No Smoke Without Fire

Bill Kitson

It was the pre-Christmas meeting of the three emergency services. It was held at Dinsdale police headquarters, as was customary, following a series of tragic events surrounding past festive seasons. Their focus was to ensure their response was as efficient as possible, should similar circumstances arise.

Detective Sergeant Lucas Sharp, known as Luke, had only been transferred to Dinsdale a few months earlier, and most of the names and faces were unfamiliar to him. Seated alongside Luke was another newcomer, Dr Paula Morton, who would be the emergency doctor on duty throughout the festivities. Introducing themselves before the formalities, they agreed that having arrived recently meant they had both been handed the short straw.

They listened as Detective Superintendent Geoff Parker outlined the reason they were there. ‘It seems that the festive season attracts the worst kind of behaviour, whether irresponsible or malicious. In the last few years this has been marked by three major incidents, all of them tragic in their own way, and two of them linked.’ He glanced down at the notes in front of him. ‘Ten years ago, on Christmas Eve, Towlers department store was robbed. Soon after the staff left the premises, two armed, masked men forced their way into the building, overpowered the security guards, bound and gagged them, broke open the safe in the manager’s office, and escaped with the takings. What started as an armed robbery became even more serious because one of the security men suffered a heart attack and died.’

Parker paused for emphasis. ‘The intruders were never apprehended. Suspicion fell on two local lowlifes, but there was insufficient evidence to bring a prosecution. The surviving security guard was arrested, and when his house was searched, officers discovered a cache of money amounting to several thousand pounds. He protested his innocence, claiming that he had won the money on a day’s outing to Wetherby races. He said he was saving it to surprise his wife and children at Christmas with a holiday to Disneyland Florida. Although there was evidence that he did attend that race meeting, the jury did not believe his story.’

Parker glanced at his audience and could tell they didn’t believe the tale either. ‘The security guard, whose name was Danny Butler, was sentenced to fifteen years, with manslaughter being added to the conspiracy and armed robbery charges.’

If those hardened by their profession had been unmoved by the superintendent’s account, this was certainly not the case when he invited an officer from the traffic division to describe the second tragedy.

‘It was three years ago. There had been little snow, but in the weeks leading up to Christmas, the temperatures were sub-zero. Despite the best efforts of the local authority, many of the minor routes in the dale were highly treacherous due to black ice. The road leading to the summit of Black Fell was one of the worst affected. A few days before Christmas, a convoy of vehicles set out on this road to attend a party at Dinsdale Hall Hotel, close to the summit. As they negotiated a hairpin bend, we believe one of the cars skidded on the ice and collided with another causing a chain reaction.’

He looked at his audience, his face grim as he continued. ‘All three cars went over the edge and down a two-hundred-foot drop. Fire destroyed the vehicles, killing the occupants. Seven people lost their lives. It is by far the worst RTA this area has ever suffered.’

Having heard this harrowing account, the senior paramedic added, ‘We have the task of responding to these incidents and the effect on all concerned is traumatic, not only for those involved but also for those attending. And our time is also wasted out on the streets, picking up the members of the public who are celebrating the season, not only at the time but for weeks ahead. Our resources could be far better utilised.’

Geoff Parker nodded in agreement and turned to the Chief Fire Officer who stood up before continuing. ‘Last Christmas Eve, a fire destroyed a house on the Normanton estate. There were three people in the building, a mother and her two children. All three died of smoke inhalation. The cause of the fire was later determined as arson. Petrol had been poured through the letterbox and ignited.’

Parker took over the commentary. ‘Remember I said two of the events were linked? The three who were killed in the fire were Danny Butler’s wife Sandra plus their two children. I had the unenviable task of driving out to Felling Prison and telling Butler the news. I have to say, I pity the people responsible for that fire should Butler ever catch up with them.’

Luke Sharp interrupted, speaking for the first time. ‘You made one connection between the events, Geoff, is there any chance the fire might have been some form of reprisal aimed at Butler?’

‘Good question, and the answer is we simply don’t know. We can’t even be sure there was a motive, as such. It might have simply been the random act of a psychopath. Fortunately, there have been no further incidents of that kind.’

Parker looked round to see if there were any further questions. Everyone seemed preoccupied, dwelling on the senseless waste of so many lives. ‘You can appreciate why we need to be totally prepared. The plans we put together in this meeting could literally be life or death decisions. We have to bear in mind that it is not only the public, but also our colleagues, that we have to protect.’

When the meeting ended, Luke Sharp turned to Paula Morton. ‘I don’t know about you, Doctor, but I could do with a pint.’

‘I’m with you there. Listening to your boss and the others was a bit like reading one of the gorier plots by that bloke who writes thrillers set round here.’ She smiled. ‘Lead me to the nearest bar.’

They walked across Dinsdale’s market square, which was almost deserted in the early evening despite the fact that it had been market day. The only people in sight were council workmen who were dismantling the stalls, and their colleagues who were cleaning up the litter that was the inevitable result of the day’s activity.

The town was shrouded in fog. For once, it seemed that the weather forecasters had got it right, as Sharp commented. ‘At least we won’t have to contend with black ice this year, the forecast is for mild, foggy weather until Christmas.’

They entered the Three Tuns Hotel and headed for the bar, where Luke asked her what she wanted to drink. Much to his surprise, Paula asked for a pint of Theakston’s. He ordered two pints of bitter. As they took their seats in the bay window, Paula noticed that Luke opted for the one in the corner. She wondered if that was to hide the ugly purple birthmark that covered one side of his face. He asked for Paula’s opinion of the meeting they had just left.

‘It would have depressed me had I been that way inclined, but as a doctor I’m used to having to deal with things that have already taken their toll. The number of times where we can be proactive in prevention, rather than attempting a cure, is sadly not enough.’

‘We’re much the same. Crime prevention is only a small part of our work, and when things like that arson attack happen, we have no chance of stopping them. It makes you feel so helpless.’

‘If you were to find the person responsible, would that be classed as murder?’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But some smart defence barrister would probably argue the case. The difficulty would be proving the intent was to kill those inside rather than simply torch the building. However, from what Geoff Parker said, it sounds like a hypothetical question. After all this time, we stand little chance of identifying the perpetrator, short of a miracle.’

Paula smiled sympathetically. ‘You never know, Luke. It’ll be Christmas soon, and that’s supposed to be the season of miracles.’

‘You may be right, should we cross our fingers or something?’

They laughed, took a drink, and looked round at the bar which was beginning to fill. ‘How are you settling in to the area?’ Paula asked.

‘I haven’t had much time to get to know anyone around here, so it’s a bit of a relief being on duty over Christmas. Otherwise I’d be bored out of my mind.’

‘Don’t you have family to go to?’

Sharp shook his head. ‘No family, not of my own at least.’ He looked at Paula and decided she was the understanding sort. He added, ‘I was abandoned as a baby by my mother, raised by foster parent after foster parent for years.’

‘That must have been hard for you. Were you never adopted? Surely there was a lot of demand for babies and toddlers?’

Paula was surprised by the grim expression on Sharp’s face. His reply was given with great reluctance, it seemed, ‘I believe so, but as someone from the adoption service kindly told me, nobody wants to take responsibility for a child with deformities such as mine.’

If she’d been surprised earlier, Paula was shocked by the bitterness in Sharp’s voice. ‘What deformities? I can see you have a birthmark, but lots of people have them. Not all as visible, maybe.’ She winced at her own tactlessness.

‘That’s not the one I was referring to. I was born with one leg shorter than the other. It caused a very ungainly limp, which put people off. Naturally, those who saw me before I could walk had to think up other excuses to reject me.’

‘There’s no trace of it now.’

‘No, I had to go to America for a very expensive operation which helped. I also wear hand-made shoes that correct the remaining imbalance. There’s no trace of a limp unless I get really tired.’

‘Were you were adopted eventually, then?’

