Brotherhood Read online

  “I’m not getting any younger. I want to have a few kids and still enjoy life after they’ve left home.”

  “A few. Have you discussed this with Louisa?”

  Byron’s laugh rumbled across the bar. “It was her idea to have another one now.” He grinned at the thought of their second child. “Both Louisa and I come from big families and we don’t want Lilly to grow up without brothers and sisters.”

  “Doesn’t always work out though.” Glen studied him in the mirror behind the bar.

  Thoughts of his siblings made Byron pause. “It’s up to us to make sure it does.”

  “So you reckon it’s your mum and dad’s fault? This thing with Samuel—”

  “You know nothing about it.”

  “What I do know is my dad regretted not talking to his brother until it was too late. Like I told you, you should get in touch. You’ll only—”

  “Leave it, mate.” Byron’s good mood evaporated.

  “It’s not just you now. Lilly’s got cousins, she has a right—”

  “I said, leave it.”

  People each side of them edged away.

  “Okay, okay.” Glen took a step back and held up his hands. “Let’s not fall out.”

  Byron’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar returned his frown. “Sorry, mate, we’re supposed to be celebrating. Let’s get these back or the girls will wonder where we are.” Maybe he could try to build bridges with Samuel next year before the millennium ended. Although whether his brother, or his wife, would be open to an overture was another matter.

  They left the bar, clutching their drinks, and Byron spoke over his shoulder. “How about you two? You’d make a great dad and neither of you are getting any younger.”

  “I’ll tell Imogen you’ve noticed her wrinkles.”

  Byron nudged him in the ribs and they both laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Imogen demanded, smiling and taking her drink.

  Byron grew hot. “Nothing. Just messing around.”

  The loud click from the speaker above the hatch into the kitchen announced another fire-call and Firefighter Adam Stirling groaned with frustration. He wanted to be busy, but this was the fourteenth shout of the night and he still hadn’t finished the evening meal he’d started six hours earlier. He wolfed down another mouthful of chilli, now a congealed mess following several trips to the hotplate and rushed to the engine house as the piercing notes of the siren faded away. The others waited on the first pump.

  “Come on, slowcoach,” Station Officer Reid said.

  “Sorry, Boss. I had to have food, I’m bloody starving.”

  “Gannet,” Mal observed, to laughter.

  The pump lurched out of the engine house and Adam stepped into his boots before pulling up his leggings. The vehicle raced round the first corner and Adam braced himself, glancing across at Mal, his partner for the night. With over twenty years’ service, Mal was ‘senior man’ and the team leader. Adam noticed he’d already dressed and was struggling into the straps of his breathing apparatus set.

  “You’d better hurry, Adam. It’s just around the corner.”

  A rush of adrenaline energised Adam and, thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his tunic, he fastened the zip. The two pumps made their way through deserted streets, and blue lights reflected from windows as they glided past. The brakes hissed and the pump came to a stop. Eager to see what awaited, Adam slid across the bench seat and followed Mal out onto the pavement, the heavy cylinder on his back making him clumsy. Just behind them, thick black smoke poured out of an opening above the front door of a terraced house. A mixture of excitement and apprehension made Adam’s pulse race.

  “Okay, lads. Go under air. Mike, check round the back. Pete, get the sledgehammer,” Station Officer Reid said, his voice calm.

  Adam started up his set and the comforting flow of cool air passed over his cheeks. He pulled the head-straps tight and took a deep breath before putting on his helmet and following Mal along the line of hose which had sprouted across the pavement. Mal reached the end and picked up the branch plugged into it, releasing a blast of water into the gutter. Adam seized the tail of hose and concentrated on trailing Mal. The voices and sounds of the pumps merged into the background. The splintered remains of the door lay beside the front steps and Mal crouched in the doorway.

  Behind Adam, Reed hovered, trying to see past his men. “Check for missing floorboards, Adam, and look out for needles. These houses are popular with junkies. Find the electrics and knock them off.”

