The Fire Man (7 page)

Helen had possessed something of her Trojan namesake's alleged beauty. She was slim and hazel-eyed, with thick strawberry-blonde hair and a vivacity that could be captivating. She was also materialistic, short-tempered and there was an intellectual shallowness that, overtime, had clearly begun to grate. Drew, for his part, was inclined to be an uneasy cocktail of frivolity and intensity. He had been working long hours and had acquired a brooding quality that could lead to jealousy, particularly with a pretty airhead for a wife. Inevitably, the differences had led to fiery rows and in an indecently short time Helen had found consolation in the arms of a local estate agent – an annoyingly successful estate agent.

Instead of coming to terms with his loss, McRae had seemed driven by a need to succeed in his own right and so the work had become all-consuming. His social life had dwindled to nothing. All work and no play were making Drew a dull boy indeed.

He was well aware of his mother's views. After all, every time he saw her, his latest girlfriend (or lack of) was the primary subject of discussion. Somehow, he was never able to get her to accept that he just wasn't interested – at least not for the moment. Anyway, the fact was that her birthday was imminent and as he had no intention of flying to Crete any time soon, he had better arrange to get her something by internet. He decided to give Tom a ring; he always had some ideas.

As for Karen, while he had tried his damnedest to forget the “Di Mario incident” as he thought of it, she clearly hadn't. The more brusque and business-like he became in his manner towards her, the more she seemed intent upon a rematch. She stayed later and later at the office, well after the other girls had left. She was available for work on Saturdays, without overtime. In short, her dedication, already unusual, had become absolute. The message was unambiguous, she was always available. Despite his best efforts, McRae found that they were frequently alone in the office and the truth was that he allowed her to do the extra work with gratitude, aware that all the time he was becoming closer, for which one day a price might have to be paid.

He was also beginning to recognise her commercial value, which was rapidly emerging to be far greater than he had ever appreciated. The first revelation had been the analysis work that she had done on the Hellenic stock.

Once he had managed to rescue a representative selection of garment samples from the ruined warehouse, Karen had got to work with energy and enthusiasm. Her innate cynicism and untrusting nature were proving to be major assets. Visits to suppliers and buyers she had known from her boutique days, many of whom were keen to help on a strictly non-attributable basis, plus diligent internet surfing – most of it he suspected on a Sunday – had turned up some interesting, if not devastating, results.

Much as she had originally thought, but now based upon research rather than pure instinct, it had become increasingly clear, even to McRae that the Greek merchandise was anything but haute couture. The clothes were, in the main, cheaply made, not particularly well finished and, what was most disturbing, not always
a la mode
. They had even concluded that some of the Xenia and Dido garments could conceivably have been the previous year's stock.

Cogitating for the umpteenth time over the issues, McRae decided that for the following day's meeting he would ask Karen to sit in alongside Grim. She had done a terrific job and, secretary or not, she was proving her worth as an investigator on this case. It would be interesting to see what Grim thought of her conclusions, as so far he was completely unaware of these developments. Come to think of it, it would also be interesting to see how he responded to Karen's presence in the discussion. Not exactly a feminist, our Mr Cairns!

Nevertheless, it was going to be even more illuminating to hear from Steve Balfour. The forensics consultant was overdue to present his final detailed conclusions on the cause and was scheduled to show up before they started their own case review.

Realising he was now alone in the bar and that the shifty-eyed Polish bartender was surreptitiously surveying him with hostility, McRae decided to call it a night. He paid his bill, magnanimously leaving a tip, deserved or not, and stepped out into clear air and gentle breeze of the last evening in May.

The repetitive, hypnotic, ultimately downright annoying, distant strains of
‘Bitter Sweet Symphony'
slowly awoke him. He had clearly fallen asleep without switching off the CD player in the living room.

McRae felt distinctly sluggish. He had, admittedly, drunk a tad more than usual the previous evening, but he was disturbed by how deficient in energy and
joie de vivre
he was. Having developed an irritating blocked sinus overnight had done little to improve his sense of wellbeing.

Attempting to waken himself, he made a cafetière of decent Columbian coffee and made it as strong as he could bear. It seemed to make little difference, but by the time he had washed, shaved roughly with a failing blade and managed to struggle into the office, he felt slightly more at one with the world. He found that he was looking forward to hearing the forensic findings.

There was still, he calculated, just sufficient time for him to get his mother's birthday present organised. Tom had suggested that something horticultural would fit the bill. McRae was grateful for the pointer and duly set to work at his computer. Twenty minutes later, as his enthusiasm was flagging and he was beginning to have doubts, he hit gold dust.
Villa Gardens of the Mediterranean
, a beautifully illustrated hardback book ticked all the boxes. He thanked the Gods of Amazon and sent the gift on its way.

At precisely one o'clock, Steve Balfour was ushered into McRae's office by a beaming Karen who followed with two cups of coffee. Karen was a difficult person at the best of times and the people she disliked were legion, but there were exceptions. For some unaccountable reason, she had taken a distinct liking to the unattractive, shambolically attired forensics man following a previous case that he and McRae had handled eight months previously. McRae could only imagine that she responded to his sarcastic wit and dry manner, which had so much in common with her own. With a caustic tongue like hers, she tended to relate best to people who gave as good as they got.

As Karen closed the door, Balfour set about outlining the background to his investigation. Over a period of twenty minutes, he detailed every facet of his investigations and the precise nature of his chemical analysis, before summarising his findings in concise layman's terms:

The fire was deliberately started by persons unknown, who had probably gained entry to the premises by forcing a tongue and grooved timber panel from the personnel door at the rear of the loading bay, after firstly levering a sheet steel protective panel out of position.

The infrared movement detectors connected to the burglar alarm were activated at 5.52 am. Two fire detectors located in Zone B of the main warehouse were triggered at 5.57 am. The brigade logged the central station alarm at 6.03 am. and the first appliance timed its arrival at 6.12 am, by which time the blaze was well established.

There were two discrete seats of fire, each within Zone B. Both appear to have involved the initial ignition of packaging materials positioned adjacent to hanging rails.

Hydrocarbon detection equipment revealed that ignitable fluids (accelerants) had been used and visible “pour patterns” confirmed that they had been widely distributed, although the quantity could not be determined.

Gas Chromatography (GC) applied to samples taken from site indicates the nature of the accelerant was a blend or mixture of gasoline and Diesel oil. Predominantly gasoline, but the presence of long chain hydrocarbons, suggests a possible “blend”.

‘So, basically, we are talking about a very simple fire,' concluded Balfour. ‘No attempt to conceal the cause, clear evidence of forcible entry, the sort of malicious fire that anyone could start – even you.' He glanced at McRae who ignored the jibe.

‘Was there nothing at all unusual here?' he asked.

‘No… well', he paused, tugged at an earlobe and thought for a second. ‘Not really, apart from the fact that the arsonist seems to have used a blend of petrol and DERV.'

‘What does that suggest?'

‘Well, it could imply that he, or she, knew what they were doing. 100% petrol would have a very low flash point, which can be dangerous for the arsonist, and diesel takes too long to get going, so some combination of the two might suggest a degree of “previous” – but, to be honest, the chance is a bit slim. Oh, and the positioning of the initial torching in the aisles adjacent to the hanging garments was good as well.'

‘Why?'

‘Tut tut, Drew, remember your school science! Vertical hanging materials always burn much more readily than those in a horizontal position.'

‘Right, of course. That makes sense, but just one more thing: it looked to me as if some of the piles of clothes on the floor were already there before the fire was started?' He looked questioningly at Balfour.

‘Well done, Watson,' replied the scientist. ‘There were some clothes in piles on the floor, at...' he paused to look at his notes, ‘four different locations in aisles 3 and 4, but what you probably didn't notice was that next to each pile were the remains of heavy duty 3-ply cardboard cartons, which had been turned on their sides. I would be inclined to guess that the intruder had simply pushed over each box before he started the fire, but, of course, we'll never know for sure.'

‘Okay, so that's it, is it?'

‘In a nutshell, yes, but the detailed report will naturally be a humdinger. You do realise, of course, that nothing I have said rules out the possibility of collusion by the owners, though it has to be said that there is no physical evidence that would permit me to comment on that aspect.' He exchanged an extended level glance with McRae before adding, ‘Have you got any more questions, before I get off?'

‘Police?'

‘As per usual, I'm afraid. I've listed their observations on page seven. Not massively interested. They've got the brigade report, of course, which is entirely in line with my own, and they are assuming that a local malicious arsonist is responsible – but that's about as far as it goes. They're supposed to be checking with Hellenic on the disgruntled employee angle, but I wouldn't hold your breath. Can't see that they'll get anywhere; there's no DNA for a start and the brigade say that no one has ever been pulled in connection with the earlier estate fires, so it doesn't sound particularly hopeful.'

