Nowhere Child (13 page)

The extension arm for the sprayer just reached the bottom of the stairs, and he gave them an extra soaking too, to make it difficult for people to go up or down.

He needed to make sure that the sitting-room door was blocked before he did anything else. He checked his pocket to make sure his handgun was there – just in case the police made it out through the door – but that was a last resort. He extracted two bottles from the bag and removed the bubble wrap. Strapped to each bottle was a package containing sugar and potassium chlorate. Inside was a mixture of petrol and sulphuric acid. He knew that when the bottle broke, the acid would react with the contents of the package and produce a white hot flame, which would in turn ignite the petrol. This would light the paraffin-soaked floors, and finally he would then set fire to the trail of petrol around the house.

Nobody would be getting out of here alive.

Leaning through the window, he aimed the first of the Molotov cocktails at the legs of a console table, and the specially made thin glass of the bottle shattered on impact. A ball of flame erupted in seconds, and he leaned in to throw another one against the door. It didn’t break.

‘Shit,’ he muttered. But the heat of the burning paraffin would get to it soon, and it wouldn’t be long before it exploded.

He quickly lit a match and, standing well back, threw it into a pool of petrol by the front door.

Racing round the back, he grabbed the last two bottles and hurled them through the empty window frame in two different directions. He heard one break against the worktop, but didn’t hang about to find out about the other. He threw another match at the petrol at
the back of the house, although the flames from the front were already taking hold, and he picked up the two spray backpacks and flung them towards the house in the sure knowledge that they would burn off any evidence that he may have left on them. There was no point in removing them from the scene. There would be no doubt that this was arson.

For a moment, he was worried. The flames were licking around the outside, but apart from the flash of the flames as each Molotov had exploded, there didn’t seem to be much happening.

He waited. Surely somebody would have heard the bottles breaking by now and would be investigating? He looked up to the first floor, expecting to see lights coming on. But the electrics wouldn’t work any longer – some of the power points would have burned through, and the fuses would have tripped out. As he ran back around the house, sure enough the lights in the front room had gone out. The occupants of the house were probably frantic with fear, desperate to rescue the baby. He thought he heard a scream, but it might have been his imagination, or a distant owl.

A sense of nausea washed over him, and he knew it was time to get out of there.

As he backed away, mesmerised by the fire, there was a whoosh, and a wall of flame lit up the inside of the hall. The second Molotov, no doubt. He thought he saw a woman’s face at the end of the hall, and as the lad reversed down the path, his eyes never leaving the sight before him, he watched to see if whoever it was would escape. But nobody came.

He could see the window frames he had sprayed with petrol burning fiercely, showing the outline of each pane as if the house had been lit up for Christmas. The first window blew in, providing more oxygen to the air-starved rooms, and within seconds the whole of the downstairs of the house was alight – the flames burning brightly.

Time to go, he thought. As he turned and ran towards his waiting motorbike, he stumbled, his legs weakened by the knowledge that he had just murdered five people.

24

The call from Detective Superintendent Philippa Stanley’s office came more quickly than Tom had expected the next morning. She was demanding his presence, and there was no way he could avoid facing the music. The fact that he was on leave for the week made no difference, and he hadn’t really expected it to.

He knocked once on her door and pushed it open. His boss looked at him, and he noticed her startled expression at his appearance. He knew his face was white, his eyes like dark holes – he had barely recognised himself before he left the house. Apart from a brief frown, though, she didn’t acknowledge Tom’s obvious distress.

‘Tom – we’ve got things to talk about. Sit down.’

He didn’t. He pulled two envelopes from his pocket and handed them to Philippa. She opened the top one first and looked up at Tom, her mouth settling into a hard line.

‘What’s this?’

‘You can see what it is, Philippa. It’s my resignation.’ Tom’s voice was quiet. It wasn’t a moment that he was enjoying.

Without another word, she looked at the second envelope, pulled the single sheet of paper out and scanned it. This time, she struggled to contain her surprise. Then her face settled.