  Adam listened to these instructions, his mind on what awaited them, and he ran through what he’d learned in the last three years and countless hours of training. Mal blasted the ceiling ahead of them and a shower of debris fell. When this stopped, he led Adam into the house. Thick, viscous smoke engulfed them when they stepped through the front door, absorbing the beams of their lamps. Adam kept low, but within seconds heat infiltrated his flash-hood, forcing him lower. Dragging the hose he followed Mal into the smoke. Mal blasted the fire and the hose jerked in Adam’s hands, like a serpent coughing. The water hit the flames, generating clouds of steam which enveloped the two men. Intense heat penetrated Adam’s clothing and sweat poured off him. He panted, using up precious air.

  Adam went even lower, trying to burrow into the floor, searching for the cooler atmosphere. He ignored the lumps of debris jabbing him through his leggings and crawled into the house. The sounds of another team came from behind, and their shuffling steps on wooden treads told him they were going upstairs. He found it hot enough downstairs. It would be worse for them, fighting their way through the layers of heat.

  Mal grabbed his shoulder. “The main fire’s in the back room. Do you want to take it?” he said, his voice muffled by the facemask.

  He thrust the branch into Adam’s hands and moved aside to let him pass. Adam tucked the hose under his arm and Mal dropped in behind him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Flame showed under the smoke and leaning forward, Adam fired off a blast of water. More steam enveloped him and he could see nothing. Then it cleared and the flames returned, smaller and less bright.

  He advanced and sprayed them again. Mal disappeared, giving Adam a moment’s anxiety until sounds of his colleague searching the adjacent room reassured him. He crouched in the doorway and blasted the ceiling of the room beyond until bits of it stopped falling.

  Mal returned. “Let’s go in.”

  Adam moved into the room attacking the flames each side of the doorway. They died as he hit them and the heat reduced. Centimetres at a time, they advanced, knocking down the fire.

  “Hole in the floor on our left, Adam.”

  Prompted by the call, he checked each step but soon reached the far wall. A scan of the room confirmed he’d extinguished the fire.

  “Give me a hand here?” Mal’s voice came from his left and leaving the hose, Adam shuffled across to join him. “Window’s got a security grille.” Mal gripped Adam’s sleeve and directed his hand to a smooth piece of metal. “This end feels loose at the top. You’re taller, can you knock it out?”

  He hit it with the heel of his hands until the end popped out, creating an opening at the edge of the board. Adam pushed the panel, widening the gap. Smoke and steam rushed out of the top of the opening and cool clean air replaced it. After more pushing, another anchor point gave way and working together, they removed the metal plate, leaving a wide hole. The air cleared and Adam’s torch illuminated the back room. Broken kitchen cabinets lined two walls and, in the gap for a cooker, stood a wheelie bin.

  “We’ll use the bin to put the crap in,” Mal said, then the radio on his set crackled.

  “Station Officer, come in.” The sub officer’s urgent tone made Adam pause.

  “Go ahead, Mike.”

  “Geoff, we have persons reported.”

  The news sent a jolt through Adam. Although he knew they should treat every building as if it might contain casualties, he hadn’t seriously thought they’d find s
omeone in here.

  “Say again, Mike?”

  “Persons reported, Geoff. There’s two casualties next door. First floor, back room.”

  “Roger, Mike. Two persons involved. Do you need help getting them out?”

  “We’re leaving them in situ,” Mike said.

  Adam paused for a moment, knowing what that meant, and said a quick prayer.

  “Roger, I’ll let the coppers know,” Reed said. “Mal, how are you doing?”

  “The fire’s out on the ground floor.” Mal picked up the hose and blasted a pile of smouldering debris with water.

  Thin wisps of steam and smoke floated in the air. Adam shone his torch at the smoke-blackened wheelie bin. Heat had disfigured the top half. He grabbed the half-melted handle, but the bin resisted, its soft wheels stuck to the lino. He got a better grip and jerked, but it fell forward, disgorging its contents onto the floor.

