange glow, only just visible in the middle of the thick smoke. ‘It looks bad.’ They sat in silence for a moment watching one of the firefighters, impossibly high in the air on extended ladders and holding a pump from which a large arc of foam poured onto the glowing blaze.
‘The rest of them must be inside tackling the flames,’ said Sadler. ‘It’s the quickest way to extinguish a house fire, apparently. Get inside the building.’ It wasn’t a job he’d fancy himself and glancing across at Connie it looked like she concurred.
‘Shall we?’
Connie nodded and, as she opened the car door, made a face. The smell was far worse in the still night air, a cocktail of sickening aromas assailing them. They approached the nearest firefighter, who nodded when she saw their ID. ‘It’s Alan you want,’ she said and spoke softly into a walkie-talkie.
The wait was short. A large man with a white helmet, identifying him as in charge, hurried towards them, his face grim. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Have you been here long?’ asked Sadler.
‘The call was received about an hour ago from one of the neighbours. According to her, there’s a family of three who lives there. Mother, father and a small child. I’m getting varying accounts of his age. Around four or five years old, according to the neighbours. I’ve got personnel inside the house now working on the blaze. There are definitely bodies inside.’
‘You think it’s arson?’ asked Connie.
The man wiped his face. ‘The guys inside are saying the fire’s unusually resilient. That usually means an accelerant of some sort, probably petrol. We’ll confirm it when the specialist team comes in. But for the moment I can definitely tell you the fire is suspicious.’
‘So you think no one’s managed to leave the building.’ Sadler looked up again at the arc of foam. ‘How long do you think before we can get a fuller assessment?’
‘At least mid-morning. I’ll issue the stop message as soon as I can.’ He saw the confusion on Connie’s face. ‘When I confirm we don’t need any more help and we can pull out.’
‘But you think that the occupants, the family I mean, are likely to have perished in the fire?’ asked Connie.
The man hesitated. ‘Perished, certainly.’
‘But not in the fire?’ Connie’s face was puzzled.
‘I think you need to look at this yourselves. This is a new one on me. None of the crew like it either.’
Connie frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘You can see better from over here. We had to evacuate the neighbouring houses as a precautionary measure anyway, but I extended the cordon so the people opposite had to go somewhere else for the night. I didn’t want them to see what we could. Come this way.’
Sadler resisted the temptation to put his arm over his nose and followed Connie and the fire officer, keeping his head down. They weaved between the engines towards one of the houses opposite the burning building and the uniformed man led them onto the front lawn.
The stink of the smoke was stronger now but clearly this man hadn’t been spooked by the strong acrid smell. Something else was evident. Connie was the first to spot what it was.
‘Jesus.’ Her thin face was shocked as she looked towards the house. Sadler turned around and followed her gaze. It was a large brick house with four oblong windows at the front, the sort of home a child might have drawn. From the upstairs right windows, orange fire was pouring out in pumping gusts towards the roof where black smoke gathered. In the middle of the house was an arched latticed window, tall and narrow, illuminating what must have been the landing. The individual panes had shattered and smoke rose in the background. But Sadler was no longer taking any notice of the fire. For dangling behind the ruined glass was the outline of a body slowly revolving in a sickening dance. As they watched, the face turned towards them.
Sadler felt the bile rise in his throat and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connie vomit on the grass.
3
Julia Winson lay in the darkness enjoying the weight of the night on her. Outside, the milk van, a remnant of a bygone age but still stubbornly held on to by Bampton residents, whirred down the street. From the basket underneath her bed, Julia could hear Bosco snoring slightly, another reassuring sound in the lightening day. Her natural body clock always woke her at this time but she allowed herself the luxury of another hour to get used to the new morning. She resisted the temptation to reach for her tablet and check the day’s news online. Instead she focused her thoughts on the wall opposite and prepared herself for the day coming.
Bosco stopped snoring and lifted his head, alert. He whined at Julia, who leant over the edge of the bed to pat his head. Bosco twisted away and began to growl.
‘What is it, boy?’
She watched as her barrel-bodied dog sprang from his basket with surprising agility and rushed towards the window. He jumped onto a chair, put his two front paws on the sill and poked his head through the curtains.
‘Bosco?’
Julia got up and went to the window, peering out into the night. Dawn was breaking; it must be around five-ish but gloom still cloaked the street and the lamps had not yet been extinguished. She craned her neck until her forehead touched the glass, straining to see what had disturbed her dog. The street appeared asleep.
A fox, she thought and padded back to bed, but Bosco wouldn’t follow her, remaining at his window vigil.
‘Leave it, boy. Come over here.’ In vain, Julia patted her bedspread as her dog raised his head and let out a howl of displeasure.
Bloody hell. The elderly couple to her right would still be fast asleep. She had trouble making herself understood when she was chatting to them in the street so they would hardly hear Bosco’s baying through the thick terrace walls. It was the new neighbour she was less sure of. Recalling his closed face when she’d introduced herself, Julia got out of bed and yanked the dog by his collar away from the window.
‘Do you want some food?’
She opened her bedroom door and Bosco shot past her, feet clattering as he made his way down the wooden stairs. He pawed angrily at the front door and Julia stopped midway down the flight, frowning. Bosco was used to going out the back door to stretch his legs and do his business. The front door was used only when they went for a walk in the early evenings. She moved into the living room and looked out of the front window. From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move.
