A New Dawn Rising (11 page)

'Someone started that fire on purpose, Sam. They actively encouraged it. Someone murdered Carl Renshaw.'

Sam sat back in his chair. He didn't know what to say. From the moment he had first glimpsed that flicker of orange in the roof, he presumed the fire was a terrible accident. Even when Mason accused him of deliberately starting it. Now, it appeared Sam was horribly wrong.

It had happened all over again.

A life snuffed out in the most brutal fashion.

Exactly what he had been trying to escape from.

Sam wanted to scream.

'What did these men look like?'

DCI Carter had allowed Sam a few moments to take in the news about Carl before asking his questions. Sam had described the men who had called at Carl's house, telling Carter of his hunch the issue was about money. Now, Carter wanted to know about the Audi and its occupants.

Sam hadn't managed to get the car's number plate, but he was able to give Carter good descriptions of the three men who got out of the car. He noticed a flicker of recognition in Carter's eyes when he mentioned the man with the tattooed neck and scar above his eye.

'Did you ever see Mr Renshaw having any secretive meetings? Hear any suspicious conversations?'

Sam thought about it.

'All his meetings seemed above board. Normal business meetings. But as regards phone calls-'

'What about them?' asked Carter earnestly. 'You told DI Mason some were pretty heated.'

'Yeah, that's right.'

'Any idea who they were from? What they were about? Right now, we have to presume his phone was destroyed in the fire.'

'Well, the call he got from the environmental activists wasn't so much heated as-'

'What about the other calls?'

Sam was surprised by Carter's blatant disinterest in the activists' call. The one that had shaken Carl up so much. In fact, the more Sam thought about it, that phone call seemed to have been the trigger for everything else that followed.

'Sam, the other phone calls?'

Carter was getting twitchy. Mason and Hoskins sounded like they were wrapping up their search. It made Sam wonder all the more what Carter was doing here. He seemed to be conducting a totally different line of enquiry to Mason. Not that Sam was complaining. He would sooner answer Carter's questions than listen to Mason's relentless efforts to blame him for the fire.

'Well, I can tell you Carl wasn't happy. He was getting grief. Somebody wanted something off him and they wanted it quick. Carl tried to laugh the calls off...making out they were just business.'

'Do you think the caller was after money?'

It struck Sam how often money was cropping up as a potential cause of Carl's problems. The factory redundancies had already indicated his financial situation was far from ideal. What if money was also at the heart of these shady encounters?

'It's possible,' answered Sam.

'But you're not sure?' asked Carter.

Sam sighed long and deep.

'I really don't know. The conversations were only short. They were certainly aggressive for business calls.'

'Were any names mentioned?'

'Yeah...Bellamy. Carl definitely called the person on the other end Bellamy.'

Carter appeared done. He put a hand on the arm of the chair and began to push himself up. Then he stopped. Another question had come to him.

'Did Mrs Renshaw ever say anything to you?' he asked, perched on the edge of the chair. 'Did she ever give you reason to think she was suspicious of Carl in any way?'

Molly. And the girls.

Sam felt a pang of guilt. With everything that had happened, he had given them little thought. They must be going through hell right now.

He remembered how it felt.

He still felt it.

Last night's dream came back to him. The image of Katie and Jenny begging him for help. The two little girls seemed to be dominating his dreams lately with their pleas. Did that mean something? Sam didn't have a clue.

'Mrs Renshaw?' he muttered, trying to recall Carter's question.

'Yes, Molly Renshaw. Did she ever say anything that-'

'Oh, yeah, she did once,' said Sam, suddenly keen for the police to leave. He wanted to get out and ask some questions of his own. Find some answers. 'She told me she was sure Carl was up to something. She didn't say what, though.'

Carter nodded, gave Sam one final, lingering look, then got to his feet. Sam didn't think it was co-incidence he stood up just as Mason and Hoskins re-entered the room. Mason looked slightly annoyed.

'All done?' Sam asked him.

Mason grunted.

'Well, I am,' stated Carter, looking at Mason and Hoskins. 'So, if you gents have finished...'

'One minute,' said Mason, staring back defiantly at Carter. Sam sensed there was no love lost between the two men. Mason clearly had the hump with Carter for sticking his nose into this case.

'You'll be hearing from us again,' Mason told Sam. 'So, once again, don't get going anywhere.'

Sam was sick of Mason and the detective's prejudiced view of him.

