CHAPTER 1
Saslow picked up Detective Inspector David Vogel from his home, at Sea Mills on the M5 side of Bristol, at 6.15 a.m. It was still dark on a cold, wet, early-October morning. Pretty typical of the west of England, Vogel thought. He wasn't looking forward to being driven halfway across Somerset on what could quite probably not be a police matter at all.
Then there was the very slight awkwardness he sometimes felt nowadays with Saslow. The two officers had been working together since soon after Vogel transferred from the Met to the Avon and Somerset Constabulary's Major Crime Investigation Team. In the beginning Dawn Saslow, small, dark, and clever, had been a uniformed constable. Vogel quickly formed a high opinion of her, and had been instrumental in her promotion to MCIT. But things hadn't been quite the same between them since their last big case. And neither had Saslow, in Vogel's opinion. She remained an exceptional officer, but had, he thought, lost more than a little of her raw, almost schoolgirl-like enthusiasm for the job.
He settled into the passenger seat and turned towards the young DC.
'How are you feeling then, Dawn?' he asked.
Saslow's eyes were focused on the steering wheel. Vogel cursed himself as soon as he had spoken. Not so long ago he wouldn't have bothered to enquire after her welfare, and Saslow would know that.
'I meant, with such an early start,' he added quickly.
She answered equably enough.
'I'm fine, sir,' she said. 'Could have done with a couple of hours more kip.'
'Me too,' said Vogel, with feeling.
'You think this could turn out to be a wild goose chase, don't you, boss?' Saslow continued, as she eased her pool vehicle away from the kerb.
Londoner Vogel, a true city boy, did not hold a driving licence. Learning to drive had actually been a condition of his transfer to the Avon and Somerset from the Met. But somehow or other he'd still managed to avoid more than a couple of extremely unsatisfactory lessons.
'Something of the sort,' muttered Vogel.
'I thought so,' continued Saslow. 'I mean, I was a bit surprised to hear we'd been called out to a house fire. Even a major one.'
'No ordinary house, and no ordinary householder,' said Vogel.
He took off his thick-lensed spectacles and rubbed them inadequately against his sleeve.
'I assume you've heard of Sir John Fairbrother?'
'Vaguely, sir. One of the great and the good, isn't he?' Vogel chuckled wryly.
'One of the greatly rich, that's for sure,' said the DI. 'Chairman and CEO of Fairbrother International. His family still own Fairbrother's Bank, the second oldest private bank in the UK and the sixth oldest in the world. Sir John is in his early sixties now, but apparently has always continued to run the family business with a rod of iron. And he has a reputation for being something of a maverick. There's been a rumour that he's had to step back a bit in recent months because he hasn't been well. Unsubstantiated, though, and officially denied. But the city seemed to believe it. The shares in Fairbrother International keep dropping.'
'So how ill do we think he is, boss?' asked Saslow.
'Very ill indeed now, Saslow. In fact, it would seem that he's dead. I thought you knew that?'
'I knew two people were suspected of having died in this fire, but I wasn't told who they were, or even if they'd been identified,' responded Saslow.
'No, well, of course there's no question of them having been identified yet,' said Vogel. 'And, as we all know, in the case of a fire sometimes formal identification is never possible. But there's not much doubt that in this case the two casualties are Sir John and his Filipino nurse. It was the nurse who called 999, from inside the house, Blackdown Manor.'
He reached into a pocket for his notebook, and glanced at it before continuing.
'The call was logged at 1.31am this morning. The 999 operator reported that the woman, who gave her name as Sophia Santos, sounded anxious but in control. Her English was not perfect, but good enough not to be a problem.
'She indicated that she was with her employer, Sir John, in his bedroom, and that they had both smelt smoke. The operator asked if Sophia thought they could safely leave the house, and the nurse replied that Sir John was unwell, and that she believed it would be safer to stay in the bedroom which had a fire door. She also said she had spoken to someone called George, whom she described as Sir John's driver, and that he had said they should stay where they were and he would come to assist them. The operator had begun to ask other questions when Sophia apparently ended the call, in spite of the operator's request for her to stay on the line, saying that her employer needed her. Repeated attempts by the 999 operator to call her back failed.
'Then, at 2.05 a.m., Sophia called again. By then she was panicking. The operator tried to calm her down and told her that firefighters had arrived at Blackdown Manor, and she was sure they would soon get to her and her employer.
'The nurse then said they might be too late, and that the police were also needed because there were armed intruders on the property. "Bad men with guns", were her exact words apparently. The operator asked how she knew that, if she had seen these "bad men", and the nurse replied that she hadn't seen them, that George had told her. She also said she was afraid that these men intended to kill Sir John and her too. The operator asked if this George was now with her and Sir John, and she replied that he hadn't been able to get through yet, he too was afraid of the men with guns, and she'd only been able to talk to him on the phone. The operator then asked if she could speak to Sir John. The nurse replied that her employer's speech wasn't good, and he no longer used a phone.'