‘Yes, but not until I was almost twelve years old. That’s why I became a police officer. It was a policeman and his wife who finally took pity on me.’

‘Via the adoption agency, I presume?’

‘No, the officer caught me about to help myself to some sweets in a local shop. He was off duty, and instead of having me arrested he talked to me, found out my history, and a couple of days later he brought his wife to meet me at the foster home.’

‘What persuaded them to adopt you?’

Sharp’s habitually dour expression lightened a little. ‘The sweets I was trying to steal were toffees which I’d never had. He couldn’t understand how a child could reach my age without ever having tasted a toffee. Then I told him nobody had ever bought me sweets. The only ones I’d ever had were ones I’d stolen.’

‘They must be like a family to you, surely?’

‘Oh, they are, but this year they’re in Australia visiting my older sister, their daughter, and her family. I can’t begrudge them that. They gave me everything I have, including my job.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘By the time I was old enough, my adoptive father had been promoted. He wangled me into the force, even though the medical wasn’t encouraging.’

‘He must have a fair amount of influence to do that.’

‘You could say that.’ Luke laughed as he took a drink. ‘He’s a deputy chief constable.’

‘Oh, I see. And you’ve never married? Don’t you miss having a family of your own at this time of year?’ Paula realised she was being tactless again.

He dismissed the question with a shake of his head. ‘Never found the right girl.’ Then he laughed again, ‘But there are advantages. I don’t have to buy a load of expensive presents. Anyway, enough about me. How about you? Are your family local?’

‘Hardly,’ Paula smiled. ‘My parents are retired. They live in Spain. My sister works in New York, and my brother’s in London.’

‘So you’ll be on your own too over Christmas. Perhaps we could get together for a drink?’

Was that a subtle way of asking for a date? Paula wondered. No, somehow that didn’t seem like him. Luke seemed too reserved to do anything so bold.

Before she left, they swapped phone numbers. Luke watched her go with regret. He liked Paula, and if he’d been more self-confident, he might have asked her out. It had been easy talking to her. Even mentioning his deformities hadn’t seemed to put her off. Or perhaps she was just being kind. That reservation was always at the back of his mind. Despite his many qualities, despite his successful career, Luke was unable to accept that people could like him for who he was and ignore his physical defects.

As Christmas drew nearer, there was no relief from the oppressive fog that had settled like a blanket on the dale. By the late afternoon of Christmas Eve, as shoppers struggled from shop to shop, attempting to beat the closing deadline, several minor accidents had caused traffic chaos. Taking advantage of their near-invisibility, thieves had gone on a shoplifting, mugging, and pickpocketing spree.

On the Normanton council estate on the outskirts of Dinsdale, Lauren stared out of the window. She hated the fog, detested the clammy, damp weather. The way people loomed out of the swirling mist frightened her, always had. She would have liked to have been out in the open air, but dare not go in weather like this. Staying indoors was marginally preferable, even though it meant she had to contend with her stepfather, who she hated even more than the fog. Not that Terry was her stepfather, not officially at least. He was just living with Lauren’s mother.

If she had to list the things she disliked about Terry, Lauren would have struggled to know where to start. She would probably have opted for the way he treated her mother, or the money he spent on booze and drugs. There again, it would more likely have been his friendship with Wayne.

No matter how she mistrusted Terry, or how disturbed she was by the way he looked at her sometimes, Lauren’s feelings about Terry paled into insignificance compared to those she had about Wayne. She not only hated him, she was scared of him. Wayne had made no attempt to disguise what he would like to do to her, and had even tried to put the threat into effect on one occasion, but luckily, Lauren had been able to avoid him.

On Christmas Eve, her mother had been at work until lunchtime and had only been back in the house half an hour, having done all the shopping, when she received a text. She walked into the lounge, where Lauren was adding Christmas cards to the display she’d carefully made. Terry was sprawled in an armchair watching an old film on TV.

‘I’ve had a message from work,’ she announced. ‘Apparently they’ve had some problem reconciling the takings and they want me to go back in. It might take a while. Sorry, about this, but I don’t have any choice. I should be home in time for dinner.’ She smiled at Lauren. ‘That looks very nice; in fact everything you’ve done in here is lovely.’ She admired the tidy room with the decorated tree in the corner and the streamers hanging from the ceiling. ‘Will you turn the oven on later if I’m not back?’ she asked, as she struggled in to her coat.

‘No problem, Mum.’

No sooner had she left when Terry’s mobile bleeped. He scanned the message, before telling Lauren, ‘Wayne’s coming over and bringing some beer with him. You be nice to him, you hear me? He might even give you a Christmas present.’ He laughed at her expression.

Lauren’s heart sank. She guessed that it wouldn’t only be beer Wayne brought. He’d also bring drugs. And that could spell trouble. With her mother out, she would be trapped inside the house with those two. She racked her brains trying to think of some excuse to go out, or someone she could visit, but without success.

Wayne was in the pub. The Red Lion was by no means the most salubrious drinking establishment in Dinsdale, but the management had a relaxed attitude to what went on under their roof. This suited Wayne and many others. If not all the drinkers were old enough in the eyes of the law it didn’t matter, as long as their money was good. And if some of the customers wanted to do a little trading in substances frowned on by the authorities during their visits to the pub, so what? It would have been counter-productive to ban this, or ask them not to, for fear of losing their lucrative trade. Wayne had been in the pub since lunchtime. Although by no means drunk, he was far from completely sober by the time his mobile beeped with an incoming message.

He read the text with interest, and then re-read it with mounting excitement. ‘M out til late. Can u cum over n bring beer and gear. L says she want u to cum! T’

Wayne looked round the bar, and saw the barman was not busy. Ten minutes later, armed with a couple of six-packs, he left the pub. He set off walking towards the estate, but first he had a call to make. He hoped that visiting the allotment on Christmas Eve wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. If so, he’d have to claim he was getting sprouts for the Christmas dinner. Having said that, he doubted if even the most suspicious copper would think of an allotment shed as a likely hiding place for drugs. Wayne smiled happily. Sinking some beers and smoking some weed was fine, but if he got really lucky, he might get his leg over too. Fancy Lauren wanting to see him. She’d never shown any interest before. The fact that Lauren was only fourteen didn’t worry him.

Lauren’s mother had been gone little more than half an hour when the doorbell rang. It was Wayne, and Lauren could tell he had been drinking. As soon as they were seated in the lounge, Wayne opened a can and passed a second one to Terry. ‘I’ll stand the beers,’ he said generously. ‘I got the weed from the shed, like you asked.’

‘What weed?’

‘The gear you asked me to bring.’

‘I didn’t ask you for any gear. Still, as you’ve got some, it’d be a shame to waste it.’

‘Hang on, Tel. You said I had to bring some gear.’

‘I never said anything of the sort. You told me you’d bring the beer and the gear.’

‘When did I say that?’

‘In your text. “I’ll bring beer and gear” you said.’

‘I never. Your text said “bring beer and gear”.’

‘What text? I didn’t send you a text. You sent me one.’

‘No I didn’t. I was in the Red Lion and my mobile went off. That was when I read your text.’

Both men reached for their mobiles and looked at the messages. Terry reacted first. ‘That’s funny, there’s no message from you here. I must have deleted it.’

Wayne was equally baffled. ‘There’s nothing on mine either, and yet I remember reading it. There’s something weird going on.’

‘Still, doesn’t matter, does it. Might as well enjoy ourselves, eh? It’s Christmas, after all.’

Somehow, in the process of getting themselves geared up, as Wayne referred to it, he ended up seated alongside Lauren on the sofa. This was absolutely the last thing she wanted. It was too late now for her to retire to the privacy of her own room. That would be seen as an insult to Terry’s guest, and the repercussions would be unpleasant for her. In addition, the last place she wanted to be when Wayne was in an amorous mood was a room with a bed in it. A room, moreover, where his advances could be conducted in privacy.

