Fry (21 page)

I shake my head. “You don’t understand. It’s not how it looks.”

“Isn’t it? We pulled this off Ustream.”

She places a laptop in front of me and clicks on a video. It’s a clip of me about to set light to the warehouse - the clip I filmed myself. I glance at my lawyer. He’s doesn’t say anything, but I can see he’s biting his lip. This does not look good.

Millrose leans forward and presses her point. “If it wasn’t for the arrival of your friend at the crucial moment, you would have done it, wouldn’t you?”

“But I didn’t do it, did I? You can see for yourself. And I didn’t have a choice. I told you, they’ve got Holly.”

“And who’s Holly?”

“My brother’s fiancée. I already told you all this in the car.”

“Well, once again for the tape, please. Who is it you say has taken her?”

“Alicia McBride and her sister, Jody.”

Penney screws up his forehead. “Your friend Alicia? The same one who recently gave you an alibi?”

I colour at the memory. How stupid was I, accepting Alicia’s help?

“She’s not my friend. She just pretends to be. She’s got some strange vendetta against me - she and her sister.”

“And why would that be?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think it might have something to do with my brother Julio. Jody used to go out with him – a long time ago. I think…I think she might be the one who started the fire at Rose Cottage. It happened just after Julio broke up with her.”

“Let’s just stick with the fire at Robertson’s for now. Are you saying that you were blackmailed into starting that fire?”

“Yes, except I didn’t succeed, as you saw on the tape.”

“Why did the place catch fire then? You can’t expect us to believe that was a coincidence?”

“No, Alicia must have done it. She must have known I might not go through with it. She might even have sent Deacon the text message that made him come rushing over and catch me in the act.”

“So you’re saying they blackmailed you into starting a fire, then sabotaged your attempt to do so?”

“Yes. I know it sounds strange, but that’s exactly how it happened. It wasn’t just about starting a fire. It was about tormenting me.”

Millrose shakes her head. “Congratulations, Isabel. I think that’s just about the most convoluted story I’ve ever heard and I’ve heard a few in my time. Couldn’t you come up with anything simpler?”

“But it’s the truth! You’ve got to believe me! I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I made sure the place was empty first. And I was going to put it out straight away – as soon as I’d filmed it. But I didn’t even get that far. I certainly didn’t set any more fires. Why would I? Deacon and I were trapped in the warehouse!”  My voice wobbles a little. “We nearly died in there, and I think Alicia and Jody planned it that way. I think they meant to kill us. Or rather, I don’t think they cared if we lived or died. It’s all the same to them.”

Millrose folds her arms in front of her. “I’ll tell you why this is so difficult for me to believe, Isabel. First, you made threats, then you were caught on camera trying to set a fire, with the strangest of explanations I’ve ever heard.”

“Threats?” I say, in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never made any threats!”

“Didn’t you? Well, someone rang the police station yesterday to say that there would be a fire at Robertson’s. The call was traced to a phone box in the precinct next to the supermarket. We are just checking the CCTV pictures now, but I’m betting we’re going to find that it was you.”

“But it wasn’t a threat! I was trying to warn you!”

“How did you know?” she challenges. “This happened some hours before you were supposedly blackmailed.”

“They left a huge can of petrol in my locker. I knew it had to mean something.”

“The same can of petrol you were going to use to set fire to the warehouse? How did they know to put it there? How did they know Holly was going to follow Jody home that night? I thought you said it was a spontaneous decision?”

“It was…I…I don’t know exactly how they planned it. If it hadn’t been Holly they’d kidnapped, maybe it would have been someone else. Julio, or my friend Kate or Rhett… or Deacon. I don’t know how their warped minds work.”

Penney clears his throat. “There were quite a few fires in Queensbeach last night. Shame you didn’t try to warn us about any of the others.”

I look at him blankly. “There were?”

Is that why the fire brigade took so long to get to us?

“Yes, in fact, we’ve had more than our fair share of them over the last few months, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, yes, there do seem to have been quite a number.”

“Does the word ‘FRY’ mean anything to you, Isabel?” Millrose cuts in.

