Хилари Боннер - Wheel of Fire

Further inquiries into the military careers of both Kivel and Fairbrother revealed that, whilst stationed in Germany, Kivel had been suspected of killing a taxi driver during an argument over the fare following a drunken night out. Fairbrother had given Kivel an alibi, which the military police had been obliged to accept even though they’d believed it to be false. Fairbrother had saved Kivel’s life, in a way, but only in facilitating him to continue to live in freedom. And, as Vogel had half guessed following the brief exchange between the two men which he had witnessed at Bristol airport, it seemed that Fairbrother’s hold over Kivel might have been down as much to a kind of blackmail as comradely love and loyalty.

The response of airport police and the apparent lack of communication at Bristol Airport on the night Kivel took his own life there and the two Fairbrother’s were arrested, was the subject of a Civil Aviation Authority Inquiry.

Janice Grey was charged with conspiracy to commit arson. She steadfastly maintained that, whilst she now realised that her husband must have been hired by the real Sir John and been fully aware of the whole intrigue, she’d had no idea that the man she had cared for to the best of her ability had been an imposter. And that whilst she had been aware of the plan for George to set fire to Blackdown Manor, she’d believed, as she thought George had too, that this was merely in order to obtain insurance money, and that there had been no intention to harm anyone. Except, of course, George! Vogel thought the woman was probably telling the truth, also that George had been ultimately little more than a scapegoat, and that it had almost certainly been Jack Kivel who had tampered with the gas tank and caused the explosion at the manor. But this was now unlikely ever to be known for sure.

Nobby Clarke pulled all the strings she could in the Met and at the Palace of Westminster in order to bring some sort of retribution against Sheik Abdul. It was of course a lost cause. The sheik’s lawyers asserted that his private jet had been made ready at Bristol Airport to transport a very important passenger who could not be named for diplomatic reasons. When this VIP had failed to turn up it had returned empty to the Middle East.

Sophia Santos’ remains were flown back to her distraught family in the Philippines, where she would be buried with due Catholic honours. Vogel hated it when foreign nationals died violent deaths on British soil. He always considered that the British forces of law and order, if not the whole country, had let them down.

Another innocent victim of the whole debacle was Bella Fairbrother’s fourteen-year-old daughter Kim. Victim support and social services were involved in assisting the understandably devastated girl. But it transpired that Kim had for a couple of years, and unbeknown to her mother, been seeing the father who had played no part in her upbringing. Sean Reardon had been her mother’s fitness instructor when he and Bella had had a brief affair. It seemed there’d been no question of Bella wanting him in either her or her daughter’s lives. But Reardon had been delighted to later have the chance to get to know Kim, and upon learning of her mother’s death and all the horrors surrounding it, had promptly offered the girl a home.

Vogel asked Nobby to launch a major inquiry in London to try to discover the identity of the man Sir John Fairbrother had so cynically plucked from the streets of the city in order to take his place. Johnny Two was eventually identified as Roland North, originally from Chelmsford, Essex, who had ended up on the streets following a series of broken relationships and an inability to hold down any sort of employment, possibly due to a drink problem. It turned out that he had a son, Wayne, who spoke with rather a distinctive accent which Vogel believed was known as estuary English, a blend of Cockney and Essex. It seemed likely that Wayne’s father had probably had much the same accent, and been advised to talk as little as possible, blaming the ravages of Parkinson’s for his poor speech. Wayne had apparently over the years made a number of attempts, albeit ineffectual, to find his errant father, and at least wanted to give Roland North, or what remained of him, a proper funeral. This was duly arranged in Sampford Arundel Church, not far from the manor house which had been home to Roland for the last months of his life. The only home he’d had in years.

Janice Grey, on bail, asked if she could attend. Vogel, Nobby, Ted Dawson and Saslow also attended. Tom Withey, not totally able to fight back a tear or two, and Bob Parsons were there, representing Wellington Fire Service. A small wake was held at the Blue Ball. Fiona, the landlady, provided some complimentary food. Nobby bought the first round of drinks.

Vogel offered to join in. Nobby glanced scathingly at his ginger ale, the DI’s favourite tipple.

‘Never, ever, will I let you near a bar,’ she said. ‘We could all end up drinking that stuff.’

‘It might do you good, boss,’ said Vogel.

‘When I want you to tell me what will do me good, Vogel, I’ll let you know,’ said Nobby, downing her usual double malt in one.

Vogel grinned.

‘Decent of you to come, boss,’ he said quietly.

‘Poor sod,’ commented Nobby Clarke. ‘He had a bloody awful life and a bloody awful death.’

‘Yes, well, at least we’ve got that bastard Fairbrother banged up where he belongs.’

‘On remand, Vogel. He’s not been convicted yet.’

‘If this one walks, I shall personally burn down the court he stands trial in,’ said Vogel.

‘Fighting talk, DI Vogel.’

Vogel grunted.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll provide the petrol,’ said Nobby.