‘Who's the bloke to contact?'

‘Not a man, actually, it's a…' he pursed his podgy lips as he looked down at his file, ‘… Detective Inspector Tina Forsyth. I'll put her contact details in the report. Anything else?'

‘Two things,' said McRae. ‘The stock is a total write-off. If the fire and water didn't get it, the smoke did. Am I right in thinking that the diesel would produce dirtier smoke than petrol?'

‘Yes, but it does depend to some degree on the quality of the diesel... this looks like it was agricultural grade, so the answer is that it would have been oilier than standard. Mind you, the reason for the excessive level of soiling throughout is more related to the presence of synthetics in the stock. What was the second?'

‘How much is your fee?'

Balfour laughed good-naturedly and made a gesture with the fingers of his right hand to indicate a goodly stack of banknotes, before starting to repack his surprisingly frivolous crocodile-style briefcase.

Once Balfour had made his farewells, McRae decided he had just enough time for a quick panini and a coffee before the case review began.

‘Back in twenty minutes,' he called quietly to Karen, then scurried out of the office before she could extricate herself from the filing room, where she was busy re-organising stationery with Jenny and Puri.

I know I promised her lunch again today, but I need a bit of peace and quiet
, he thought.
Karen can have her moment of glory after lunch.

‘That's Steve's report in a nutshell,' concluded McRae. ‘So: nothing that we didn't expect.'

He had already quietly explained to Grim the reason for Karen's unprecedented attendance at the meeting, but now was the time to let her display what she had learnt.

‘Karen, can you please outline, for Grim's benefit, what you've been able to discover from your investigations into the world of fashion?'

She coloured slightly and swallowed, before galloping into her report. After a few minutes, she visibly gained confidence and began to speak more deliberately and with more authority. Grim, who had initially been clearly harbouring serious doubts as to McRae's judgement, began to relax. By the time she had finished speaking, the sceptical look on his square-jawed features had been replaced with a grudging element of respect. What she had said was clearly supported by a woman's knowledge – knowledge that neither of the men were in a position to question.

‘Brilliant, Karen,' said Cairns after a moment's reflection. ‘Bloody brilliant.'

Karen glowed. Her normal sullen expression gave way to something softer.

‘Okay, so now we need to put everything together,' said McRae. ‘I've already reached some preliminary views, but I don't think we need to keep Karen hanging around while we chew the fat, so thanks Karen, you can let us take it from here – for now,' he added hastily, seeing the look of anger and disappointment flit across her narrow features. She flounced out of the room.

As she left his office, McRae turned to Grim and enquired, ‘Did a bloody good job, didn't she?' Cairns nodded his agreement. McRae continued, ‘I've been thinking hard about this and I don't like it. It's not the arson angle, we've known that from the start, it's other things.'

‘Yeah, I know, but what is really bothering you, apart from the obvious?'

‘Okay, said McRae, ‘we've got a deliberate fire by an intruder – so far, so unexceptional – but this fire seems to have been set with a little bit of intelligence. It's almost as if it was designed to cause maximum damage to stock. The beauty of textiles, as we all know, is that the fire doesn't have to destroy the stock. The stuff doesn't have to be consumed to be written off. How many times have we had to pay a total loss for just smoke damage?' He rested his case for a moment before resuming.

‘Then we are told that this is top-quality clobber and it certainly ain't, not by a very long chalk. On top of which, I got the policy wording and schedule in from CFG yesterday and… Guess what? The stock sum insured was nearly doubled from £4.5 million to £8 million just four months ago – at exactly the same time as Hellenic acquired the building lease! But…' he held up his finger to stop Grim from interrupting, ‘on top of all that, we have some other little issues as well, like those knackered sewing machines and the over-lockers you commented on. Not to mention, of course, the fact that they've appointed Wagner.'

‘Oh come on, Drew, the engagement of assessors proves nothing!' was Grim's instant repost. However, even as he uttered the words, their eyes locked and both burst into laughter, being only too well aware that the involvement of Adelstein and Brooks did tend to be remarkably common where dubious losses were concerned.