“What?” I sit up sharply.

“You heard me. FRY. F.R.Y. Does it mean anything to you?”

“It…yes. That’s the word Alicia has branded onto her back. The word she uses to taunt me. I see it everywhere I go but I have no idea what it actually means.”

“Really?”

She places a piece of paper in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

Puzzled, my eyes scan the page.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

Millrose leans closer, as though she’s about to share an important secret with me. “This is from the bank statement of a local businessman called Dan Jones. It shows a money transfer from Mr Jones to an organisation called FRY.”

She looks me right in the eye as she continues. “For a while, we’ve suspected that this organisation, FRY, is involved with illegal activities – arson, money laundering and racketeering.”

What? Is that why they set the fires? For money?

“But what has all this got to do with me?”

“We’ve obtained a document from Companies House registry, which names you, Isabel, as the legal owner of FRY.”

“What? But I never even knew FRY existed! How could I possibly be the legal owner?”

“Then what’s that at the bottom, Isabel?”

“It looks like a signature.” I do a double take.

My signature.

“No! That’s not my signature. I’ve never seen this thing before in my life! And besides, if I were really the head of a criminal organisation, I doubt I’d be stupid enough to get it registered in my own name! If anything, I’d open up a secret bank account in the Seychelles or something.”

“So you’ve thought about it then?”

“This is ridiculous!”

“Is it? I bet if we search your house we’ll find more evidence. Insurance scams, competition, revenge. Whatever the motive, you’ll set the fire for a fee. Isn’t that right, Miss Anderson?” 

“No!”

I glance nervously at my lawyer.

“I don’t know any Dan Jones, either. I’ve never heard of him.”

“Dan Jones is the owner of Queensbeach Caravan Park,” Millrose says, folding her arms. “But you know that, don’t you? You were seen talking to him the day after the caravan park caught fire. I’ve got witnesses to prove it.”

“That was the only time I ever met him! I just went with Alicia to check the damage to her caravan. I felt sorry for her at the time.”

Millrose looks sceptical.

“Look - can’t you see I’m being set up here? I mean, really. What kind of criminal organisation takes money transfers to start fires?”

“A very profitable one, by the looks of it.”

I sigh with frustration. “Why would I want anything to do with this? I’ve got a proper job.”

“Yes, that’s right – you’re a junior manager at Robertson’s, aren’t you? How much does that pay? Eighteen - twenty grand?”

“Yes, about that.”

“I hear you also have a penchant for expensive designer clothing.”

“Well, yes, I like nice clothes. Who doesn’t?”

“How are your finances? Have you ever been in debt?”

“No. I mean, not really. I’ve run up a few credit card bills before but...”

“Do you currently have any credit card debts, Isabel?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“I’ve cut back on my spending recently.”

All this stress has been quite good for my bank balance, actually. I haven’t had the heart to do much shopping much since Alicia and Jody started to take over my life. In fact, I’ve managed to save up a surprising amount over the last couple of months – enough to pay off my huge Visa bill, and a bit left over which I’ve transferred into my savings account.

Penney tries a different tack.

“What does FRY stand for?”

“I really don’t know. I told you – I’m being set up!”

Millrose is losing her patience. “Look, this would all go a lot smoother if you’d just cooperate.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s what I’m trying to do!”

My lawyer clears his throat. “I’d like to speak to Isabel in private, please.”

“Go ahead. I think we could all do with a break.”

Millrose stops the tape, and she and Penney leave the room, closing the door behind them.

I look at him anxiously. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

“That depends. You know they’re going to search your house?”

”Can they really do that?”

“Yes, they’ve got a warrant. So if there’s any chance they could find something incriminating, you need to tell me now.”

“I’ve already told you – I’m innocent!”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

I twist a loose strand of hair around my finger.

What will they find at my house?

“I wouldn’t put it past Alicia to plant something. I’ve caught her in my house before.”

“She broke in?”