'I'll go where I want, Detective Inspector, until a court tells me otherwise.'

Mason went to retaliate, but Carter coughed, discreetly reminding him who held rank in the room.

'Okay,' said Mason, reluctantly biting his tongue. He gave Sam an unpleasant smile. 'But I don't want you anywhere near the Renshaw's house. You're still a suspect in all this, and I don't want you upsetting the victim's family. Molly Renshaw has told me she'll be ringing us if you set one foot on her property.'

Sam wasn't at all surprised.

Not if Mason had talked to her.

Sam Carlisle had never been one to do as he was told. He had divided opinion during his time in the police force, especially during the latter part of his career. Some colleagues viewed him as fearless, others thought he was downright reckless. His senior officers considered him a stubborn maverick, prone to the most unorthodox of methods, with scant regard for authority. Every time he went out they closed their eyes, crossed their fingers and hoped he delivered the goods again. And every time he did. Again and again.

Sam had always done things his own way.

***

The place was a hive of activity. A huge lorry with Bursleigh Removals emblazoned along its side was parked in front of the house, taking up the entire drive. A number of men in matching brown uniforms traipsed in and out of the house. Those coming out carried various boxes and items of furniture which they loaded onto the lorry. To Sam, the men resembled a small army of highly efficient brown ants. He pulled the Capri up short of the lorry and got out. The sky had gone a lead grey colour. Spots of rain began to fall.

Sam walked around to the back of the lorry. A man was securing a wooden post into the grass on the front lawn. Beside him lay a For Sale board. As the rain got heavier, he hastily attached the sign to the post, collected his tools together and left.

Sam was amazed. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Carl Renshaw had only been confirmed as dead a few hours ago, and Molly already had the house up for sale and her move out of it well under way.

'Can I help you?'

The question came from a man standing on the lorry's tailgate. He gazed at Sam with an open, friendly face. Two burly men appeared at the back of the lorry, effortlessly carrying an enormous wardrobe between them. They halted, oblivious to the rain in their faces, waiting for the man on the tailgate to help them load on the wardrobe.

'Is Mrs Renshaw about?' shouted Sam, forced to raise his voice above the din of the driving rain.

'No,' replied the man on the lorry. 'She's gone. Left us to it. Do you want us to pass a message onto her?'

Sam shook his head. He saw recognition flicker on the man's face.

'Hey, you're not that Sam Carlisle, are you?'

Sam watched the two men at the foot of the lorry gently lower the wardrobe onto the ground and turn to face him. The man on the tailgate jumped down to join them. Others stopped in their tracks and watched Sam with interest.

'Okay, fellas,' said Sam. 'I've just come to pay my condolences to Mrs Renshaw for her loss, that's all.'

The man off the lorry took a couple of steps towards him. He scrutinised Sam for a few moments, then glanced back over his shoulder.

'It's definitely him, lads. He matches the description. Jonno, get on the phone...'

Sam saw little point in staying any longer. Molly had already gone, and the best he was going to get here was a black eye and a ride in the back of a police car.

Sam's next port of call was the locksmiths in town. After buying a new lock for his front door, he decided to see if Lucy was back at work. He popped his head inside the library, glad for some respite from the atrocious weather. Both Lucy and Gareth were at the reception desk, standing with their backs to each other. Lucy had her head bowed, concentrating on the book in front of her.

'Hi, Lucy.'

She froze and kept her head down.

'What do you want?' she asked.

The question was sharp and unfriendly. Sam wondered what was up.

'Well, I wanted to ask you-'

'What do you want to ask, Sam?' she hissed, finally looking up at him. 'Do you want to know more about Carl Renshaw?'

Sam could see she was upset and angry. Her bottom lip quivered. Rosy patches had formed on her cheeks. There was something else. A look in her eyes. Sam recognised it immediately.

Fear.

Was Lucy afraid of him? She hadn't been yesterday when he walked her to her car.

'Lucy, what's the matter? Have I done something to-'

'I don't know, Sam!' she snapped, trying to keep her voice down. 'You tell me. One day you're asking about Carl Renshaw. Doing your so-called research on him. The next he's dead. How much of a co-incidence is that?'

Lucy looked self-consciously around the library. Her attempt at whispering had failed. Everyone had stopped their browsing to stare at her. Gareth turned around and gave her a concerned look.