‘And the resignation is because of this?’ she asked. Tom just looked back at her.

Neither of them had time to say another word as, following a perfunctory knock, Philippa Stanley’s door burst open, and Becky Robinson practically ran into the office.

Becky was white.

‘Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know DCI Douglas was with you.’

‘It’s okay, DI Robinson. You look upset. What can I do for you?’

Becky looked uncharacteristically flustered. ‘Err, no – err, can I speak to you in private, please?’ She gave Tom a look that he couldn’t interpret.

‘Is that entirely necessary, Becky?’ Philippa said, relaxing her formal attitude slightly. Becky’s gaze just kept flicking back to Tom.

‘For God’s sake, Becky – what is it?’ Tom asked.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m really sorry, Tom – but that fire last night. It was Emma Joseph’s house.’

‘I know it was,’ he said, keeping his voice level.

‘Well, I don’t know how to say this, but according to the news it’s been leaked that they’ve found bodies. Oh shit, Tom, I’m so sorry – but they’re all dead.’ Becky burst into tears.

25

It had taken quite some time for Becky to gain control of her noisy sobbing, and in the meantime, Philippa had switched on the news. It appeared the fire brigade was denying adamantly that they had put out any statement about bodies, claiming that they were still sifting through the debris.

‘Unfortunately the fire has done considerable damage, and the roof has fallen in. We know that a family lived there, and we know that at this point in time their whereabouts is unknown. But I can confirm that as yet we have found no bodies. I don’t know where this rumour has come from.’

‘We understand that some communication between members of your team was intercepted,’ the reporter said, ‘and mention was made of these bodies. One of your men said, and I quote, “It’s one of the worst parts of the job, finding the body of a dead child. You never get over it.” You may not be ready to confirm this yet, Mr Concannon, but are you prepared to deny that there are bodies?’

‘All I can say is that our investigation has not yet finished, but at this point there are no confirmed bodies.’

‘“Confirmed” being the operative word,’ the reporter said, turning to face the camera.

Philippa watched the screen for a moment longer, then used the remote to turn it off.

‘I wouldn’t normally say this in a matter so incredibly sensitive, Tom – but on this occasion I think Becky needs an explanation. Do you agree?’

Tom paused for a moment. Becky only knew the basic facts about Tasha’s return. He hadn’t told her that he was supposed to be looking after Ollie, or that Tasha was being assessed. It wasn’t a police matter, and apart from asking for her help with Andy, Tom had barely spoken to Becky all week.

He had to decide how much it was safe for her to know, and certainly the fewer people that knew the truth, the better. But Tom would trust Becky with his life, so he nodded.

‘It’s your story, Tom – you’d better be the one to tell it.’

Becky was looking anxiously from one to the other, and Philippa handed the second of the two envelopes to Becky. She read the words on the front out loud.

White Hat

Please open immediately

Becky looked at Tom with a puzzled frown. She wasn’t to know this, but only Jack had ever called Tom White Hat. When he had been given the envelope in the supermarket he had known instantly who it was from.

‘Just read it, Becky,’ Tom said.

Becky pulled a single sheet of paper from the envelope, and Tom watched her eyes skim over the words. He didn’t need her to read it out loud. He had memorised every sentence.

Tom

No time for sentimental chat, Little Brother – but I miss you.

Right now I need you to do something.

Please call Emma and tell her to be ready 30 minutes from now with anything that she really values from her house. But 30 minutes is all she has. The maximum.

McGuinness wants Tasha dead – no question about it – and he doesn’t care who is taken down with her. We can try to foil him one attempt at a time, but we won’t win.

He has paid a man to set fire to the Joseph home tonight, and I think it’s in everybody’s interests if that is exactly what happens.

Fortunately, I was good to this guy when he wasn’t much more than a kid, before Finn got his claws into him, and he’s remembered. When I knew he’d been visiting Finn in Strangeways, I knew he was up for something serious, so I contacted him. Too bad he’d already hurt that friend of Tasha’s, but now the guy is mine.