The next half hour was a torment for Lauren. Whenever he thought Terry wasn’t watching, which was far too often for Lauren’s liking, Wayne’s questing hands would stroke her leg, her thigh, her breast, anywhere he could reach. She lost count of the number of times she slapped his hand, or removed it from where he had placed it. Trying to glare at him without Terry seeing her reaction.

Far from being discouraged by these small rejections, Wayne seemed to regard them as some form of foreplay. Lauren was sickened by him, his wandering hands, the whispered suggestions, and when she heard the doorbell ring again, she leapt to her feet to answer it. ‘I’ll go; it wouldn’t do for you to find a policeman on the doorstep when you’ve got a joint in your mouth.’

She closed the lounge door behind her and as she walked across the hallway, had a frightening thought. What if the caller was another of Terry’s mates? The last thing she wanted was yet another boozy, drug taking loser who thought he was God’s gift.

She opened the front door and peered out. For a moment, such was the density of the fog that she thought there was no one in front of her. Then he stepped closer, and Lauren’s eyes opened wide with surprise. It was no wonder she hadn’t spotted him immediately, she thought. The caller was a complete stranger, and strange certainly fitted his appearance. He was pale, beyond what was normal. He was a little under six feet tall, dressed in light coloured clothes. His hair was ash-blond, as were his eyebrows. His eyes were pale too, a washed-out blue that was almost opaque. There was no vestige of colour in his cheeks, save for a vivid red scar that ran from just below his left eye almost to his jaw. Lauren, who had recently seen The Da Vinci Code, was reminded of the albino assassin Silas.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked. Somehow, despite his odd appearance, the stranger didn’t seem at all frightening. Not until he spoke. Then, it was what he said rather than his tone that she found bewildering and disturbing. A slight shiver ran down her spine.

‘Hello, Lauren. I hope Wayne hasn’t harmed you? He isn’t a nice man; neither of them are.’ He indicated indoors as he spoke. ‘A pair of low-life scum. I didn’t mean for you to have to put up with Wayne pestering you when I arranged all this.’

‘What do you mean? Who are you? What do you want?’ Lauren recoiled a little, unsure whether she should slam the door.

‘I want you to listen. Listen and remember what happens. Because you’re going to be my witness, when it’s all over.’

‘After what is all over?’ She felt a frisson of fear.

‘Wait and see. I promise you, you’re safe. I will not allow anything to harm you. Is that clear?’ He looked at her intently.

Lauren stared back, unable to avert her gaze from those pale eyes. She believed him, believed every word he told her. But why? Lauren was as disbelieving as most teenagers, particularly regarding what adults said. ‘Yes, perfectly clear,’ she replied, her words slow and measured, as if she was under the influence of that hypnotic stare.

‘Now, let’s go and join the others?’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘They should be about ready for us by now. We have to get everything done before your mother returns. The little diversion I organised for her at work won’t take her too long to deal with. I think we’ve got about an hour, no more, but that should be enough.’

‘What are you going to do?’ It was curious, but despite his odd manner and his even stranger words, Lauren didn’t fear this man now.

‘You’ll see very soon. One thing I promise you, when this is all over, you won’t be troubled by either of those two again. Do you know what they’re planning at this moment?’

Lauren shook her head. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she couldn’t work out how the weird visitor could tell. Perhaps he had super-sensitive hearing. Or was he making it all up?

‘I’m not sure you’ll want to know, but perhaps it will ease your conscience afterwards if you realize what a narrow escape you had. As we speak, Wayne and that so-called stepfather of yours are planning a gang bang – with you. Like I said, they’re a pair of loathsome creatures. You’ll be better off when they’re out of your life. As will your mother, for that matter. Come on, let’s get it over with.’

He grasped her arm gently, and turned her to face the lounge. Although his touch was light, when Lauren looked at her arm afterwards, she was shocked to see that it was bruised, the marks clearly defined as a hand print.

She opened the lounge door, the stranger close behind her. Both men were lolling in their seats, the effects of the drugs and beer had obviously taken their toll. They looked towards Lauren and then past her. She saw vague signs of recognition in their faces, but neither man spoke. The visitor strode past her and stooped over Terry, staring into his eyes. Terry sat up in his chair, as if at some unspoken command. Satisfied, the stranger turned and did the same to Wayne with similar results.

As he had passed her, Lauren had noticed a faint aroma, one she could not immediately place. It was only later that she recognized it. For the moment, her attention was claimed by the visitor’s actions. He turned to her and asked, ‘If you had a Christmas wish, Lauren, what would happen to these two?’ He indicated the men, who were staring at him like adoring dogs, awaiting a command from their master.

‘I wish they would disappear from out of my life and my mum’s forever, but I suppose that’s asking too much.’ Lauren wasn’t sure why she said that, it seemed right, after what she’d just gone through with Wayne, and felt it was what the stranger wanted her to say.

‘I don’t think it is asking too much. This is Christmas, after all, and if you can’t ask for what you really want at this time of the year, when can you? Now, we have to get down to business. Are you ready?’

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. ‘And you know that you have to take careful note of everything these two say, so that you will be able to repeat it word for word to others later?’

‘I do.’ As she said it, Lauren thought that it sounded like a vow; which seemed ridiculous. The visitor obviously didn’t think so, for he smiled encouragingly.

He turned to the two men, whose eyes were still fixed on him. ‘OK, you two are going to tell Lauren everything. Everything, do you understand?’

Both men nodded, as if some invisible string was causing the heads to move in unison.

‘Right, I want you to go back in time. It is Christmas Eve, ten years ago. The time is seven o’clock in the evening. Tell us what’s happening, Terry.’

Terry began to speak without hesitation. ‘OK, we’re here, Wayne. Let’s see if Arnie has left the door unlocked. Yeah, he has, but we’ve to make it look as if it was forced. Pass me the jemmy.’

He got to his feet and reached out a hand to grasp the imaginary tool and began levering at an unseen object. ‘OK, remember what Arnie said. He’s going to walk down this corridor and we pretend to nab him. We take him back to the security office, make like we’re threatening him with the knife, and get the other bloke. After we knock the second guard out, we tie him up and then Arnie. Then I deal with the safe while you stand guard. What’s the other one’s name again? That’s it, Danny. He knows nothing, so if he looks like coming round, hit him again. We can’t risk letting him see that Arnie’s in on it.’

There was a period of silence as Terry mimed a series of actions, watched impassively by the stranger, and with open-mouthed astonishment by Lauren. Some moments later, his voice threatening, his words even more so. ‘Sit still, put your hands behind your back, and don’t touch anything or I’ll slit your mate’s throat.’ As he spoke, Terry held an invisible knife horizontally in front of him.

‘OK, tie him up and gag him.’ He waited for what seemed an age. ‘Good, now knock him out.’

Another pause, then, ‘OK, he’s out of it. Come on, Arnie. Let’s see what Towlers have taken today. I bet this’ll be your best ever Christmas bonus, eh? You all right, Arnie? You look a bit flushed – excitement getting a bit much? Wayne, remember what I told you. First sign that Danny boy there shows of waking up, you hit him good and hard.’

There was another, longer period of silence as Terry performed a series of mimes, actions that Lauren could not even begin to guess at. Eventually, he put his hands to his ears and waited, as if expecting a loud noise. He removed them, and began dusting imaginary residue from his clothing before he spoke again, his voice a hushed whisper. ‘Hell’s bells, Arnie, looks like we’ve hit the jackpot this time. Anyway, no time to count it now, we’d better tie you up, then scarper. Someone might have heard that bang and come snooping.’

Then Terry asked, ‘Any problems, Wayne?’ He waited, then shook his head. ‘Piece of cake.’ He smiled. ‘And judging from what’s in here,’ he patted an invisible container, ‘I’d say it was a bloody big slice of cake.’ His voice changed with dramatic haste. ‘Oh, bloody hell, what’s happened? Arnie, you all right? Arnie? Arnie?’