Vogel put his notebook down and turned towards Saslow.
'Apparently, this time the 999 operator managed to keep Sophia on the line for about four minutes, reassuring the nurse about the arrival of the emergency services and so on, until she heard a loud bang down the phone line and Sophia began to scream uncontrollably. The operator tried to calm her and find out what had happened, but Sophia just carried on screaming until the line went dead.'
Vogel closed his notebook and put it back in his pocket. For a moment there was silence in the car. Neither Saslow nor Vogel had any words.
Saslow spoke first. 'Jesus boss, seems like that 999 operator heard that poor woman dying.'
'Yes, I think she probably did, Saslow,' said Vogel quietly.
'That's just so terrible,' said Saslow. 'I wonder how often that happens, boss?'
'In the age we live in, where almost everyone has a mobile phone, I suspect it's not that unusual.'
'I wouldn't like that job, boss,' commented Saslow.
'No, at least we're not always totally helpless in the face of death and destruction, eh Saslow?'
Saslow glanced sideways at her senior officer. He did have a disconcerting turn of phrase at times. She decided to take him at face value and made no comment.
'And that was the last call from anyone in the house,' Vogel continued. 'As might be expected. All further attempts to regain contact failed.'
There was another short silence, interrupted again by Saslow.
'But I presume the reason we are on our way there is because of the armed intruders, not the fire.'
'Well, yes. That's the primary reason, at this stage. If there ever were any armed intruders, of course.'
Saslow frowned.
'So that's why you said we might be on a wild goose chase, is it, boss? You don't really believe there were armed men at Blackdown Manor, is that it?'
'Well, not any longer, that's for sure,' Vogel muttered. 'Of course, once the 999 operator was told there were people with guns on the premises she reported it immediately, and the fire boys were held back until armed response got there. They couldn't get their engines through anyway because there was a bloody great fallen tree blocking the drive leading to the house, and they had to call USAR out. I don't know the exact timing yet, but I understand it was gone four a.m., almost three hours after the first 999 call, before armed response declared the area clear. Only then were the emergency services allowed through. They couldn't get into the house, of course, but, largely because of the explosion, the fire had taken hold so quickly that the place was already pretty damn near burned down and it was accepted that nobody inside, victim or intruder, could have survived. Since then, Saslow, half the available firefighters and appliances in the area have been trampling all over the place fighting the blaze. If there ever were any armed intruders, they are either well gone or well dead.'
'Right, but you said primary reason, boss. It's not usual procedure for MCIT be called out of Bristol for a house fire, even when there are fatalities, is it?'
'No, Saslow. Unless the fire was started deliberately, of course.'
'And do we believe that is what happened in this case?'
'I've not been told that. Not yet, anyway. There is another reason, though.'
'Is there, sir?'
'Think about it, Saslow. Sir John Fairbrother. Friends with the county set, and every darned bigwig in the west of England. This whole thing already stinks of something, though God knows what. Tales of a gang of armed men tramping through the Blackdown Hills in the middle of the night? I mean, for God's sake. We're in the heart of twenty-first-century rural Somerset, not Al Capone's Chicago. The nurse could well have been off her trolley. Or maybe Fairbrother himself. But the chief constable wants nothing left to chance. I'd say they were in the same flippin' lodge, but I think Sir John may have been above and beyond that sort of thing.'
'Really, sir?'
Vogel could not fail to detect the note of interest in the DC's voice.
'I didn't say that, Saslow,' he told her.
Vogel disliked Freemasonry. And he particularly disliked even the idea of senior police officers being Masons. Not so many as had once undoubtedly been the case, but he suspected there remained far more police Masons than might actually admit it. He thought it unhealthy for police officers to be members of a secret society known to protect its own regardless. And he saw no place for Masonry, its funny handshakes and its clandestine medieval rituals, within a modern police service. But neither did he have a scrap of proof that his own chief constable was a Mason. He was merely repeating a rumour, and he should know better.
'Of course not, sir,' said Saslow, with only the merest hint of a smile.