“No – my friend gave her a key. I’ve changed the locks since, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t found another way in. Or she could have planted something the last time. That girl’s really got it in for me.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve dealt with these grudge cases before, though none quite as complex as this one. But in my experience, the source of the conflict is usually a man,” he glances at me uncertainly – “or a woman. Is there someone the two of you are fighting over?”

“Well, there
is
Deacon,” I say slowly, trying not to picture the two of them together. “But I don’t think he’s the source of the conflict. He’s just another pawn in her sick little game. I think this goes way back, to when Julio dumped Jody all those years ago. I can’t imagine why she would still want to get revenge, though. Or why she would be taking it out on me.”

Penney and Millrose return with cups of tea. I sip mine slowly and try to gauge how much trouble I’m really in.

Millrose looks me straight in the eye. “I’m going to give you one more chance, Isabel. Why don’t you tell us what really happened last night? Did you set fire to Robertson’s Superstore?”

“No!”

“What about the fire at Queensbeach Caravan Park, or the one at the Waterfront Gym last month?”

“I told you, I didn’t start any fires! And anyway - I thought the fire at the gym wasn’t started deliberately?”

I look to Penney for confirmation.

“New evidence has come to light. It looks like it might have been arson after all.”

Oh hell!

“Look, you have to believe me – none of this has anything to do with me. I haven’t started any fires, I swear!”

Millrose crinkles up her plastic cup and tosses it into the bin.

“Perhaps a few hours in the holding cells will change your mind about that?”

“No!” I look at her in horror.

“Unless there’s something you want to say?”

“Just that I’m innocent.”

“Penney, do you have any more questions?”

“No.” He looks at me with disdain. “Let her stew.”

Small, dark and disgusting, the cell still reeks of its last inhabitant. It is completely empty, bar for a mattress with a thin blanket on it and a toilet. All those stories you hear about prisoners living in the lap of luxury with PlayStations and televisions must be a load of rubbish. This is the scummiest place I’ve ever been.

I struggle to calm my nerves.

Instantly, I’m transported back to the scene of the fire. My heart pounds, my chest closes up. I remember the terrifying sensation of smoke seeping into the room, closing my airways.

I’ve got to get out of here!

I claw desperately at the bars.

“I shouldn’t be in here! You’ve got to let me out!”

A uniformed police officer peers in at me. “Are you OK, love?”

I can’t reply. My breaths are coming in slow, desperate gasps.

“First time is it?” he asks, not unsympathetically. “Here, drink some water.”

I take the paper cup he offers me and tip the liquid down my throat. It doesn’t help. I watch in horror as the word ‘FRY’ forms in blood-red letters on the wall in front of me. But the police officer’s expression remains the same, as if nothing is happening.

I’m the only one who can see it.

I watch with morbid fascination as the blood drips down the walls.

Drip!

Drip!

Drip!

Can’t you see that? Can’t you smell it?

“Here, have a paper bag.” 

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You breathe into it. It helps you to regulate your breathing.”

I do as instructed, for all the good it does. My brain is in overdrive. I’m living and breathing a full-blooded nightmare. I’ve had too much to take in, too much to process. Alicia is not in my cell. She can’t be. And yet the writing is on the wall all the same. I lick my lips. My mouth has that slightly metallic taste - the taste of blood.

This isn’t real.

I suck in a bloodcurdling scream, as without warning, the bloody letters burst into flames.

Fire! Fire!

But the police officer, who continues to watch me with interest, doesn’t appear to see a thing.

I am not going mad. I’m in shock, I’m tired, and I’ve been through a traumatic experience.

So why is it so hot?

I feel the warm glow against my body, feel it scorch my skin.

“Please! You’ve got to let me out!”

“Just keep breathing in and out.”

I concentrate on breathing into the bag, inflating and deflating it as I try to stem the panic. To my surprise, it actually helps. The sickness in the pit of my stomach eases and the flaming letters stop dancing around in front of me.  I watch as they slide, one by one, to the floor, disappearing in a grey puff of smoke.

“Better?”

“Yes, thanks.” I shiver, cold now the flames have gone out. “I think I’d better go and lie down for a bit.”

