The walls, the roof, every joint and joist were covered with photos of fire. The floor and every available surface were piled high with boxes overflowing with clippings, while the rickety shelves erected on two of the walls groaned with first-hand accounts of history’s deadliest blazes. The whole room felt like a brain bursting with one man’s obsession. A dark, secret place where he could revel in his private passion.
Helen immediately wondered how long Ford had been living alone in this house. His mother had passed away a few years back, though exactly how long ago she wasn’t sure. Did all this start then? Had he kept it buried inside while she was alive, only to give in to his obsession once there was no one to rein him in? Had his loneliness, his isolation, contributed to the feelings that had pushed him over the edge?
Ford was now in custody at Southampton Central. He’d been passed fit for questioning by their medics, but Helen had decided to let him stew for a while yet. She wanted him to feel the confines of the holding cell, to witness the whispered comments of the screws – she wanted his fear and paranoia to grow. It wasn’t a pleasant way to treat someone, but it often worked. A brief taste of incarceration – and the promise of more to come if convicted – often prompted suspects to confess quickly in the hope of making a deal.
There was another reason Helen wanted to buy some time. His attic was a veritable treasure trove of evidence and she wanted to be fully armed when she sat down opposite Ford. She would never forgive herself if he managed to wriggle off the hook because of a procedural error or some omission in the narrative she presented. It was obvious that some of the photos on the wall were of the fires in Millbrook, Bevois Mount and elsewhere. No doubt the dozens of mini-cam tapes now being bagged by Meredith and her officers would yield similar evidence of an unhealthy interest in these terrible attacks. Everywhere you looked you saw recent events reflected back at you – Helen had only been here an hour but already her unusual surroundings were starting to affect her, seeming to suggest that the world was made of fire and fire alone.
There was one thing that was missing, however, and that was any imprint of Ford himself. No photos, no possessions, no sign of him. It was as if his whole identity had been subsumed by a greater master.
‘Any personal mementoes? Any family snaps? Passing-out parades?’ Helen asked.
‘Only this,’ Meredith replied, scooping an evidence bag from the floor and passing it to her. ‘Found it down the back of a chest of drawers.’
It was a clipping for the local paper showing a fire crew visiting a school. Two officers were featured in the large photo, surrounded by adoring, curious kids. One of them was a female officer whom Helen didn’t recognize. The other one, as the caption beneath confirmed, was Richard Ford.
Helen froze as she looked at the picture. She hadn’t really taken Ford in properly when arresting him. She was more concerned with Charlie’s well-being and had passed the shell-shocked Ford on to her colleagues quickly. But there could be no doubt about it now – she had met Ford before.
Helen was still processing this development when her phone buzzed loudly. Her mind was elsewhere, but somehow she knew exactly who it would be.
Jonathan Gardam.
66
Helen threw her coat and scarf down on the chair and turned to face her boss, who reclined on the sofa in her office.
‘DS Sanderson’s waiting for me in the interview suite, so I’m going to have to be relatively brief, I’m afraid.’
Gardam either missed or ignored the note of irritation in Helen’s voice. When he replied it was in an open and friendly manner.
‘Of course. Questioning Ford has to be our top priority. How sure are you that he’s our man?’
‘Pretty sure,’ Helen replied, without elaborating further.
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s in love with fire. Because he’d know what to do. Because he was there. I think these fires have been fuelling his fantasies.’
Gardam nodded.
‘Do you think he’ll talk to you?’
‘Doubt it, but you never know how people will react under interview. Thanks to Meredith we’ve got a lot of evidence to lay before him and his lawyer.’
‘You heard about that. The Fire Service have paid for the best, so expect a rough ride.’
‘I can handle myself. I’ve done a few rounds with Ms Shapiro before now.’
‘I dare say you have,’ Gardam answered, once more breaking out into a broad smile. ‘Well, let me know how you get on. If she is being deliberately obstructive, I can have another word with Latham. Though the gloves might come off a bit now that we’ve got one of theirs in custody. Do the press know about it?’
‘Garanita was there ten minutes after we were.’
Gardam nodded as if he weren’t in the least bit surprised, then made to leave:
‘Let me know what you get out of him.’
‘Before you go, sir…’
Gardam stopped and, turning, walked back towards Helen. They were separated now only by the battered desk which Helen had come to know well over the last few years.
‘May I speak freely?’
‘Of course, Helen, say whatever you want,’ Gardam replied, a cloud of concern creasing his features now.
‘Well, you seem to be rather… present at the moment. And I was wondering why that was.’
‘Present?’
‘You’re on my shoulder, sir. If you have any concerns about my work, then I’d rather you were up front about it -’
‘Of course not. You know I have a high opinion of you. This is a tricky case, but we’re making progress, so…’
He petered out and the pair of them stood there, framed by Helen’s drab office. Gardam was looking at Helen quizzically as if trying to fathom her, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘Is it something else then?’ Helen found herself saying.
‘I don’t follow…’
‘Well, I mean that you seem to be very interested in my personal life – my relationship status and so on – and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to infer from that…’
There was a brief silence, then Gardam half laughed as the import of Helen’s words dawned on him.
‘You think I’m attracted to you?’ he said. ‘Dear God, Helen, is that what’s been worrying you? I’m a happily married man and, believe me, I wouldn’t betray Sarah for all the tea in China.’
‘Right,’ said Helen, trying to stem the colour that was fast rising to her face.
‘I’m sure you’re a lovely person, Helen, but it would be grossly unprofessional of me to think of you in that light and I can assure you that I don’t. The only reason I have been so… present… is because I’m trying to be supportive. This is a big case for you, for the team, and it’s my first major investigation as station chief, so…’
‘Enough said,’ Helen replied. ‘I’m sorry I raised it.’
‘That’s quite all right. You must never feel concerned about being open and honest with me. Trust is a two-way street, Helen.’
‘Of course. I’ll endeavour to remember that,’ Helen said quickly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better…’
Helen didn’t wait to be dismissed, marching from her office and across the incident room as fast as she could. She just wanted to be away. She had embarrassed herself in front of her new boss, looking like a foolish schoolgirl in the process. But she had to put that behind her and gather herself. The investigation now stood at a vital crossroads and she had important work to do.
Richard Ford was waiting for her.