The drive to Blackdown Manor took just over an hour and a quarter. Two uniforms were on sentry duty. Vogel flashed his warrant card, and he and Saslow were ushered past. Both officers let out an involuntary gasp as Saslow steered their vehicle through the big iron gates and on to the drive. She drove slowly past the fallen tree that had been cleared to one side by USAR, and Vogel was sure she was as transfixed by the sight which lay before them as he was. Neither Vogel nor Saslow had ever seen the house before the fire. But the horror of what had happened was starkly apparent. The building had been almost totally destroyed. The roof was entirely gone. Only a few sections of wall still stood, in ragged defiance, silhouetted against the morning sky. There were no longer any visible flames, but the building was clearly still burning. Smoke continued to drift above the ruins, creating a haze over the entire scene ahead. Several fire appliances were still in action, pouring huge arcs of gushing water onto the remains of the old house. Vogel counted at least five in attendance. And he could see two ambulances standing by. He did not think there was going to be much call for the attentions of any of the medics who had been summoned to the scene. As he had already told Saslow, it was not believed possible for there to be any survivors of the terrible fire which had engulfed the old manor house. But saying it, and seeing it, were two different things. Vogel felt a cold shiver run up and down his spine. His chosen career demanded frequent, and all too close, confrontation with death and destruction. He would never get used to it, not for as long as he lived.
He fleetingly reflected on the other consequences of the fire, in addition to the loss of human life. Vogel loved dogs. He wondered if there had been any dogs in the house, or any other animals, cats perhaps, and whether or not they had managed to escape, or if they too had suffered the unspeakable horror of burning to death. Vogel also had a love of beautiful things. He wondered what treasures might have been lost that night in the old house, which had apparently been in the Fairbrother family for centuries. Almost certainly there would have been irreplaceable antique furniture, fine paintings and other works of art, that had been handed down from generation to generation.
Saslow drove as near as she was allowed to the burned down house. The ambulances, one of the fire appliances, and a smattering of other less immediately identifiable vehicles, effectively blocked the latter part of the driveway. The two officers still had to walk a hundred yards or so over a lawn turned into a bog by the earlier rain and the attentions of the fire service, which had doubtless already pumped thousands of gallons of water onto the house and the area immediately surrounding it.
Vogel picked his way carefully, his feet inadequately clad as usual. Saslow, wearing suitably protective clothing and footwear, of course, was striding ahead. Vogel found himself having to hurry to keep up with her.
The fire, although still burning, seemed to be just about under control. But, close up, the destruction of the old house appeared even more devastating. Glassless windows, in those portions of wall which remained precariously upright, revealed nothing behind, as if the mighty old house were a flimsy film set.
Vogel had been told that a detective constable from Taunton and a local police community support officer were already in attendance, in addition to the uniforms by the gate. He could see no sign of an armed response team, and assumed they had probably left having declared the scene clear.
Vogel looked around for whoever might be the senior fire officer.
'Where's your gaffer?' asked Vogel of the nearest firefighter.
'That's him,' replied the firefighter, pointing towards a tall man, wearing the distinctive white helmet of a Fire and Rescue Service station manager, standing a little apart, staring at the ruins of the old house.
'Hey, Bob,' he called out. 'You're wanted.'
Bob Parsons turned at once and walked over.
Vogel introduced himself and Saslow.
'I understand there are at least two dead, is that right?' Vogel asked.
'Must be, from what we've been told,' replied Parsons. 'The woman who called in the fire, and her employer, Sir John Fairbrother. Both trapped in his bedroom, we understand. But we've no way of telling for sure, obviously, and won't for some time.'
He waved an arm at the still burning house.
'Twenty-four hours at least before even my men will stand a chance of getting in there,' he continued. 'There's also talk of the possibility of armed intruders having been trapped inside. But I expect you know that?'
Vogel nodded his assent.
'How long after the first call to the emergency services did you guys arrive here?' asked Vogel.
'We were here within just over half an hour. We're based in Wellington, pretty close and we weren't out on another call. So we came straight away. Only problem was, we couldn't get our vehicle through because of the fallen tree across the drive. Then, after the second 999 call, we were told to stand down as there might be armed intruders on the premises. In any case, by then there'd been that huge explosion ...'
Bob Parsons stopped abruptly, turning away slightly to stare at the remains of the old house again. Vogel prompted him to continue.
'So what actually happened? What did you see?'
'Well, when we arrived the house was barely ablaze. We could see smoke, but that was all. We'd been told that Sir John and his nurse were still inside, and, from what we could see, we couldn't work out why they didn't just walk out, when they had the chance. We didn't know at that stage about the possibility of armed intruders, of course. My lads are used to danger, but they're not trained to face guns. And they'd have told me and headquarters where to go if they'd been asked to. But as it was, well, we decided to go ahead on foot, to at least see if we could get the people we'd been told were inside to safety. We were lugging our portable pump over the tree trunk when the whole shooting match went up. One minute barely any sign of a fire, then this huge explosion and an eruption of flames. Almost certainly a BLEVY. And quite a sight I can tell you —'
