‘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 1.31 a.m. 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.