Lauren watched as Terry’s hand went out, index finger poised, as if taking someone’s pulse. ‘Wayne, I think he’s snuffed it. We’d better tie him up anyway and then get out of here as fast as we can.’

When the stranger was satisfied that Terry had finished speaking, he extended one hand, palm downwards. The first two fingers spread in a horizontal V formation. For a second, Lauren thought he was going to poke Terry in the eye, but instead he fixed her mother’s partner with that disconcerting fixed gaze. Almost immediately, Terry sat on the sofa and resumed the docile position he had adopted before the visitor requested the one-act monologue.

‘Did you get all that, Lauren? Is it clear?’

She jumped with surprise. She hadn’t expected the question, and she noticed that his voice had changed. Gone was the commanding whiplash with which he addressed the men. In its place was a tender, caressing tone.

‘Er … yes, I think so. He did say Towlers, didn’t he?’

‘That’s right. Ten years ago today, these two, along with one of the security guards, robbed the store after it closed on Christmas Eve, when they knew the safe would be full. Unfortunately, the guard, Arnie Sykes, had a heart attack, collapsed, and died.’

‘What happened to the other man? The other guard, I mean. Did they hurt him?’

The stranger smiled, as if pleased by her concern. ‘No, he wasn’t hurt, not in the physical sense. But he was sentenced to fifteen years in prison, because the jury believed the prosecution claims that he was the inside man who had let the others in. His name was Butler, Danny Butler.’

‘But that’s not fair, if he was innocent. Why didn’t these two go to jail?’

‘You’ll soon discover that life isn’t fair, Lauren. They didn’t go to prison because there was insufficient evidence to convict them, even though the police were sure they were the ones involved. Just to make sure there’s no misunderstanding, let them tell you.’

He turned back and stood in front of Terry. When he spoke, his voice had returned to the whiplash command. ‘Terry, tell Lauren who did the Towlers robbery ten years ago. Tell her now.’

‘It was me, Lauren. Me, Wayne, and Arnie Sykes.’

‘What about Danny Butler?’ Lauren asked.

The stranger smiled approvingly at her.

‘Nah!’ Terry’s tone was dismissive, as if Butler was unimportant. ‘Butler had nothing to do with it. Didn’t stop the judge sending him down, though. Me and Wayne pissed ourselves laughing. I still chuckle when I think of him doing a long stretch when he had no part of it.’

The visitor looked at Lauren. ‘I told you they weren’t very nice men.’

‘You didn’t need to,’ Lauren replied. ‘I already knew. I just didn’t realise how bad.’

This time the visitor’s smile was one of infinite sadness. ‘Unfortunately, you haven’t heard the worst of it, yet. Prepare yourself, what you’re about to hear will make your blood curdle. Are you ready?’

Lauren nodded.

His attention returned to the men, who were both staring at him fixedly, their eyes never wavering. It was almost as if he was holding them captive, even though their only restraints were his voice, and those strange, pale eyes.

‘OK, Wayne, it’s your turn now. I want you to tell Lauren about last Christmas Eve. Let’s start with the message you got. That was what kicked everything off, wasn’t it?’

‘It was a couple of weeks before Christmas; I was in the Red Lion. The Lion is always busy on Fridays, but it was totally packed when I walked in. There was a real shindig going on and it looked as if some of the drinkers had been there ages. Then someone told me why. Jack Wood had been released from Felling that day. He’d been serving a five for GBH. I hadn’t been there long when Jack came over to talk to me.’

Wayne paused and licked his lips nervously before going on to the next bit. Instantly, the stranger extended his right arm again in that curious gesture that seemed to command total obedience.

Wayne continued. ‘All right, Jack? Good to see you out and about again.’

There was silence for a second or two, then, ‘How do you mean, you’ve got a message for me? Is that what you said? It’s hard to hear with all this racket going on.’ Wayne looked round and raised his voice. ‘Quiet, you lot, I’m trying to talk to Jack.’

His tone lowered as he said, ‘Go on. You’ve got a message. What message? Who from?’ He grinned. ‘I know a few in Felling.’

Wayne listened to a voice only he could hear before continuing, ‘Who said that? Butler? Who’s Butler? Oh, you mean Danny Butler. How the hell did he find out about us? Anyway, thanks for the tip-off.’

Wayne stood up and made a curious gesture with his arms, which Lauren guessed was him simulating walking. He stopped, lifted his left hand, and started jabbing at the palm with the index finger of his other hand. It took Lauren a few seconds before she realized that Wayne was dialling a number on his mobile – except for the fact that he wasn’t holding a phone. He raised his hand to his ear, obviously listening. After a few seconds, he spoke. ‘Tel, it’s Wayne. Yeah, I’m outside the Lion. I couldn’t hear myself think in there, let alone talk to anyone. Listen, will you? This is important. I’ve just been talking to Jack Wood. Yeah, he got out this morning, that’s why they’re having a do for him. Anyway, that’s not the point. Jack came over to give me a message. Well, it’s for both of us really. It’s a warning. Someone in Felling is after our blood, big style. No, no it isn’t any of the drugs lot. They’re all behaving themselves. The threat came from Danny Butler. Remember Butler, do you? Yes, that Danny Butler. Seems someone’s blabbed to him that we were the two behind the masks when Towlers got done over. How the hell do I know who told him? But I know this, if I find the bastard I’ll skin him alive.’

Wayne listened for a moment or two. ‘Yes, I know there’s bugger all he can do from in there, but he won’t be inside for ever, will he? Fifteen, it was, but he’s done eight already, and if he gets time off, he’ll be back here before long.’

After another short silence, Wayne said, ‘I think we should have a meet, sooner the better, and decide what we’re going to do about him. OK, where and when? Yes, tomorrow.’

He lowered his hand, and began his curious arm motion again. Lauren found it odd to watch a man simulating walking while standing absolutely still. However, she had little time to dwell on this, as Wayne was already speaking. ‘Hiya, Tel, what can I get you? OK.’ He turned to an invisible barman. ‘Two pints of Export.’ He held his hand out and apparently waited for some change, before passing a non-existent pint of lager to an invisible Terry, then gesturing to the corner of a room only he could see. ‘Let’s sit over there in the window, that way nosy bastards can’t overhear us.’

Wayne sat next to Terry, and shuffled slightly on the sofa, obviously making himself comfortable in the window of the bar. ‘According to what Jack told me, Butler’s sworn we’ll be dead meat the minute he gets out. I asked around this morning, and folk say you don’t want to mess with him. He’s got an evil reputation. He was a bouncer at Macy’s Club before he worked at Towlers, and one or two got done over by him. I don’t fancy tangling with the likes of him, so I thought we should send him a warning message. Something on the lines of, “this is what you can expect if you come near us”. What do you reckon?’

Lauren was becoming accustomed to the short silences, the breaks in conversation. It was a little like hearing one end of a phone call, she thought. Her attention wandered momentarily, but returned in no uncertain manner when she took in the gist of Wayne’s next remark.

‘Yeah, I do have an idea. The best way to get at Butler would be through his wife and kids. If they feel threatened, they’ll go running to Butler and that should stop his gallop. What’s even better is they live near you on the estate, only a couple of streets away.’

Lauren gasped aloud. From the moment she had heard the name Butler it had sounded familiar. Now she knew why. She dragged her gaze from Wayne and stared at the stranger, an expression of mounting horror on her face. The incident from last year was still fresh in her memory, and the implication behind what Wayne had said was only too clear. The visitor returned her gaze, nodding in silent confirmation that her worst fears were about to be realised. He gestured to her to continue watching, and as she shifted her gaze to Wayne, he got to his feet and she saw him going through another mimed action.

He was silent now, doing something she couldn’t work out for a moment. Then, as if to underline the suspicion she still hoped was wrong, she recognized what he was doing, and his words added extra confirmation – extra horror – extra revulsion. He was unscrewing the cap from a petrol can, then pouring the contents, slowly.

