A cup of tea and a Wagon Wheel sat untouched on the table. Callum had barely said a word since they’d got here, resisting the overtures of both Helen and the Family Liaison Officer she’d tasked with babysitting him. Helen would have to return to operational duties – there was much to do now – and she didn’t want Callum palmed off on a total stranger once she did.

The young man stared at his feet, occasionally biting his nails in aggressive little bursts. He was clearly still trying to process the awful events of the last few hours and this made it all the harder for Helen to have to probe him for information now, but she had no alternative. Two devastating attacks on consecutive nights. Two people dead. Several more injured. Hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of damage to property and possessions. And still not a single eyewitness to point them towards the perpetrator. Gary Spence had been in police custody when the second set of fires began. True, he had associates to do his bidding, but surely he wouldn’t be so foolish as to carry out more attacks when the police spotlight was so firmly on him?

‘You said your mother had company tonight, Callum. Can you tell me who that might have been?’

The boy flinched slightly but said nothing.

‘Callum?’ Helen continued gently. ‘I know you don’t want to talk right now, but we really need your help. I want to find out what happened so anything you can tell me –’

‘Darren something. I don’t know his surname,’ he said abruptly.

‘Was he your mum’s boyfriend?’

‘Just someone who comes round now and again.’

‘She didn’t have a long-term partner.’

‘No.’

‘So you just got out of the house?’

Callum nodded.

‘Where did you go?’

‘To Dave’s – I’ve told you. Dave Spalding, right? Lives in the Lynwood flats?’

‘What time did you go there?’

‘Around four p.m.?’

‘And you stayed there until you noticed the fire? Around midnight?’

Callum nodded.

‘And someone can vouch for your presence there for all of that time?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I have to ask these questions, Callum.’

Helen’s tone was gentle but firm and Callum quickly backed down, shrugging his shoulders as he replied:

‘Dave was there and a few others. You can ask them.’

Helen nodded and jotted a note to herself to do just that.

‘What about your father? Where’s he at the moment?’

A long, heavy silence ensued.

‘It’s really important we find him, Callum. He’s probably very worried about –’

‘I don’t know who my father is. She never told me.’

It was muttered quickly, but landed heavily with Helen nevertheless. This poor kid only had his mother. Despite all the rows and problems, they were everything to each other. His mother had sought affection elsewhere to quell her loneliness and Callum had a loose collection of acquaintances to distract him from his empty existence. But at the end of the day it was mother and son alone against the world. And now she was gone.

Helen made a mental note to follow up on the issue of paternity. Could an estranged father have done this to this family? It seemed unlikely given the other fires but every angle had to be investigated.

‘And was there anyone who’d threatened your mum? A former lover? Someone she’d borrowed money from?’

‘No one gave a shit about us and if she borrowed any money … well, I never saw any of it. We had the benefits and that was it. If we’d had a bit more money, we might have been able to stick the bloody heating on.’

He buried his head in his hands once more and sobbed. Memories of domestic privation only made his plight worse – he’d clearly give anything to be back there now, nagging his mum to loosen the reins and put the heating on. Helen watched him, saddened and frustrated in equal measure. Perhaps he would be more forthcoming as time passed, but there seemed to be no obvious suspect for this callous and deadly attack.

Helen probed a bit more, asking Callum if he or his mum had friends in Millbrook or if he’d ever heard of the Simms family, but he knocked her back on each count. He and his mum had no cause to be in Millbrook – far too posh for the likes of them. As he did so, Helen glanced at the clock. It was nearly 4.30 a.m. now and Callum looked just about as exhausted as she felt. It was time to wind things up now – long, dark days lay ahead for them both.

‘I’m going to suggest we pause there so you can get some rest.’

The young man said nothing, biting his nails feverishy once more, before hanging his head between his knees.

‘Callum, can you hear what I’m say—’

‘Did she suffer?’ he interrupted suddenly. ‘Did she suffer before she …’

‘I don’t think so. Chances are the smoke would have got to her long before the fire did,’ Helen replied. ‘It would have been quick.’

Callum nodded but didn’t look up, thankful at least for one tiny shard of good news. He had obviously been imagining the worst and wanted to dispel those hideous images from his mind. Helen was happy to oblige, knowing from her own personal experience how devastating the loss of close family members is. If it helped him find his feet in the short term, Helen was happy to soft-soap the details of his mother’s death – there was much he would learn over the next few days that would rock him back on his heels. Like the fact that the fire site reeked of paraffin. And the fact that the central stairwell had again been deliberately targeted. And the fact that his mother’s body was so badly burnt that she would have to be identified from her dental records.

41

It was early morning, but already the hospital corridors were packed with people. The breakfast rounds were about to begin and the night shift was just handing over to the day workers, so it was always busy at this time – but still today was different. The hospital had received more walking wounded as a result of last night’s fires – one firefighter, two members of the public and even a foolhardy journalist who’d been hit by falling debris – and everywhere you went concerned health workers were discussing this sudden spate of arson attacks. Six fires in two nights was unheard of in Southampton – everyone was clearly wondering what the next twenty-four hours would bring.

Charlie didn’t linger, ignoring the hopeful looks from staff and patients hoping for titbits from one of the investigating officers. She wasn’t here to gossip. Stepping out of the lift on the third floor, she presented her credentials to the ward nurse, then made her way into the burns unit. As expected, Thomas Simms was sitting where Charlie had seen him so often, keeping a silent watch over his daughter, Alice.

The six-year-old girl was still in a critical condition, but she was stable and with each passing day her chances of survival increased. She had a long road ahead of her and who could predict what kind of life awaited her at the end of it, but there were grounds now for cautious optimism. Thomas Simms looked up as Charlie approached, offering her a brief wan smile, before returning his gaze to his daughter.

‘How’s she doing?’ Charlie asked, as brightly as she could.

‘Up and down. But more up than down. She has her mother’s spirit.’

Charlie nodded and looked at the little girl. She looked so fragile there, wrapped in bandages, her breathing and heart rate controlled by machines – Charlie hoped Thomas Simms was right.

‘And how are you?’ Charlie asked.

Thomas Simms just shrugged, but said nothing in reply.

‘It’s tough, I know,’ Charlie continued and was immediately aware of how hopelessly inadequate her response was. What did she know of what he was going through? Charlie was thinking what to say next – and coming up blank – when Thomas suddenly said: