Кара Хантер: No Way Out

I hear the predictable four rings, the click, and the not-quite-human female voice telling me the person I am calling is not available. Then the tone.

`Alex `“ it's me. Nothing heavy. Just wanted to check you're OK. That it's helping. I mean, having time to think. Like you said.'

What is it about talking to machines that makes supposedly intelligent people blither like morons? There's a sticky brown stain on the work surface I can't remember being there yesterday. I start scraping at it with my thumbnail.

`Tell your sister I said hello.' Then a pause. `That's it, really. Look, just call me, OK?' I listen to the silence. I know it's impossible but half of me is hoping she's listening too. That she'll pick up. `I miss you.'

I love you.

Which I should have said, but didn't. I'm trying not to remember exactly how long it is since she actually spoke to me. A week? More. I think it was the day after Boxing Day. I kept hoping New Year would make a difference. That we could put the whole thing behind us then, as if a completely arbitrary change in the numbering of the days could make the slightest difference to how she feels. How I feel.

The kettle boils and I poke about in the cupboard for coffee. All that's left is the jar of cheap instant Alex keeps for plumbers and decorators. Those poncey pod things ran out days ago. It was Alex who really wanted that machine. The cheap instant has some balls, though, and I've just poured a second when the phone rings.

˜ `Alex?'

`No, boss. It's me. Gislingham.'

I can feel my cheeks redden. Did I sound as desperate to him as I did to me? `What is it, Gis?'

`Sorry to call so early, boss. I'm at Southey Road. There's been a fire overnight. They're still struggling to get it under control.'

`Casualties?'

But I know the answer before I ask. Gis wouldn't be calling me at 5.45 otherwise.

I hear him draw breath. `Only one so far, boss. A little kiddie. There's an older boy too, but they managed to get to him in time. He's alive `“ just. They've taken him to the John Rad.'

`No sign of the parents?'

`Not yet.'

`Shit.'

`I know. We're trying to keep that from the press but it's only a matter of time. Sorry to drag you out of bed and all that, but I think you should be here `“'

`I was already awake. And I'm on my way.'

At Southey Road, Gislingham puts his phone back in his pocket. He'd been in two minds whether to call at all. Though he'd never say so out loud and feels guilty even thinking it, Fawley has definitely been off his game recently. Not just short-tempered, though he's been that too. Distracted. Preoccupied. He didn't go to the station Christmas party, but since he always says how much he hates Christmas that doesn't necessarily mean anything. On the other hand, there's a rumour doing the rounds his wife has left him, and judging by the state of his ironing that's a distinct possibility. Gislingham's own shirt doesn't look much cop either, but they never do given he does them himself. He still hasn't worked out how to do collars.

He turns and walks back down the drive towards the house. The flames have died back but firefighters in breathing apparatus are still sending jets of water arcing into the windows, pushing huge gusts of dense smoke into the dark sky. The air is thick with soot and the smell of burning plastic.

The Incident Commander comes towards him, his boots crunching on the gravel. `Off the record, almost certainly arson, but it'll be a while before the investigation team can go in. Looks like it must have started in the sitting room, but the roof above has completely caved in so don't quote me on that.'

`So we might be looking at more bodies?'

`Could be. But there's three floors of rubble come down on that side. God knows how long it'll take to sift through it all.' He takes his helmet off and wipes his forehead on the back of his hand. `Have you heard anything about the boy?'

`Not yet. One of my colleagues went in the ambulance. I'll let you know if I hear.'

The firefighter makes a face. He knows the odds; he's been doing this a long time. He takes a swig of water. `Where's Quinn `“ on holiday?'

Gislingham shakes his head. `This one's mine. I'm acting DS.'

The officer raises an eyebrow. `I heard Quinn had got himself in the shit. Though I didn't know it was that bad.'

Gislingham shrugs. `Not for me to say.'

The firefighter eyes him for a moment in the throbbing blue glare. `Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?' he says eventually. `Being in charge.' Then he chucks the water bottle away and starts up towards the fire engine, tapping Gislingham's arm as he passes. `You go for it, mate. Gotta take your chances in this life. No other bugger's gonna do it for you.'

Which is broadly what Gislingham's wife said when he told her. That and the fact that Quinn got himself in this mess, and they could do with the extra money now Billy's getting older, and what did he owe Quinn anyway? A question he'd (wisely) decided to assume was merely rhetorical.

He looks around for a moment, then heads towards the uniform standing behind the police tape. There are onlookers in the road, but given the time and the cold, it's only a straggle. Though Gislingham recognizes a journalist from the Oxford Mail who's been trying `“ and failing `“ to get his attention for the last ten minutes.

He turns to the constable. `Have they started the house-to-house yet?'

`Just underway now, Sarge. We managed to rustle up three people. It's not much, but `“'

`Yeah, I know. Everyone's on holiday.'

A car pulls up on the street and someone gets out. Briskly, officially, flashing a warrant card. And that's not the only thing that's flash. Gislingham takes a deep breath. It's Quinn's car.

Oxford Mail online

Thursday 4 January 2018 Last updated at 08:18

Fatality in Oxford house fire

A boy of three has died after a fire ripped through a seven-bedroom Edwardian home in Southey Road in the early hours of this morning. The cause of the fire is as yet unknown, but Oxfordshire Fire and Rescue Service are working closely with a police forensics team to determine exactly how it began. A second victim, identified by neighbours as the toddler's older brother, was taken by ambulance to the John Radcliffe hospital, believed to be suffering from smoke inhalation.

The emergency services were called to the house shortly after 12.40 a.m., when a neighbour saw flames issuing from a ground-floor window. Patrick Moreton, station manager at the Rewley Road fire station, said that the fire was far advanced by the time his crew arrived at the scene, and it took over four hours for the flames to be brought under control. He said it was far too early to tell whether combustible Christmas decorations could have contributed to the blaze, but added, `This is a timely reminder of the importance of taking proper safety precautions when using decorations like candles and flammable materials such as tinsel, and testing your smoke alarms at least once a week.'

Thames Valley Police have declined to comment on whether the two children were in the house alone.

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