'Is everything alright, Luce?' he asked, ignoring Sam.

She took a deep breath.

'Yes, thanks, Gareth. Sorry about that.'

Gareth gave Sam a withering look and turned back around, pretending to get on with some work. Sam turned his attention back to Lucy.

'How do you know?' he asked her. 'About Carl?'

'It's been all over the news this morning,' she muttered, head back down, stamping the inside of a book with vigour. 'The fire. Carl's death. They questioned a man down the station last night.'

Sam sighed in dismay. It hadn't taken long for the story to get out. He would have the media on his back if they got wind he had been the one questioned.

Lucy stared at him with eyes wide open.

'Was it you?' she asked in an urgent whisper. 'Were you the one they questioned?'

They looked at each other. Sam didn't want to lie to her. Yet he couldn't find an answer to placate her. She shook her head sadly.

'Please, go.'

'Lucy,' he said, as gently as possible. 'I really didn't think you'd be so quick to judge.'

'Sam, please. Just leave.'

Gareth turned around again. He looked at Lucy with anxiety, then stepped in front of her to confront Sam.

'Will you get out of here?' he spat out, trying to give Sam an intimidating look. 'Can't you see you're upsetting her?'

Sam fumed silently. People seemed all too willing to doubt him right now. Keen to think the worst without finding out the facts. And now he has this little upstart talking down to him. Sam slammed his palm down on the desk in exasperation, causing Gareth to jump. The librarian took a wary step back, nearly knocking Lucy over as he retreated. Once more, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and stared.

'You are really beginning to get on my nerves,' said Sam, staring at Gareth, making no attempt to keep his voice down any longer. Gareth was too shaken to reply. He looked scared to death. Lucy gave him a gentle pat on the arm. She gave Sam a stern look.

'Sam-'

'Don't worry, Lucy, I'm going.'

Outside the library, Sam felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. With the rain still lashing down, he hurried up the road and took cover under a shop canopy to take the call. As he put the phone to his ear, someone caught his eye in the distance. A short figure, almost certainly a man, clad in a woolly hat and duffel coat, standing outside a shop. Hunched under a canopy for protection in a similar way to Sam. Glancing over in Sam's direction every few seconds. Sam had noticed the same person hanging around when he came out of the locksmiths. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

'Hello, Sam.'

'Richie!' replied Sam down the phone. 'How's it going?'

'Yeah, I'm okay, bud. What I want to know is what the hell's happening at your end?'

'What do you mean?'

Richie hesitated on the other end of the line.

'The word is you've been questioned about arson and murder.'

Sam closed his eyes. He had forgotten how quickly news travelled within the force.

'It's nothing,' he said. 'I was the last person to be seen with the deceased, that's all.'

'Okay,' murmured Richie, sounding unconvinced. 'But from what I've heard, you're right at the top of the suspect list.'

Sam silently cursed Mason. The man was making no secret of his conviction Sam was to blame. Sam vowed to pay him a visit the day the truth came to light. Watch DI Mason eat humble pie.

'There's a particular DI up here who can't see past his nose. He's decided I'm involved and he's not budging. Not yet, anyway.'

Richie said nothing. Sam sensed his old friend had something on his mind.

'Anyway, did you find anything out about Red 71?'

'They've never existed, Sam. Nobody has ever heard of them.'

The words hit Sam like a ton of bricks. It explained why he had found nothing about them online. He stood there, dumbfounded, looking through the curtain of rain dripping off the canopy. The figure was still in the distance. Still watching him.

'Are you sure?' Sam asked, knowing it was a pointless question. Richie was the most thorough man he had ever come across.

'I've cross-checked everything. Even talked to a couple of guys who got inside Save The Countryside. They've never heard the name.'

'What did they say?'

'They told me STC have never done anything more radical than shout at passing convoys and wave banners in the air. That's why our men were happy to wind up the undercover operation and write them off. Save The Countryside have never needed a militant wing. Nor have they ever used one. Red 71 is a figment of somebody's imagination, I'm afraid. I don't know where you got the name from...'

Carl!

Sam couldn't believe it.

He had been lied to all along.

Carl had never received threats from environmental activists. Sam castigated himself for not picking up on the clues. The factory was possibly the most environmentally friendly building in the country. The last target for a vicious and sustained attack.

Now Sam was unsure what to believe. Had Carl lied about everything?

Had the people really threatening him been his killers?