shots. There was no sense him turning out as well. They agreed he’d take the early brief while she caught missed zeds.
The temperature had fallen a couple of degrees. She was pacing so she wouldn’t seize up. Mandy was in the back of a police motor a couple of doors down. Bev slipped in. “Sure you’re up for this?”
Black flakes fell from the liaison officer’s hair as she nodded. “Let’s get it over with. I want to get home.”
“Sure. Soon as you like, Mandy.”
“Natalie went to bed about eleven. I followed soon after. I was out like a light, woke up a couple hours later with a pounding headache. I got up to fetch a glass of water to take a painkiller. Soon as I opened the door I smelled smoke. You know
what it’s like when you’re half asleep. For a second or two I wondered why someone was lighting a fire that time of the morning. Then I saw the smoke, drifting up from below.” She paused, pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’ve never moved so fast in my life, Bev. I shouted, screamed, banged doors. Natalie’d taken a couple of sleeping tablets, was well out of it. I shook her, called her name, then ran to the bathroom thinking I’d get some water to
chuck over her. I looked into Maxine’s room, saw the bed empty, assumed she and Terry had gone down and out the back.” Her bottom lip trembled and there was a tremor in the hand clutching the blanket.
“You did brill, Mandy. What happened then?”
“I got Natalie on her feet. She seemed OK, told me to go on ahead. I was scared, Bev. I didn’t need telling twice. I didn’t know till later that Maxine hadn’t been to bed at all. She was in the sitting room when the fire
started. Natalie went to get her out.”
The Beck women were still in the ambulance undergoing initial medical treatment. Bev stood a few yards away chatting to a couple of uniforms. She was waiting for a green light from the paramedics before grabbing a word with Natalie.
Maxine wouldn’t be talking to anyone any time soon. She was on oxygen and intravenous drips, still unconscious.
“Give us a baccy, Simon.” Three months Bev’d been off the weed. One of the cops handed her a Marlboro. “Ta, mate.” She sneaked another. “I owe you.”
“Take the pack, sarge. I’ve got more.”
She slipped it into her bag. What the hell, she could fall under a bus tomorrow. Or have a baby snatched. Or see her life go up in shit. She took a deep drag, savouring the nicotine hit. The thought that the arson attack was down to the Becks’
malicious caller, seriously upping his sick game, was tearing her to shreds. She’d dismissed the poisonous shit behind the calls as deranged, not dangerous. If he or she had taken to fire-raising, she’d badly miscalculated, could’ve got
four people killed.
She inhaled again, creased her eyes as the smoke drifted from her nostrils. There was another possibility. The arsonist could be some sort of self-styled vigilante: a wacko who’d seen pictures of Natalie Beck being driven away in a police car,
put two and two together and come up with infanticide. In which scenario, Powell was in the shit. He’d authorised and arranged the girl’s session at the nick.
The thought gave Bev no pleasure. Whichever way it panned out, the Becks had been badly let down by the people whose job description majored on protection.
She lit another baccy from the butt.
PC Simon Wells, her supplier, looked on. “What now, sarge?”
Jack Daniels? Southern Comfort? “Watching brief for you pair.”
Most of the other squads had been released or diverted to other calls. Simon and his partner had been questioning the street gawpers: Balsall Heath’s equivalent of Neighbourhood Watch. But the locals had been as much use as eyeless needles.
Simon reckoned the Yorkshire Ripper could move in and no one’d notice. Either way, by now the audience had drifted home for its Horlicks.
“We’ll talk to them again in a few hours,” Bev said. “And everyone else on the
The temperature had fallen a couple of degrees. She was pacing so she wouldn’t seize up. Mandy was in the back of a police motor a couple of doors down. Bev slipped in. “Sure you’re up for this?”
Black flakes fell from the liaison officer’s hair as she nodded. “Let’s get it over with. I want to get home.”
“Sure. Soon as you like, Mandy.”
“Natalie went to bed about eleven. I followed soon after. I was out like a light, woke up a couple hours later with a pounding headache. I got up to fetch a glass of water to take a painkiller. Soon as I opened the door I smelled smoke. You know
what it’s like when you’re half asleep. For a second or two I wondered why someone was lighting a fire that time of the morning. Then I saw the smoke, drifting up from below.” She paused, pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’ve never moved so fast in my life, Bev. I shouted, screamed, banged doors. Natalie’d taken a couple of sleeping tablets, was well out of it. I shook her, called her name, then ran to the bathroom thinking I’d get some water to
chuck over her. I looked into Maxine’s room, saw the bed empty, assumed she and Terry had gone down and out the back.” Her bottom lip trembled and there was a tremor in the hand clutching the blanket.
“You did brill, Mandy. What happened then?”
“I got Natalie on her feet. She seemed OK, told me to go on ahead. I was scared, Bev. I didn’t need telling twice. I didn’t know till later that Maxine hadn’t been to bed at all. She was in the sitting room when the fire
started. Natalie went to get her out.”
The Beck women were still in the ambulance undergoing initial medical treatment. Bev stood a few yards away chatting to a couple of uniforms. She was waiting for a green light from the paramedics before grabbing a word with Natalie.
Maxine wouldn’t be talking to anyone any time soon. She was on oxygen and intravenous drips, still unconscious.
“Give us a baccy, Simon.” Three months Bev’d been off the weed. One of the cops handed her a Marlboro. “Ta, mate.” She sneaked another. “I owe you.”
“Take the pack, sarge. I’ve got more.”
She slipped it into her bag. What the hell, she could fall under a bus tomorrow. Or have a baby snatched. Or see her life go up in shit. She took a deep drag, savouring the nicotine hit. The thought that the arson attack was down to the Becks’
malicious caller, seriously upping his sick game, was tearing her to shreds. She’d dismissed the poisonous shit behind the calls as deranged, not dangerous. If he or she had taken to fire-raising, she’d badly miscalculated, could’ve got
four people killed.
She inhaled again, creased her eyes as the smoke drifted from her nostrils. There was another possibility. The arsonist could be some sort of self-styled vigilante: a wacko who’d seen pictures of Natalie Beck being driven away in a police car,
put two and two together and come up with infanticide. In which scenario, Powell was in the shit. He’d authorised and arranged the girl’s session at the nick.
The thought gave Bev no pleasure. Whichever way it panned out, the Becks had been badly let down by the people whose job description majored on protection.
She lit another baccy from the butt.
PC Simon Wells, her supplier, looked on. “What now, sarge?”
Jack Daniels? Southern Comfort? “Watching brief for you pair.”
Most of the other squads had been released or diverted to other calls. Simon and his partner had been questioning the street gawpers: Balsall Heath’s equivalent of Neighbourhood Watch. But the locals had been as much use as eyeless needles.
Simon reckoned the Yorkshire Ripper could move in and no one’d notice. Either way, by now the audience had drifted home for its Horlicks.
“We’ll talk to them again in a few hours,” Bev said. “And everyone else on the
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