His voice was a mere whisper. Even from less than three yards away Lauren had to strain to catch what he was saying, all the time wishing she did not have to, but somehow the stranger’s commands overrode her own abhorrence. ‘OK, Tel, light that piece of paper and shove it through the letterbox. As soon as it gets going, we scarper. By the time anyone notices, we’ll be safe and snug back in the Lion with plenty of witnesses to swear we hadn’t moved from there all night. Go for it, Tel. Ready? Bloody Hell, that went up fast. Move it, Tel!’

Instead of returning Wayne to his catatonic state, the stranger looked at Terry. ‘Just so that we’ve got this clear: you were with Wayne last Christmas Eve and the two of you set the fire that killed Sandra Butler and her children. Right?’

‘Yeah, we did that.’ Terry’s voice was a dull monotone, with no inflexion or emotion whatsoever.

‘And you also did the Towlers robbery?’

‘Yeah, we did that as well.’

The visitor had turned to Wayne. ‘You agree with that?’

‘Yeah, we did ’em both.’ Wayne’s voice was equally toneless.

‘There’s something else though, isn’t there? Something you’ve failed to mention. You agreed to tell everything, you should have realised by now that holding back will not be tolerated. So, will one of you explain about the allotment?’

Lauren thought that nothing could surprise her after what she had heard, but the mention of an allotment had her completely baffled.

‘Sorry,’ they mumbled.

Wayne began to explain. ‘It was Tel’s idea. We knew the cops would be looking for the money after we’d done the Towlers job, so we decided we’d turn some of the cash into gear. Not to use, although we did a bit. To sell, and we needed somewhere to hide the stash. We were lucky, because we got an allotment almost as soon as we put our name down. Actually, it wasn’t our name at all. We used good old John Smith.

‘And we put the drugs and cash in a hiding place inside the shed we’ve stocked up when we need to,’ Terry took over the story. ‘Wayne does a bit of gardening up there, grows a few veg, so he’s always on hand when we have stuff to deal.’

He stopped speaking, and looked at the stranger, who stared back in silence. Although no words passed between them, Terry gave an apologetic shrug. ‘OK,’ he said after a couple of seconds, ‘the allotment is number six. It’s the last one on the left as you go in from the Barwell Gardens end.’

Having heard them out, the visitor extended both arms, one pointing at each of them, his fingers spread in that curious gesture. They fell silent, staring ahead into vacant space. He watched them for a moment, before turning to look at the girl.

‘Have you heard enough?’

She gulped a deep breath to control the nausea she felt. ‘More than enough,’ she told him. ‘I feel sick.’ Her voice was little more than a croak.

‘That’s understandable. The point is, will you be able to remember everything they said well enough to repeat it when the time comes?’

This time her voice was clearer, her message unmistakeable. ‘I don’t think I shall forget a word of what was said for as long as I live, no matter how much I want to.’

The stranger smiled, a world of sadness reflected in his eyes as he told her, ‘Believe me, Lauren, the memory will fade, given time. Other things will overtake it, happier things that will thrust this to the back of your mind. Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.’

‘Leave?’ Lauren was startled by the suggestion. ‘Why should I leave?’

‘Oh yes, I can assure you there is no way you want to stay here. Not now, and not with what’s about to happen.’

‘Will they be punished for what they did?’

‘Oh yes,’ – the stranger smiled – ‘and their punishment will last a long time. An eternity, you could say.’

He shepherded her into the hallway. When they reached the front door, he told her, ‘Here’s what I want you to do. Go down to the end of the street and along the main road to where the bus from the town centre stops. By the time you arrive there, your mother will be waiting to cross the road. Your job is to stop her, and make sure neither of you come near this house until later.’

‘How much later?’

He smiled again. ‘That will become clear.’ As he spoke he opened the door and peered out. The fog was, if anything, even thicker. ‘Hang on, you’ll need a coat. This fog chills you through to the bone.’ He took her coat from the pegs alongside the door and helped her put it on. ‘Thank you for acting as my witness, Lauren. I won’t see you again, but I wish you all the very best for the future. I hope you will have a long and happy life. You deserve it, for you have a good heart.’

‘I still don’t know your name.’

This time, the stranger’s laugh was one of genuine amusement, although Lauren couldn’t think of anything remotely funny in what she’d said. ‘That’s true, you don’t,’ was all he replied. He pushed her gently out of the door, guiding her towards the path. ‘Oh, one final thing, will you please tell Luke I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused him over Christmas?’

‘Luke? Luke who?’

‘You’ll know when you meet him. Now go, or your mother will be there before you.’

Lauren walked slowly down the path, her mind whirling with everything she had witnessed in the house. She was walking slowly enough to hear the door shut, to hear the tumblers click as the stranger turned the key in the lock. She heard the muted thud as he slid the bolts home and wondered why he chose to do that. She was no nearer finding an explanation when she reached the street corner, and headed along the main road, where yet another surprise awaited her.

Quite why she should be surprised, given the astonishing things she had seen and heard over the past hour, Lauren wasn’t really sure. However, exactly as the visitor had predicted, when Lauren reached the street corner and peered through the fog, there was her mother on the opposite side of the road, waiting for a lone taxi to creep past before attempting the crossing.

Lauren waved and called out. She saw her mother’s surprised expression, but waited for her to cross in safety. In answer to her mother’s worried enquiries, she reassured her. ‘Yes, Mum, I’m fine. No, there hasn’t been any trouble. At least, I don’t think so. The thing is, we can’t go home yet. I promised we wouldn’t. The man said we shouldn’t.’

Her mother stopped in her tracks. ‘Man, what man? Has someone been pestering you?’ She was alarmed. ‘Is this man some friend of his?’

‘No, Mum, that’s not it at all.’

‘Then why can’t we go home?’

The way her mother referred to Terry spoke volumes for the state of their relationship. Lauren had thought recently that it might be reaching breaking point. From Lauren’s point of view, that couldn’t come fast enough. And that was before the events of the afternoon. Lauren rejoiced silently, then remembered the stranger’s question – and her response.

‘If you had the choice, what would happen to these two?’

‘I wish they would disappear from out of my life and my Mum’s forever.’

She shivered, an involuntary reaction, almost as if she knew what she had wished for might come true.

‘Lauren, we ought to go home now. It’s Christmas Eve and I’ve still got loads to do. I know this is probably the wrong time to say this, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and as soon as the holiday is over, I’m going to tell him to clear out. It’s my house; I’ve had enough of his sponging off me, and bringing his dodgy friends round. They’re a bad influence, and I can’t have them near you.’ She slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulder and held her. ‘OK?’ Lauren nodded her agreement. ‘So, come on, let’s get out of this lousy fog and into the warm.’ She started to walk in the direction of the street.

‘No, Mum.’ Lauren caught her by the arm. ‘That’s fine, about Terry, I mean. But we can’t go home yet. I promised the man we wouldn’t.’

Her mother started at her intently. ‘There you go again, talking about this mystery man who issues orders preventing me from going into my own house. Who is he? Or is he some figment of your imagination? You haven’t been in the room when Terry and his friends have been smoking dodgy tobacco, have you?’

The idea that her mum thought she might be high on pot made Lauren giggle. The sound was cut short by the strident tones of a siren. Somehow, although the emergency vehicle was a long distance away, Lauren knew where it was headed; knew instinctively that it was in some way connected to her, to her house, and to the stranger who was locked in there with those two loathsome creeps.

With the wailing siren growing ever closer, Lauren persuaded her mother that they should wait. ‘I don’t know who the man is, but he knows everything about us. He knows all about the dreadful things Terry and Wayne did. He knew all about you having to go back to work, and how long you would be gone, and he even knew that when I got to this corner, you would be waiting to cross the road.’

