38
It was only a small movement in the corner of her eye, but Helen spotted him before anyone else did. He was just a blur, speeding toward the fire, running straight through anything that stood in his path. Helen was already on the move, and as the young man hurdled the police cordon she was onto him. She only had a second before he would be past her, so she dived at his legs, clamping her arms tight around them.
He hit the deck hard but seemed to bounce off it, the scrubby grass breaking his fall. Despite Helen’s best efforts to restrain him, he was already clambering to his feet. Shouting at him to stop, Helen got a solid grip on his jacket and pulled sharply down. Immediately she felt something connect with her chest, temporarily knocking the wind out of her. The man lashed out again, but this time Helen dodged the blow, using his movement to unbalance him, sending him spiraling to the ground once more. She had caught him off guard and was quickly on top of him, pinning him firmly down.
“Get off me. Get the fuck off me,” the young man roared, struggling violently.
“Not until you calm down.”
“Getoff!” he shouted back, twisting again.
“If I have to restrain you, I will.”
“My mum’s in there. Please, she’s still in there.”
So this was Callum Roberts. Even now Helen refused to relinquish her grip. Denise’s son was desperate with worry, consumed by the idea that his mother was alone in that terrible fire, but there was nothing he could do and Helen couldn’t risk further injuries or fatalities by letting him go.
“The firefighters are doing everything they can, Callum. Jesus—”
The young man had sunk his teeth into Helen’s hand and was bucking violently once more. Helen removed her hand quickly, but as she did so she brought Callum’s right arm up sharply behind his back. He screamed out in pain.
“I’m not letting you go, so unless you want to be charged with assaulting a police officer, I suggest you calm down. Okay?”
Finally the fight seemed to go out of him.
“Where is she? Is she okay?” he begged.
“We don’t know, but we’re doing everything we can, believe me.”
She tried to sound upbeat, but Helen already feared the worst. There had been no sign of Denise Roberts since the fire was reported, and neighbors said she was very much a homebody. Even more concerning was the fact that when the firefightershadmanaged to gain entry to the house through the front door—not three minutes ago—the chain and dead bolt had been secured from the inside. They’d had to break down the door. It looked very much like someone had been in the house when the blaze started.
“Jesus Christ, what have I done?”
“What do you mean, Callum?”
“Oh God . . .”
“Talk to me. What’s worrying you?”
“I... I told her I pitied her. That was the last thing I said to her. Jesus Christ, she must have thought I fucking hated her...”
Now the floodgates opened, the devastated young man sobbing onto the dusty ground beneath him. Finally Helen relinquished her grip, helping the young man up onto his haunches and wrapping her arms around him. He refused to look at the fire and seemed powerless to move now, so he just sat there, sobbing into his hands. Helen gave what comfort she could, but he barely seemed to register her presence. So they sat there silently, entwined together in desperation and sadness, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames that continued to consume his home.
39
Ensuring that the car was centrally placed in his viewfinder, he gently pressed Record. The little red dot appeared at the side of the screen, and a small smile spread across his face. There it was—in perfect definition. If he did his job right, if he got all the footage he needed, he’d be able to enjoy this little baby for many years to come. His smile stretched wider; then, as quickly as it had appeared, he swallowed it back down. No point drawing attention to himself. So flattening his expression into one of general concern, he carried on recording.
The vehicles were parked cheek by jowl in this lonely outdoor car park. Eight separate vehicles were now ablaze, the fire having spread from one to another, fanned by the rising wind. A sign claimed that the site was owned and maintained by Southampton City Council, but it was nothing of the sort. It was just a dusty piece of wasteland. Parking was so expensive in the city center that those in the know came here. It was dirt cheap by day and at night the wardens weren’t around toenforce payment, so if you were smart you could park up here and head into the city, saving yourself a parking fee. Security was nonexistent, but that didn’t seem to deter people. Perhaps this fire would.
A sudden jolt from the side nearly knocked the camera from his hand—some oaf pushing his way to the front of the crowd. In a flash, he’d turned on him, spitting bile in his direction—but the idiot didn’t even notice, too caught up in his own pathetic universe. Firing a parting shot of abuse, the man moved on, seeking a better vantage point from which to view this event.
Skirting the perimeter, he found a decent spot and once more pressed the little red button. He had a good shot of three different cars here, nicely positioned at intervals, their interweaving flames creating pretty patterns in the sky. This was more like it.
Relaxing, he started to rotate the camera, taking in the full panorama of the scene—the cars, the coppers, the rubberneckers, the paramedics, TV journalists, press photographers and local hacks. So much activity, so many people, all drawn here by the flames. It was strangely moving to behold.
Panning still farther, he came to rest on the face of a young, pretty woman. Dressed in a smart suit, with her hair neatly tied up in a bun, she was bossing the uniformed coppers about. CID obviously, though he didn’t recognize her. It wasn’t Grace or the other one, but she would do. He drank in the anxiety on her face, the stress crumpling her pretty brow and making her voice tight and strangulated. Already he could feel his arousal growing. There was something about the way fire changed people that always provoked a physical reaction. This officer—whoever she might be—had had no idea that she would be here tonight, doing this, dancing to somebody else’s tune.
He realized he was smiling again. Shaking his head at his stupidity, he rubbed his tired eyes and looked into the viewfinder again—only to find that the female officer was staring straight at him. Immediately hisbody froze, all thoughts of arousal evaporating. Had she spotted him smiling? Was there something in his body language that had given him away? She was looking directly at him, her eyes seeming to bore into his brain, his soul. Now she was taking a step toward him. Should he turn and run? Or bluff it out? He suddenly felt tongue-tied, sweat dotting his back, unsure what to say or how to say it. The officer took another step, then suddenly darted off in another direction, having been hailed by a fellow officer.