“OK - there’s a call button if you need anything.”

He turns to leave, presumably to deal with another inmate further down the hall who’s been shouting obscenities all the while.

“Don’t worry, love – it won’t be forever. They can only detain you for 24 hours, then they’ll either have to charge you, or let you go.”

These words bring little comfort. What if they charge me? What then? Will I have to go to court? And then – the thought explodes in my head – prison?

Is this how I’m going to spend the rest of my life - stuck in a stinking cell, blamed for a crime I didn’t commit, for a reason I don’t even understand?

I lie down and let my eyelids droop as the world whizzes around me. How did Alicia and Jody plan something so complex, so elaborate? Did they set up a criminal organisation just to frame me? Why go to so much trouble, when I could so easily have died in the fire? Was this their back-up plan, just in case I survived? How could they be so evil, so calculating? What terrible thing did I do to them to make them hate me so much?

* * *

I cast my mind back, as I’ve done so many times over the last few months, to that summer at Camp Windylake. I try to remember Alicia and Jody, but there were so many young campers and so many play leaders. I remember there was a group of little girls who were particularly keen on the arts and crafts tent, which I ran. They would hang on every word I said. Some of them even tried to dress like me, clonking around in their big sisters’ high heels and carrying little handbags. Kate and I thought it was hilarious at the time. But what if Alicia was one of those little girls? And if so, how did childish adoration turn to such deadly hate?

I try to remember Jody, but I really can’t. Julio has had so many girlfriends, each one completely different from the last. At first, I used to try to make friends with them, but after a while I learned not to grow too attached. It would all be over in a matter of weeks, if not days and then he’d be on to the next. It was different with Kate, of course – she was my best friend first and still is – no thanks to my brother.

My thoughts return to my overwhelming guilt about Holly. Despite Kate, despite everything, I can’t help liking her. Can’t help hoping that against all the odds, things might work out between her and Julio. But how terribly I’ve failed her!  Why couldn’t I convince the police she’s in trouble? They have the resources to find her. They could trace her car and her phone. They could arrest Alicia and Jody and take them in for questioning. This would all go so differently, if only I had the police on my side.

As my breathing becomes more steady and rhythmic, I am transported back to a time when everything was so much simpler. When I was eighteen and carefree and I worked as a play leader at Camp Windylake.

* * *

I am in the arts and crafts tent, clearing up after a messy day’s play, washing down paint-splattered tables and picking dried glue out of my hair, when a small child appears at my side.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there!” I exclaim. I find her sudden presence a little unnerving.

“Did you want something?” I prompt, when she says nothing.

“Are you going to put those in the kiln now?” she asks, pointing at the day’s assorted pottery creations.

“Yes, but shouldn’t you be getting to dinner?”

“I want to watch.”

She looks up at me with eyes as round as saucers as I load the clay into the hot oven. Her face is pallid and ghostly. No wonder the other kids call her Wednesday Adams. In fact, if I’m honest, so do most of the play leaders – just not to her face.

She’s a very odd little girl, full of strange ways and tall stories. One time I heard her boasting to the others that she can drink any of them under the table, including the boys. Not a claim that she’d be likely to have to put to the test – she’s only ten, after all. 

Towards the end of the summer, I ask the children to paint pictures of their families - a task they take up with relish. Wednesday’s initial outline is really rather good. She draws her dad, her big brother, her big sister and herself, all smiling and standing in front of a large square house. No mum, I notice - rumour has it, she died in a house fire when Wednesday was just a baby.

But the next time I look, the painting is streaked with red paint – they’re all still smiling, but they have red in their hair and on their faces, even their clothes are streaked with red. At first I think she’s had an accident with the red paint, but as I watch, she dips the brush in again and adds red streaks to the roof and the windows. This strikes me as rather peculiar but then, the little boy opposite has painted a robotic dog, and his family car appears to be a space rocket. So I just put it down to the children’s over active imaginations and tuck it to the back of my mind.

On the last day of camp, Wednesday approaches me with a rather solemn expression on her face.