It was the statement about work that convinced Lauren’s mother. Convinced her, and made her shiver with fear. Lauren sensed her unease. ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

‘I don’t know, but this is totally weird. You remember the text I got calling me back into work? I read it out to you. Well, that text described the problem quite accurately. I already had an idea what the solution would be and it was easily put right. The thing is, when I got there everyone was surprised to see me. They said they had been on the point of phoning me when I walked through the door. That was when I asked them who had sent the text. Everyone denied it, so I got my mobile out and the message had disappeared. I thought I must have deleted it, but now I’m not sure.’

‘I don’t think you did, Mum.’ Lauren explained about the texts that Wayne and Terry had said they received, which when they checked their mobiles, had also vanished.

As mother and daughter stared at one another, perplexed and troubled by the strange occurrences, their ears were assailed by the deafening blast of a fire engine’s siren. The vehicle, followed closely by a second, swept round the corner and headed up their street. Their flashing beacons and headlights were on full beam, reflecting back from the white wall of fog ahead.

They heard the sirens die away as the fire engines slowed to a halt beyond the range of their vision, making it impossible to judge where exactly the emergency was. The fog was thicker than ever, Lauren thought, and then, with a fresh thrill of fear, realized that it wasn’t fog, but smoke. At that moment a whisper of breeze, no more than a zephyr, ruffled her hair. The movement of the air, slight though it was, brought the smell of smoke to her nostrils. A momentary panic came over her. What if Terry or the stranger had set fire to the house …? She dismissed the idea as ludicrous, it was only then that she remembered the elusive aroma given off by the visitor as he passed close to her. It had been the scent of smoke.

Another thought suddenly occurred to her. She turned to her mother. ‘If the problem at work was so easily solved, how come you were away so long?’

Her mother stared at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean, so long? I’ve only been gone half an hour. I think I should have bought you a new watch for Christmas. What time do you think it is?’

Lauren hadn’t actually checked her watch before. She glanced at it now, staring in disbelief at the hands on the dial. For a moment she thought it had stopped. Then she saw the second hand moving regularly round the dial. No, it hadn’t stopped, and her mother was quite right. It had only been half an hour or so since her mother had left the house. But everything that had happened couldn’t have taken place in so short a time, surely? That was impossible.

Slowly, reluctantly, mother and daughter began to walk down the street, towards where the engines had come to rest. They had only gone a few paces when another siren warned them of the approach of another emergency vehicle. Almost as soon as they heard it, a gaudily painted estate car, lights flashing, hurtled past. Its brake lights came on, and as it slowed, they had time to read the sign on the back. ‘Ambulance responder,’ Lauren’s mother said, ‘that’s bad news for someone. I hope we’re not going to have a repetition of last year’s tragedy.’

Her sentiments were being echoed inside the vehicle. ‘I can’t believe we’re having a call out to another Christmas Eve fire so close to where the other one was,’ the paramedic who was driving told his passenger. ‘Makes you wonder if it’s the same sick bastard. I know what I’d do with him if I caught him.’

Paula Morton remembered the story. ‘That was the mother and two children, wasn’t it? I heard about it at the planning meeting. Was that fire around here as well?’

‘A couple of streets away, Doc. I don’t think anyone involved in the operation had a happy Christmas last year. Perils of the job, I suppose.’

They were slowing to a halt when Morton noticed the woman and girl walking alongside them. She wondered briefly if they might be neighbours, or even worse, if it was their house she and her colleague had been called to.

Lauren and her mother followed in the wake of the car, their thoughts beginning to darken as they passed house after house. The fog lifted briefly, and Lauren’s mother glimpsed the vague shadows of the firemen. ‘Lauren! It’s our house. Look!’

As the fog lifted a little more, the horrified pair saw firemen busy unreeling and deploying the hoses, while closer at hand, a police officer was setting up an exclusion zone using incident tape. He stepped into their path to prevent them getting any closer.

‘That’s our house!’ Lauren’s mother told him, her voice reflecting the panic both she and Lauren felt.

‘Hang on.’ He turned and shouted to one of the firemen. ‘Jim, householder is here.’

The man who had been directing operations hurried over. ‘Is anyone inside the building?’ he asked.

Prompted by her mother, Lauren responded. ‘There are three men in there.’

‘Are they all mobile?’

Lauren was confused, thinking of phones, then she understood. ‘Yes, yes, they can all move about OK, although two of them could be drunk.’

‘What about entrances? Are they all clear?’

‘The front door is locked and bolted,’ Lauren added. ‘I heard the man lock and bolt it as I was leaving to meet my mum.’

‘And the back door won’t open,’ Lauren’s mother told him. ‘The wood’s warped and swollen from all the damp weather.’

‘It’ll open for us,’ he replied grimly. ‘Right, thanks.’ The fireman swung round and moved smartly away, issuing a volley of commands to two men already dressed in breathing apparatus. ‘You two, round the back. Take sledges and axes, you’ll need to break the door down.’ Almost as an afterthought, he looked back and asked Lauren, ‘Where were they? Whereabouts in the house?’

‘In the lounge. At least, that was where two of them were. The other one, he was in the hallway.’

He pressed the button on his radio. ‘Concentrate on the lounge. Try and reach that if you can.’

He hurried back to supervise the men who were nearly ready to begin playing jets of water onto the flames they could see through the window. They heard the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood as the back door was being assaulted.

Moments later the chief’s radio crackled into life. ‘Chief, Chief, hang on. There is no fire!’

‘What do you mean? No fire? We can see the flames from here.’ He turned and looked back at the window – but the flames were gone. ‘What the hell is going on in there,’ he demanded.

‘I’m telling you, there’s no fire in this house.’ He continued with the grim message, ‘But we’ve found the two men in the lounge. We’re going to need the doc and paramedic in here. I think these two are goners. No sign of a third man. Tom’s checking the other rooms.’

The chief signalled to two people standing by the responder vehicle who immediately approached him. One was dressed in the distinctive uniform of a paramedic. The other, a woman in an orange boiler suit and hi-vis jacket with ‘Doctor’ emblazoned across the back was carrying a small holdall.

Lauren and her mother continued to watch and listen, as a new voice joined in, his words muffled slightly by the breathing apparatus he was wearing. ‘Tom here, I’ve checked everywhere, there’s definitely no fire inside the building and I can’t find the third man. No way he could have got out of the back, and the front door’s locked and bolted. Are you sure the kid wasn’t mistaken?’

Lauren was adamant, even when the fire officer suggested her imagination was running riot. He had little time to press his questions, assuming the man had left before they arrived. He set off with the medical team for the interior of the house, to determine exactly what had happened.

The firemen now without their breathing apparatus were standing in the kitchen. ‘Look, I’ve no idea what’s going on, any more than you. You can still smell the smoke,’ the first man said.

‘I know that, I’m not stupid. But where’s the seat of the fire? Even if it had burnt itself out, there would still be scorching. Besides, there were far too many flames for that.’

The chief intervened. ‘There must be an explanation and our investigators will sort it out but in the meantime you can sweep up the mess you’ve made round that door.’

The men shuffled off, still debating the lack of logic to anything they had witnessed.

A third fireman entered the kitchen. ‘Doctor’s had a look at the two in the lounge. Both dead, I’m afraid. She wants to see you immediately.’

In the lounge, Paula Morton told the chief, ‘These men did not die from any fire. Smell the air; you’ll barely get a whiff of smoke. So if fire didn’t kill them, something else did. I think we should categorize these as suspicious deaths, report this as a crime scene, and call the police in. The post-mortem will confirm cause of death, but I can guarantee it wasn’t fire or smoke inhalation.’

She noticed the slight hesitation. ‘I’ll need to inform the pathologist anyway. I’ll make the calls, shall I?’

Her first call was to Dr Austin, the pathologist. He was less than happy about having to turn out on Christmas Eve. Paula, who had been warned about him, knew this was largely for show. Having persuaded Austin to attend, she searched her contacts for Luke Sharp’s number and dialled it.

‘Luke, it’s Paula Morton. No, sorry, this is business. I’m at Castleton Street on the Normanton estate. House number is forty-seven. I think you should come out here. There’s been a supposed house fire – I’ll let the Fire Officer explain that one – but the two men who died weren’t victims of a fire. No, I don’t know the cause of death. It could be natural, but I doubt it. OK, see you soon.’

When Luke Sharp arrived in Castleton Street one of the fire engines was leaving the scene. Paula Morton was standing close to the second engine, deep in conversation with a woman and teenage girl. Firemen were packing away their unused equipment.

He parked up and walked over to greet the doctor. ‘Dr Morton, what’s all this about a supposed fire?’

‘Speak to the CFO, he’ll explain.’ She then introduced her companions. ‘This lady is the tenant of the house, and also partner of one of the deceased.’

Sharp noted that the woman showed little sign of distress at her recent bereavement, but listened as Paula continued, ‘She was out when the incident happened. However, her daughter Lauren was in the house until shortly before the fire was reported.’

She turned to the mother and daughter. ‘I’ll leave you with Detective Sergeant Sharp. He’ll need to ask you some questions, but don’t worry, he’s very nice.’

‘Before I do anything else I ought to take a look inside,’ Sharp said.

‘There is one thing you should be aware of: there are two bodies inside. However, Lauren is adamant that when she left, there was a third man there, someone she’d never seen before. There is some confusion here, as the fire officers cannot work out how he got out of the building.’ She didn’t add ‘if he was ever in there’; but left Sharp to work that out for himself. ‘Dr Austin is inside, and he’s not very happy.’

‘According to my colleagues he never is.’

‘Doc, we’re needed,’ the paramedic called out.

‘I’ve got to go,’ Paula said, and turned to leave. ‘However, I do want a word with you when I’m free.’

‘Thank you, Dr Morton. Just let me know when.’ He turned to Lauren and her mother. ‘We can’t leave you standing here, hang on a minute.’ He turned and waved to a constable who had been controlling traffic, what little there was in a side street. ‘Is that your car?’ he pointed down the street.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘In that case, please take these two ladies and sit them inside it out of the cold.’

Lauren smiled at the thought she was a ‘lady’.

Sharp continued, ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. Then we ought to see about finding you some accommodation.’

He noted their look of surprise, and explained, ‘For the time being our forensic officers and those from the fire service will need to examine the property and determine exactly what’s happened.’

He turned to go towards the house, where one of the firemen directed him to the rear of the building. ‘The front door’s locked and bolted like we found it. The chief wants it kept that way. Be careful going through the back door. We had to break it down to get in. Watch out for splinters and broken glass.’

In the lounge, Austin was inspecting the corpses before they were moved into body bags for transport to the mortuary. He greeted Sharp with a grunt that might have been ‘hello’, but certainly wasn’t ‘Merry Christmas’.

Sharp looked over Austin’s shoulder at one of the bodies. Although he was used to the results of sudden and violent death, he recoiled in shock. He had never seen an expression such as the one on the victim’s face. It was a look of pure terror. He glanced to his left, towards the other corpse, and was astonished to see a similar expression on the face of the second victim. What, he wondered, could have caused such fear, or was it some strange by-product of the way they’d died?

‘Any idea as to cause of death? Dr Morton isn’t satisfied that it’s due to fire,’ Sharp asked Austin.

‘What fire? You’ll have to wait for the post-mortem.’

‘When will that be?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘What time?’

‘No idea, I won’t be doing it. The only body I intend to carve tomorrow will be the turkey my wife will attempt to cremate. There’s a roster of Home Office pathologists and the one on duty will carry out the post-mortem. When I take these two back to the mortuary I’ll contact the right person and get them to call you with a time.’

Sharp turned to the chief fire officer, who seemed keen to talk to him. ‘This is a really weird going-on,’ the fireman said. ‘The girl who lives here swears there was a third man in the house, and that he let her out and locked up after she’d gone, but we can find no trace of him or how he got out. The front door is bolted, the back door was impassable, and all the windows are locked.’

‘Maybe one of the dead men let him out after she left?’

The fireman stared at him. ‘Good Lord, I never thought of that. Do you think the girl might be responsible for any of this?’

‘No idea. Anything else I should know?’

The chief hesitated. ‘When we arrived we could see the flames through the window here in this room and were sure the whole house was about to go up. I sent in two men to try and find the occupants before we turned the jets on, but when they got in this room there was no fire. They said there was a trace of smoke in here, but certainly not enough to cause those deaths. Added to which I’ve never seen fire victims look like those two,’ – he shivered – ‘and I hope I never do again. I’ve ordered an investigation team to check for the source of a fire, but whatever killed those two poor souls in there, I’m prepared to bet it wasn’t fire.’

‘Is this some sort of elaborate hoax, do you think?’

‘Has to be, I can’t see any other reason. There’s no damage to the property, by the way, which is another oddity. I can’t work out how such an apparently intense blaze, that we all saw through the window, might I add, didn’t flash through the house.’

‘I’ve also ordered a SOCO team here. Let’s hope between them, your scientists and ours come up with some answers. I’m off now. I want to get the tenant and her daughter out of the way before Austin’s men bring the bodies out.’

He headed back to the police car and told the officer he would drive Lauren and her mother to the station. As he ushered them to his car he turned to Lauren’s mother. ‘We’ll make you a cup of tea, or whatever you want, then arrange somewhere for you to stay.’

Back at the station Sharp asked the duty sergeant to contact social services and the council to search for temporary accommodation. ‘I suspect there’ll only be the duty officer available but do your best. If we can’t find anywhere else, we’re a bit stuck,’ he commented, ‘unless you’ve room down there.’ He pointed to the corridor leading to the cells.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I was already thinking of hanging a “no vacancies” sign on the front door.’

At that moment the strains of a Christmas carol could be heard filtering along the corridor; the drunken rendition, completely out of tune.

‘Office worker,’ the sergeant said. ‘Finished work early,’ he added by way of explanation.

‘I wonder if he knows “Silent Night”?’ Luke said as he walked away.

Sharp took Lauren and her mother to his office. ‘It’s more comfortable than downstairs, and you won’t be disturbed here.’ He got them both a cup of tea, apologising for the quality the vending machine produced. They hadn’t finished their drinks when the sergeant rang through. ‘I’ve got them accommodation. The Blacksmith’s Arms has a twin room; the council were useless so I used my initiative.’

‘Right, that’s great. I’ll take them there.’ He turned to Lauren’s mother. ‘You’ve had a nasty shock so I’ll get someone to take your statements later.’

Having seen them safely installed, Sharp returned to his office and picked up the phone. ‘I need a female officer to pop round to the Castleton Street house with the tenant. She and her daughter need a change of clothing and there’s something to do with hidden presents. Yes, apparently it’s nearly Christmas,’ Luke laughed as he replaced the handset, muttering ‘Bah humbug’ under his breath.

About half an hour later, Paula Morton arrived. She accepted the coffee Sharp offered her, and as she sipped it, told him what had been said as she waited outside the house for him to arrive. ‘Lauren told me about the man in the house. She said he seemed to have a hold over the others, as if he’d hypnotised them.’

‘Could that account for the look on their faces, perhaps?’ Luke shivered. ‘That was scary.’

‘I couldn’t say. I’ve seen plenty of dead people before, but never looking like that. Perhaps this mystery man did hypnotise them. According to Lauren he made them confess to all sorts of things, and wanted Lauren as a witness.’

‘That sounds weird. Did she say what they confessed to?’

Paula told him the details and Luke started at her in disbelief. Then she added, ‘If you think that’s weird, wait for the next bit. Lauren was upset, thinking that nobody would believe her. So I said “you’ll be fine. Just tell the truth”.’

‘That’s fair enough, nothing weird about it. Except this whole thing is weird.’