  Adam studied the dark pile for a few moments before prodding what appeared to be a bag of rubbish with the toe of his boot. He froze when he realised what he’d disturbed. Scenes from a village in Kuwait flashed into his mind.

  He straightened. “Mal, come over here.”

  Mal strode over and saw the dead body illuminated by Adam’s lamp. “You all right, Adam?”

  Adam nodded and Mal reached for his radio.

  Detective Chief Inspector Siobhan Quinn finished the can of Red Bull and wrinkled her nose. She’d have much preferred a coffee, but even if she’d found the espresso machine amongst the boxes in her new flat, it would have taken too long. She shivered, coveting the warmth of her bed as the wind hurled rain at her kitchen window. The smell of fresh paint from the work she’d done last night mingled with the pungent odour of the drink.

  She read the address again and located it in her new street atlas. She’d spent her first few days driving around Manchester getting to know her new patch and had a rough idea of the way. Satisfied she could find it, she put the empty can in the bin and strode into the hallway. At the cheap mirror hanging behind the front door, she checked her reflection and, satisfied she’d pass muster, set off.

  Twenty minutes later she drove down yet another narrow terraced street. She’d already pulled over once to get her bearings but could see nobody around to ask. A blue light flickered in the gloom and giving thanks, she accelerated towards it. Two fire engines took up half the street and beyond them several police vehicles and a car she recognised as Eddy Arkwright’s from the three child seats crammed into the rear. She’d only met him twice, but the sergeant seemed competent.

  She parked past his car, grateful the rain had eased, and put on her ‘incident kit’: disposable overalls, waterproof boots and nitrile gloves. The firefighters moved around their fire engines, stowing their gear, and a couple paused to study her. A constable with a clipboard guarded a house with smoke-stained brickwork above the openings.

  “DCI Quinn,” she said, flashing her ID card and stepped in through the gaping doorframe. A wave of humid heat hit her. Metal plates on the floor denoted the path, keeping feet out of the charred slurry and preserving evidence. A string of lights illuminated the corridor.

  Siobhan paused in the doorway leading to the fire-blackened room. The smell reminded her of the peat fires at her grandmother’s. Overlaying this, the sweet acrid stench of burnt plastic and something else she didn’t want to think about. Powerful floodlights filled the centre of the space with harsh light, leaving the sides in shadow. Wisps of steam rose from the charred floor timbers.

  The lighting focussed on the bin and the body spilling out of it. Besides anger that someone had done this to a fellow human, she felt the stirrings of the excitement she always experienced at the start of a big case.

  A detailed video and many photos would preserve images of the scene, but she wanted to see the victim in situ. A figure on the other side of the room, like her dressed in disposable coveralls, switched off his torch and straightened. She recognised the distinctive outline of her sergeant.

  “Morning, ma’am.” His voice, gruff and low, matched his appearance.

  “Morning, Eddy, and as I told you on Friday, I’m not the Queen.” She smiled at him. “Boss or Guv will do.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Both wore coveralls but the similarities ended there. At six foot three, Eddy Arkwright towered over her. His build attested to his former pastime as a rugby league prop forward. She’d heard how a serious knee injury had ended his playing days and almost cost him his police career. At thirty-two, he’d filled out, and the coverall strained to contain him. A broken nose and cropped brown hair gave him an intimidating air.

  In contrast, she stood at five foot four and a bit, and doubted she weighed half what he did. The coverall she wore bulged with excess material. Eddy switched his torch back on and she leant forward to examine the body. Even though she expected it, the sight made her throat burn. He looked the same age Declan would have been. Come on Siobhan, this is not your brother. To catch the perpetrator, she needed to stay detached. She must see the ruined flesh as evidence, a means of trapping the killer, not the remains of a young man.

  She swallowed before asking, “Do we know what happened?”

  “Fire brigade found him; I think it’s a him, unless it’s a very ugly woman.” Eddy’s grin died under the withering look she gave him and his cheeks reddened as he continued. “They got the call at 04.17 from a taxi driver. One of the lads is getting his statement. They got here at 04.21 and broke in through the front door.”