He needs to do the job, and he needs to get away. I’ve seen to that.

In one hour – no more – bring Emma, Tasha and Ollie to Manchester airport, terminal one. Get the police out of the house too – tell them there’s been a change of plan, but don’t let them realise what’s happening. Somehow – I’ll leave it to your imagination – you need a squad car parked outside, as if they’re still in there. That’s what my lad will be expecting, and we don’t want him to stop to ask questions.

Inside the envelope are new passports and new names for Emma, Ollie and Tasha.

The tickets are waiting at the BA information desk and will only be handed to Emma in her new name.

Don’t try to find out where they’re going, Tom – because you’ll only get half the story. From their first stop, they will be directed elsewhere, with yet another identity. Neither you nor, more importantly, Finn McGuinness, will be able to find them.

I will look after them – I think you can trust me with that.

Don’t stop the fire. Finn needs to think they’re dead.

Once more, Tom, I’m asking you to be the hero, and I know how sad losing them will make you.

Jack

Becky had finished reading, and she looked from Tom to Philippa, her confusion apparent.

‘But Jack’s dead, isn’t he?’ The obvious question, and Tom couldn’t blame her for asking it.

‘I believed so too,’ Tom said. ‘But it seems my brother faked his own death to escape the clutches of Finn McGuinness and his boss, Guy Bentley. Eight months ago, when he heard that Tasha was alive and being used as a lure, he came back to help us to capture Guy and of course in the process he helped us to recover Ollie. Then he disappeared again – and until now, I haven’t heard from him since.’

Becky glanced at Philippa. ‘You knew about this, ma’am?’

‘I didn’t know at the time, Becky – but when Ollie was abducted the head of Titan found out, and Tom didn’t think it was appropriate for the senior officer in the Organised Crime Unit to know while I remained in the dark.’

Becky gave him a black look, and he knew she was thinking: ‘But okay not to tell me?’

After a few seconds of silence, Philippa spoke again.

‘How the hell did he get this message to you, Tom – given that he only gave you an hour to execute the whole thing?’

‘A young guy who appeared to be – but wasn’t – a motorbike courier delivered it to me in the middle of the supermarket. Jack had clearly pinged my phone to find out where I was and sent the lad there.’

‘Your brother should be working for us.’

‘I think he is, in his own way. I just wish it could be official so I could get him back.’

‘Well, after this little performance, I would say that’s looking a bit unlikely – wouldn’t you?’

Tom said nothing and gave a brief nod.

‘So having read Jack’s instructions, what did you do?’

‘I did everything he asked.’

When the biker in his leathers had handed the envelope to Tom and he had seen who it was from, he had abandoned his trolley and quickly carried an excited Ollie back to the car.

After securing Ollie, Tom had sat in the car and read the message from Jack.

Not for one moment did Tom hesitate. Jack had been clever, as always. He hadn’t given Tom time to think – to work out a different strategy. If Tom hadn’t taken the chance right then, it could ultimately have cost Tasha her life, if not the lives of Emma and Ollie too. He could prevent that night’s fire, but for how many years could he protect them?

Philippa Stanley gave Becky what could only be called a calculating look.

‘I’m sure you understand the absolute secrecy that has to surround this, DI Robinson.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Well, if you are feeling all right now, do you think you could leave us? DCI Douglas and I have other issues to discuss.’

Becky stood up. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ Tom said.

He couldn’t interpret the look she gave him – it seemed like a mixture of sympathy for the whole situation and disappointment that he had never told her Jack was alive.

The minute the door closed behind Becky, Philippa turned to Tom.

‘Who else knows about this?’ she asked.

‘Nobody – just the biker guy, but I believe Jack when he says he’s taken care of him.’

What Tom didn’t tell her was that he had hidden in the back garden and watched the house as the flames licked upwards, crackling fiercely, the odd small blast from inside suggesting that bottles – maybe of spirits – were heating up and exploding.