The firefighters at the back were having no more joy than their colleagues. They battled manfully, but it seemed hopeless and Helen could see the weariness on the faces of many of them—they probably hadn’t had any rest since last night’s fires.
As she made her way back toward the uniformed officers who were keeping the crowd at bay, Helen’s mind turned on these latest disturbing developments. This was an impoverished part of Southampton—which could provide some sort of link to Gary Spence and the loan sharks who preyed on desperate people. The furniture showroom currently burning in Bitterne Park might also be connected if they had borrowed unwisely, but an outdoor car park? That would be council-owned and the cars there would presumably have been parked at random—no, that smacked of being a diversionary fire. Already Helen had a nasty feeling that both the larger fires were simply there to draw resources away from this smaller, potentially more catastrophic blaze.
“We’ve got a name, ma’am,” one of the uniformed officers was now saying.
“Go on,” Helen said, snapping out of her thoughts.
“The house is owned by a Denise Roberts, forty-two years old, single mother to a teenage boy, Callum Roberts. We know him—he’s got form for possession, a bit of shoplifting—but we’ve nothing on her. Just your average single mum.”
Helen thanked the officer and turned back to the house. If there was anyone in there, they stood little chance of survival. The fire had been going for thirty minutes or more now and still the fire crews hadn’t been able to gain access. It was a bleak scene to behold.
A second spate of arson attacks in twenty-four hours. It was bold to be sure, but what lay behind it? Was their arsonist on a mission? Did he feel compelled to start these fires? If not, why the hurry? What alarmed Helen most was the realization that the perpetrator of these attacks was committed, precise and well organized. The three fires were all in different parts of town, yet tightly timed to make fighting them nearly impossible. Whoever did this was intent on creating death and destruction on a scale Helen had never seen before.
It was as if he wanted to raze Southampton to the ground.
36
The heat was so intense, the smoke so dense, that for a brief moment Denise thought she had died and gone to hell. Having blacked out as the wall of fire swept over her, she now came to on the floor, stunned, confused and ripped through with pain. But she was alive. Against the odds, she was still alive.
She tried to raise her head from the floor, but immediately felt so faint that she let it drop once more. What was happening? Where was Callum? Why wasn’t anyone coming to help her? Closing her eyes, she gingerly raised her head once more, working herself up onto her elbows. A wave of nausea swept over her and her vision swam, but she could support herself now and, feeling a little more confident, slowly opened her eyes.
Darkness surrounded her. It was as if she were at the center of some terrible storm cloud that had blocked out the sun. Pushing herself up farther, she looked around her, but she couldn’t find her bearings. Was she still in her bedroom? She assumed she was, but how could she tell?
Looking down, she could just make out that she was naked. Lifting her arm, she ran her hand over her body. There was no sign of her nightclothes—they must have burned clean off. Her skin felt unfamiliar, and as she ran her fingers over her torso, caressing the fresh burns, a huge spasm of pain ran through her. This time she was sick, bringing up the whole contents of her stomach on the floor next to her. It fizzed as it hit the surface.
Denise knew in that instant that she had to move. She was dying by degrees, her body slowly cooking while her lungs filled with thick, sooty smoke. Coughing violently, she brought up a heave of watery bile, then slowly, agonizingly, pushed herself up onto her knees. She had to get out. If not for herself, at least for Callum.
She reached out for something to support herself but could find nothing. So closing her eyes, she willed herself upright and staggered forward onto her feet. The searing heat immediately claimed her, crawling over her face, her neck, her hair. It was impossible to breathe up here—every second counted now—so she opened her eyes, searching for something familiar. The outline of the window, the door, anything to help her find a way out.
But she couldn’t see a single thing. The black smoke had consumed everything and she was lost in the center of her own nightmare. She took three steps forward. The disintegrating boards groaned, her feet picked up fresh blisters with each painful step, but on she went. One step, two, three. She swung her arms around, wildly expecting—hoping—to connect with something solid, something familiar. But she found only smoke.
Crying now, she turned and went hard the other way. Surely this must be right. Her right foot caught on something and she fell to one knee, but on she went, dragging herself up, driving herself forward. She cannoned off something solid and, suddenly filled with hope, ran her hands over the surface. Was it a door? A window? She scraped at it, but it came away in her hand. Clawing harder, she now came up againstsolid brick. Jesus Christ, it was one of the walls. She was in the wrong place. The door must be...