  “What about the back?”

  “That had a security grille on it.” He flashed the torch beam at it. “The firemen ripped it off afterwards, to let the smoke out.”

  “Has anyone taken prints off it?”

  “No, Boss.”

  “Get it done please, both sides,” she said.

  “They found the body at 04.43 and—”

  “How come they took twenty minutes to find him? It’s not a big house.”

  “I’m not sure, Boss.” She signalled for him to continue. “Like I said, they found the body and let our guys know. A patrol car was already here. The station officer assures me, apart from moving the bin when they discovered the body, everything else is as they found it.”

  She looked around the walls, noting many black scuff marks at floor level, and sooty glove-prints higher up.

  “I’m sure,” she murmured.

  He ignored her comment and continued, “They found the two upstairs earlier, at 04.41.”

  She straightened and flexed her knees.

  “They can take him away once SOCO are happy. I’ll speak to the fire officer.”

  She left Eddy to carry out her instructions and returned to the front door, her mind racing through the steps needed to get the investigation up to speed. This was her first working day in a new force, and she knew she would have to rely on Eddy’s local knowledge in the early stages. She dismissed the churning in her stomach. One of her reasons for transferring was to work cases like this.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Big Man in military fatigues filled the front passenger seat of the battered Toyota Land Cruiser. Behind him, six others, far younger, sat in silence as they contemplated the action to come. Each of the following vehicles carried a full complement of passengers.

  When the mismatched convoy set off, just before dawn, excitement had gripped the occupants. Young and fit, they were eager to put their training to use. Four hours travelling in the dusty heat, and the realisation some of them may not return had dampened their enthusiasm.

  The Big Man checked the time. They should be there within the hour. He studied his fellow passengers who became aware of his scrutiny and squared their shoulders, putting on determined expressions. A veteran of many such expeditions, he knew they would be ready when the time came.

  The night air infiltrated Adam’s tunic and the cooling sweat saturating his t-shirt made him shiver. They had finished stowing equipment on their vehicles and he wanted to return to the
station to have a shower, or at least change into clean dry clothes. He sipped from the mug of sweet tea their driver had somehow rustled up.

  “These your first fatalities, Simon?” Reed asked the probationer, detached in for the night from one of the quieter stations in the division.

  Even newer than Adam, he still had his red spot, meaning he couldn’t wear breathing apparatus into fires. Already shell-shocked by how busy they’d been, he’d become even more subdued on discovering the bodies of two drug addicts overcome by smoke in the neighbouring house.

  Simon nodded.

  “What about you, Adam?”

  Adam had seen more dead bodies than he cared to remember. “We had those two in the RTA just after Easter, Boss.”

  “But yours was a nasty one. Are you okay?” Concern infused Reed’s voice.

  “I’m fine, Boss.”

  “I bet you’ve seen much worse,” Mal said.

  Yes, but a few years ago, and in what Adam regarded as a different life. The sight of the carnage in so unexpected a setting, a house much like his own, had shaken him. He saw movement in the doorway to the house and a figure dressed in protective coveralls came out. Either a copper or one of their technicians.

  Her gaze lingered on him for a second. Slim and petite, with big green eyes and strawberry-blond hair, she looked delicate. She unrolled her purple rubber gloves, shivered and strode up to the station officer. Up close Adam noticed the small scar above her right cheek.

  “Station Officer?” she said.

  He held out his hand. “Station Officer Reed. Geoff.”

  “Detective Chief Inspector Quinn. Siobhan.” A Yorkshire burr overlaid a soft Irish accent.

  Adam elbowed Mal out of the way and picked up a mug from the tray in the pump bay. “Do you want a brew?” He held out a steaming mug of tea.

  “Thank you.” She returned his smile.

  Adam’s stomach fluttered. “They’ve all got sugar I’m afraid.”

  “That’s okay, thanks … er …?”