‘No, come on, seriously, that isn't a factor we can take into account,' continued Grim, ‘but I do admit that the whole thing does smell a bit. We don't have enough evidence, though, that's for certain. I mean, what it looks like at the moment is just a fire started by some disaffected ex-employee or local yobbo. Obviously the company want to make the best of it, like every other claimant in history! There is absolutely zero evidence of fraud, per se. The increase in the cover can be easily explained – increasing stock levels, blah, blah, blah – and if they did buy the leasehold, then that explains the building cover. The machinery is neither here nor there in the scheme of things...' he paused. ‘I mean, I don't like it either, but the fact is that we don't really have anything.' He stared at McRae. ‘Be honest.'

‘Agreed,' responded McRae, ‘but there are way too many unsatisfactory angles, don't you think? What we need now is to do some digging into the accounts, directors' history, property ownership, sales and purchases etc. What do you think?'

‘Well, we'll have to be a bit discreet, but I can't see any harm in it. The real problem is time.'

Absolutely right
, thought McRae. Wagner would undoubtedly be putting in the dreaded “Request for an Interim Payment” soon.

The inevitable aftermath of any major fire is serious expense. Within days, the owners rack up costs in site clearance, demolition, debris removal, surveyor's fees, temporary accommodation – all manner of charges. Any assessor worth his salt, and Wagner was worth a sackful, would waste no time in making an early formal request for financial assistance.

There were several reasons for such a request. Firstly, the obvious one was that the policyholder
needed
the money. Secondly, it demonstrated to his clients that the assessor was on the ball. But, finally, the killer, it flushed out the intentions of the insurers and their loss adjusters. Once an insurer made a payment, it was usually a clear sign that they were on the hook, that the insurers were probably not going to resist the claim. It was the one thing that all claimants wanted to know as soon as possible.

If the claimants were straight, they were entitled to relax in the knowledge that their losses would probably be made good. If, on the other hand, they were, God forbid, bent, they needed to know which way the wind was blowing as soon as possible. It was therefore certain that a formal interim payment request would be submitted within days.

* * *

‘Drew, I think we've got something for you.' Karen was striding through the general office with a bundle of print, as McRae wrestled with the photocopier.

Companies House is a mine of information. The Land Registry is a good source too and combined with the mighty
Google
, Kevin, Mike and Karen had made significant progress with the background checks.

He took the sheaf of papers from Karen and left her to sort out the paper jam he appeared to have created. Back in the sanctity of his own space, McRae began scrutinising the various documents. He had swivelled his chair, so that he had his back to his desk, and the chair was reclined to such a degree that his hair almost rested upon the blotter. Suddenly, however, he gave a start, rotating and straightening the chair in a single movement. Grabbing his biro, hastily, he began to make notes interspersed with liberal use of a rather striking, lime-green highlighter pen.

Picking up the phone, he punched in the number of the Cardiff office on impulse. Terry wasn't in so he decided to leave it a little before trying him on his mobile. Maybe it could wait a while.

* * *

While McRae was reclining in his chair, his colleague was back on site. Deep in the ruined wasteland of the shattered factory, Cairns was painstakingly checking the schedule headed “Machinery and Plant (Draft)” as compiled by Adelstein and Brooks.

He, George Gallo and Danny Wagner were nattily attired in safety equipment comprising boots, overalls and hard hats, as they picked their way through the remains of Unit B. The sun had been out for the last couple of days and, although it was hardly warm, the environment was considerably less hostile than it had been during each of his previous visits. A slight mist pervaded the interior gloom of the warehouse and steam rose gently from the still sopping piles of garments.

After examining and debating the condition of a motley collection of Hyster and Caterpillar forklift trucks, the group turned their attention to a number of industrial steamers and irons used to remove the creases from garments following delivery. In the process, it occurred to Grim to ask: ‘What proportion of your stock needs to be de-creased following delivery? All of it or not much?' To his surprise, Gallo appeared to have difficulty with this innocent question.

‘Most of it,' he eventually conceded, before quickly adding ‘apart from the dresses that arrive in hanging cases, of course'. Warming to his theme and probably anxious to dispel the poor impression that his initial hesitation had given, he went on to stress how vital it was that Hellenic Fashion's fabulous stock went out in perfect order. Grim didn't pursue the issue, but made a mental note to consider the point again. He continued to play along with what they already knew to be the myth of Hellenic's uber-quality.

Time to shoot that fox later
he thought.
Overall, Wagner appeared to have done a professional job on the schedule
. There was no obvious over-valuation, no ludicrous overstatement or incorrect descriptions of the items, all of which made him extremely cautious. Assessors have to earn their money somewhere. Presenting a straight and totally kosher claim was not, usually, the way to do it.
I'm obviously missing something big
, he thought,
but what?