Barry Maitland: Dark Mirror

‘Aw, I thought they’d have a few sparklers going, at least.’

Mr Pigeon bustled out in answer to their ding on the counter bell. He looked as if they’d caught him in the middle of a crisis, and he spoke quickly, the glow of perspiration on his bald head. He barely glanced at their ID. ‘We’ve got a lot on this month, and several big productions next weekend.’

‘Really? I thought it’d be a quiet time for you-away from November the fifth, I mean.’

‘Oh no!’ Mr Pigeon chuckled at her ignorance. ‘It’s not just Guy Fawkes night for us, you know. We’re doing functions all the year round-weddings, public events, garden parties, funerals, celebrations of all kinds.’ He handed Kathy several brochures from the desk.

‘Funerals?’

‘Oh indeed. What better way to go than in a blaze of glory in the night sky above your assembled friends.’

‘You mean you pack their ashes into…?’

‘Rockets, Roman candles, giant catherine-wheels. Some want lots of whizzes and bangs, and others prefer a quieter, more contemplative presentation.’

‘I didn’t know that. And you manufacture these special fireworks to order?’

‘That’s right. Our run-of-the-mill stuff all comes from China now. Well, that’s the way of things these days, isn’t it? The great days of British fireworks are past, I’m afraid-Brock’s, Phoenix, Britannia. You have to specialise now.’

‘Did you say Brock’s? My boss’s name is Brock.’

‘Really? Well, maybe he’s related to the fireworks family. Theirs was the oldest fireworks company in Britain. They dazzled Queen Victoria at the Crystal Palace.’

‘But now you specialise?’

‘Quite. We have our own design studio, our own laboratory for devising precisely the right mixtures, and our own specialty fabrication workshop. It’s all top quality, and highly secure, believe me. We’ve had Special Branch, MI5, you name it-and Workplace Health and Safety, of course, all the time. They’ve picked this place apart. Well, it’s only to be expected nowadays. When I was a boy I could pop down to my local chemist and buy concentrated acids, fuse wire, any kind of chemical compound I wanted. Why, when I was a lad, the sight of a schoolboy marching down the street carrying a. 303 wouldn’t raise a murmur, unless he had long hair-then, outrage! But now, the slightest hint of anything that goes bang…’

‘Yes. Actually we’re taking a different line. It’s not the things that go bang we’re interested in, Mr Pigeon. It’s more the things that make you sick-poisons. Do you carry any of them?’

‘Poisons? Oh, well.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, of course we do. Acids, phosphorus compounds, copper salts…’

‘Arsenic?’

‘Yes, we have that too. But all those chemicals are subject to the same security procedures as the explosives. I mean, short of a full-blown assault on the place, there’s no way anyone could get at our stocks of either raw materials or finished product. I told you, your people have been over the place with a fine-tooth comb. If you like I can show you the protocols, the security cameras, the locks and alarms, the inventory audits…’

He took them into his office and offered them the reports prepared by security consultants, compliance certificates from the local authority, fire brigade and health and safety inspectors. ‘Your counter-terrorism officers didn’t give me any documentation as such, but I can tell you who was here and when. You can easily check with them for yourself.’

‘Where do your chemicals come from?’

‘All over. Mostly locally, in the south of England, some from up north, some from overseas. But all carefully tracked and accounted for.’

‘Thanks,’ Kathy said. ‘It sounds as if we’re wasting your time.’

Mr Pigeon relaxed a little, wiping his pink brow. ‘Oh, I know you have to be careful about these things. It’s the kind of business we do, and the times we live in.’

‘What about your staff? Do they get any security clearance?’

‘Eh? Well, most of the senior people have been with us for years. Otherwise we get extensive references. We took on a new research chemist recently, most impressive CV, all checked out.’

‘What about support staff-cleaners, drivers and so on?’

‘Well, it depends. Some are supplied by contractors. Our own people I interview personally.’

‘Do you do a criminal record check?’

‘Well, no, probably not. Is that a problem?’

‘It’s just a thought. Anyway, we won’t take up any more of your time, Mr Pigeon. Thanks very much. We’re concerned about a batch of arsenic trioxide that’s come to our attention. Perhaps you might check to make sure it couldn’t possibly have come from here?’

‘Gladly, gladly, but I can tell you now it isn’t ours.’

When they got back into the car, Kathy asked, ‘What do you think?’

Pip said, ‘Okay, you’re a driver and you pick up a consignment of chemicals from some factory somewhere, and you’ve been told you have to be careful with it. Maybe you don’t know it’s arsenic, maybe you’ve just heard that it can knock you out, and you’re thinking you could spike a girl’s drink with it. So on the way back you stop the van, open a carton, and take a bit from a container and replace it with something else-flour or caster sugar or something, to make up the weight.’

‘Wouldn’t that be noticed?’

‘Maybe not. I mean, if you doctored explosives, the fireworks wouldn’t work and you’d be in trouble, but this is to make coloured light. Maybe it just wouldn’t be so bright.’

‘Nice theory.’ Kathy started the car. ‘Or maybe he did know it was arsenic. Maybe he didn’t just want to knock her out. I think we should talk to Keith Rafferty about how well he really knew Marion. You got time to go there now, or did you want to knock off?’

‘No, I’m fine, boss.’

‘I just wondered.’ She glanced at Pip’s short skirt, high heels. ‘Thought you might have a date or something.’

‘Not tonight. I’m all yours.’

•

They drew up outside the block in Bradshaw Street, and were unbuckling their seatbelts when Kathy paused. ‘Hang on,’ she murmured. The front door of flat number three had just opened, and she saw the figure of Keith Rafferty silhouetted against the light. He turned and yelled something back into the flat. Kathy wound her window down and heard a woman’s voice, Sheena’s, scream an obscenity.

‘And fuck you, bitch,’ Keith roared. He turned and marched off along the deck. They watched as he sprinted down the stairs at the end and headed towards the street, shrugging the collar of his leather jacket up as a cold gust of wind caught him. He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket and made a call as he strode off. Kathy started the car again.

They followed him out onto the main street, which was almost deserted, past shop windows to a pub on the next corner, the Three Bells. He reached the door and yanked it open. A burst of loud music blasted out.

‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’ Pip said. ‘Your wife’s just lost her daughter and you piss off down the pub with your mates.’

‘It’d be interesting to hear what they talk about, wouldn’t it?’

‘What, fancy a drink do you, boss?’

‘Unfortunately Keith knows my face.’

‘He doesn’t know mine.’ She flicked the sunshield down and examined herself in the mirror, fluffing her hair and pouting her lips. She put on more lipstick.

‘You can’t go in there on your own.’

‘Why not? It’s only a pub. I’ll just keep my ears open, all right? I’ll be waiting for a friend.’

Kathy hesitated. ‘You’ve got my number in your phone? Give me a ring, let me know what’s happening. Just be careful.’