She turned and moved randomly forward, no idea now which way was which. Her head swam wildly and she stumbled again. Which way was left? Which right? Which direction should she go in?
Denise stood still, paralyzed by fear, as the fire raged around her and the smoke enveloped her. The decision she was about to make would either cost her her life or save it. So crying quietly and praying to God for help, she picked a direction, swallowed her fears and stumbled slowly forward.
37
Charlie clamped her hand over her mouth as the bitter fumes filled her nose and throat. Instinctively she recoiled, struggling to breathe. She had never smelled anything like this before—and she hoped she never would have to again. Turning away quickly, she rejoined DS Sanderson, who was marshaling the uniformed officers, attempting to create a secure perimeter around the burning building. Above them a helicopter circled—it wasn’t one of theirs, so presumably it was press, no doubt beaming live pictures into homes all round the country. Was this what their arsonist wanted? Charlie rather suspected it was.
This was the biggest blaze yet. A plush furniture showroom stocked to the rafters with foam-filled sofas, raffia tables, wooden dining tables and chairs—the fire wasn’t starved for fuel and the flames now leaped fifty, sixty feet into the air. You could tell from the firefighters’ body language that this was already about containment.
Set against the dark night sky, the fire was an awesome sight,towering over the ghouls who’d come to witness the excitement. Bitterne Park was a nondescript part of town with little to set the pulse racing, hence the heavy crowd of locals. Adults, teenagers, even little kids were braving the heat to take photos and videos, edging dangerously close to the blaze. What the hell were they thinking? Were they really so desperate for entertainment that they would risk their lives and those of their children for a cheap thrill?
“Back. I want everyone back,” Charlie barked loudly, corralling the uniformed officers to push the throng away, scooping up any daredevils who seemed minded to ignore their advice. “It’s not safe for you here. Move back, back, back.” Police tape was now being rolled out and looped around the site, distancing the public from the blaze, but Charlie wouldn’t put it past some of them to sneak under it and chance their arm once more. What was it with modern folk that everything—however unpleasant and depressing—had to be recorded and repackaged for others on social media? Charlie had no doubt that Twitter and Instagram would be going nuts tonight, ordinary punters snatching a bit of reflected glory from the arsonist’s work.
Charlie walked the perimeter, her eyes flitting over the faces in front of her. Many were openly awestruck, others were joking and laughing, but hardly a single person there didn’t have some kind of recording device. Were they all there for the fun of it or was there someone among them with more malign intent? Was one of these onlookers responsible for all this? On and on she went, looking for signs of guilt, but she knew she was looking for a needle in a haystack. Even if she alighted on someone who was unnaturally excited by the blaze, that didn’t necessarily indicate guilt and, besides, something told Charlie that their perpetrator was far too clever and cautious to be caught out so easily.
To her surprise, Charlie now felt an icy chill crawl up her neck. The wind had changed direction and was growing in strength, fanning theflames of the burning superstore. Acrid green fumes now billowed toward the crowd, stinging eyes and throats as they swept over the onlookers. Suddenly Charlie picked out Sanderson racing toward her.
“We need to get everyone out of here,” she half gasped as she gestured to a uniform to push the crowd back still farther. “I need a loud-hailer. Has anyone got a loud-hailer?” she shouted half to Charlie, half to the assembled officers.
“What’s going on?” Charlie replied, suddenly alarmed.
“Polyurethane foam in the sofas. When it burns it creates cyanide oxide. These fumes are bloody poisonous. They can’t stay here,” she continued, gesturing at the crowd, “and neither can we.”
Clamping her scarf over her mouth, Charlie surged toward the crowd, grabbing recalcitrant kids by the arms as she went. Strange to think that a few hours ago she was at home, safe and sound with Jessica, and now here she was, hauling small children and grown men to safety in the shadow of an inferno. Suddenly energized, Charlie now took the lead, marshaling her fellow officers, driving the onlookers away from the reach of the bitter fumes. It was punishing physical work, especially in such an unpleasant atmosphere. Was that the arsonist’s intention all along? To put police officers and firefighters in jeopardy even as they battled the flames? It was impossible to tell and there was no time to speculate now. So Charlie fought on, working tirelessly to save the people she was bound to protect, all the while engulfed by the toxic cloud of death.