‘Hang on, I haven’t finished. Lauren said as she was leaving the house, “the strange man told me to give his apologies to Luke for all the trouble he was causing over Christmas”. Those were her exact words. I know for a fact she hadn’t heard your Christian name before.’

‘That really is weird. Perhaps Lauren’s story isn’t imagination after all.’

‘What will you do about it?’

‘I’m going to pull those case files and read them. It might give a clue as to who this mystery man is, if he exists. It’ll pass the time until the PM.’

Sharp spent Christmas morning reading the files, and at around the time most people were beginning their Christmas dinner, he arrived at the mortuary, where the duty pathologist, a cheerful Scot who seemed glad to be away from the bosom of his family, carried out the twin procedures. He reported his findings to Sharp in the grim little office alongside the examination room. Sharp listened to him in disbelief. ‘Are you absolutely certain?’ he asked.

The pathologist looked at Sharp for a moment, and smiled. ‘I am absolutely certain. Unless the toxicology proves different, both those men are completely healthy. I strongly suspect we may find traces of alcohol and possibly some recreational use of narcotics but there is no physical reason for their deaths.’

‘I saw the expression on their faces, as if they were frightened. Could they have had heart attacks?’

‘No, there’s no evidence of that. But there is one odd thing. Mentioning their faces reminded me.’ He led Sharp back into the examination room and pointed to the corpses. ‘Rigor mortis has worn off now. Normally when that happens, the facial muscles relax, giving the dead person a calm, peaceful look. As you can see, that hasn’t happened here. Don’t ask me to explain why, but it’s almost as if the terror they felt is still affecting them.’

Sharp needed answers. He called the station from the mortuary and asked the duty officer to contact the Blacksmith’s Arms. ‘I need to speak to the girl and her mother ASAP. Ask them to come to the station will you?’

When he returned from the mortuary, Sharp found Lauren waiting, along with her mother, ready to give her statement. He summoned a female police officer to attend the interview, and invited Lauren to tell her story. Eventually, he asked her for a description of the stranger.

Her reply was detailed enough to send Sharp scurrying back to his office. He returned to the interview room a few minutes later and nodded to the officer, who restarted the tape. ‘Is this the man you saw at the house, Lauren?’ Sharp asked, placing a photograph on the table.

Lauren identified the man immediately. ‘There’s something else,’ she added. ‘I almost forgot about the allotment.’

Sharp looked puzzled. ‘What allotment?’

‘The one where they keep the drugs. Wayne told the man it was number six, the last one on the left as you go in from Barwell Gardens.’

‘That could be very useful, thank you.’

Sharp ended the interview there. He had only been back in his office a few minutes when he received a further shock, via a phone call from the fire service. ‘It’s about that allotment shed fire last night.’

Sharp didn’t speak, his mind was whirling. ‘What shed fire?’

‘Sorry, I thought you knew. Didn’t your lot tell you about the fingerprints? They match both victims of the Castleton Street blaze.’

Sharp remained silent so the officer continued. ‘The blaze was similar to the house fire – except this time there really was a fire – but the damage was superficial. However, my men found a huge quantity of what we believe to be Class A drugs hidden inside, which we’ve passed to your people for testing.’

Sharp was still coming to terms with this news when he received an email from the SOCO team, informing him the only fingerprints from within the house were those of Lauren, her mother, and the two victims. This cast doubt on Lauren’s story. By now, Sharp didn’t know what to believe.

On Boxing Day, the fire chief called him. ‘Our forensic guys could find no trace of a fire at the house. As of this moment, there is no apparent cause for what we saw.’

‘Is there any chance it was reflected light you saw? Maybe the Christmas tree lights?’

‘We all saw flames, and no, it wasn’t festive lights of any sort. Besides which, the tree wasn’t even plugged in. And before you ask, we had not been partaking of the Christmas spirit! And here’s another thing for you to puzzle over.’

‘What more can there be?’

‘Just before we left the scene, a bloke in a handyman’s van turned up.’

‘And?’

‘He’d come to fix the back door.’

‘I don’t see the problem with that, the house would need to be secure. Who sent for him?’

‘Nobody. Well nobody that should have, that is.’

‘You’d better explain.’

‘He said a bloke phoned and booked the callout first thing that morning. He’d confirmed by text message. When I said I didn’t believe him he showed me the text – except there wasn’t one!’

‘This just gets stranger by the minute.’

‘If you think that, wait until you hear the rest. As a matter of course, I got one of my chaps to check the treble nine call in the hope of finding who made it. Unfortunately, there’s no trace of it.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean that the phone call that sent our engines to Castleton Street simply doesn’t exist. I got the emergency operator to check the recording, and all they could hear was some sort of static hiss. The only thing we have is the operator remembers it was a man’s voice. Don’t ask me to explain, because I can’t, so if you can come up with anything, I’d love to hear it.’

Sharp was thoroughly confused. Every new piece of evidence either added strength to Lauren’s story or undermined it. Acting on impulse, he made a phone call, the result of which left his mind reeling.

Two days after Boxing Day, having received further information from the pathologist, Luke typed up his report and took it to Detective Superintendent Parker. ‘I don’t know what you’ll make of it, Geoff, because I can’t find a logical explanation for any of it.’

Back at his desk, he phoned Paula Morton’s mobile. ‘Any chance you could meet me for a drink this evening?’

She agreed, and at seven on the dot, arrived at the Three Tuns. Sharp was already there, looking tired and bewildered, she thought. ‘How’s the investigation going?’ she asked.

‘It isn’t going. It’s stalled. In fact, it’s damned near in reverse. I’m completely baffled by the whole business.’ Sharp outlined the facts he had gathered, ticking them off on his fingers as he spoke. ‘There is no identifiable cause for the fire everyone claims to have witnessed, no trace of an accelerant, faulty wiring, cigarette ends, candles left burning, anything.

‘Neither is there any apparent cause for the death of the victims. I did wonder if they might have been poisoned, but the results were negative for any form of toxin. The post-mortem also ruled out fire as the cause, or the effects of smoke inhalation. My only clue is that expression on the victims’ faces. If I had to speculate, I’d suggest they died of fright, but I suppose that wouldn’t hold water with you medical people.’

‘I don’t think you’re likely to see it on a death certificate,’ Paula agreed. ‘Is there anything else odd?’

‘The whole thing is odd.’ Luke shook his head, then took a gulp at his pint before he continued. ‘Added to what I’ve already told you, there is no trace of Lauren’s mystery man ever having entered the property. The only prints in the house are those we expected to find. There was also an allotment fire on Christmas Eve in the very place Lauren told me they had confessed was where they kept drugs. This time there really was a fire but they can’t determine the cause and there was very little damage. However, they did find a huge cache of drugs and the dead men’s prints in the shed.’

Sharp paused and took another gulp of his beer. ‘Now we come to the weirdest bit of all. When I interviewed Lauren, I showed her a photograph of a man matching her description of the mysterious stranger. She made a positive identification of him immediately.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Danny Butler, the security guard imprisoned for the robbery, whose wife and kids were killed in that house fire a year ago. Her description was correct, right down to the last detail, and Butler was not the sort you could easily confuse with anyone else.’ Sharp went on to describe Butler’s appearance.

‘I see what you mean. Then there can’t be any chance that Lauren got the wrong man. That makes it easy enough for you, though. All you have to do is find him and ask him to explain how the two men died in such suspicious circumstances.’

Sharp shook his head. ‘That’s what I thought, so I rang Felling Prison to ask when Butler was released. It turns out that, Danny Butler still had several months of his sentence to go.’

‘So he couldn’t have been the man Lauren saw, if he’s still in prison.’

‘He was – and he wasn’t,’ Sharp told her.

‘How do you mean? He was either in prison or out, surely?’

‘Technically, I suppose you could say he’d been released, if released is the correct word. Danny Butler died of a heart attack the day before Christmas Eve.’