Liar Liar - [63]

Distracted by this alarming sight, Leroy missed his step and stumbled as he moved forward. His arm shot out to right himself but the weakened bannister came away in his hand. Suddenly he was pitching forward, his heart skipping a beat as he sailed through the air, powerless to stop himself. He collided hard with the staircase and to his horror part of it gave way. Lying spread-eagled on his front, he could look through the stairs now to the inferno awaiting him below. And in that moment, he knew he had to turn back.

Levering himself up cautiously, he called it in and turned to retrace his steps. It would be hard going – he would have to resist the temptation to run despite the intense heat, testing each foothold before he put his weight on it. If he brought the whole staircase down, he’d not only put his own life in jeopardy, but the lives of the rest of the team too.

Tentatively he moved his right foot forward, hoping to jam it into the corner of the staircase which still seemed solid. But halfway to his foothold, he paused. He could hear something. Something that frightened and alarmed him.

You hear all sorts of things when you’re in the midst of a fire and you become attuned to what each sound means, used to processing every small noise in case it poses a danger or a threat. And these sounds become your friends, the soundscape of emergencies that become familiar through repetition. But this sound he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the usual roar or crackle or shriek. This sounded more like a wounded animal. Like some kind of keening.

Cursing himself for his stupidity and calling on all the saints he could think of, Leroy turned and continued to climb. Immediately his radio crackled and nearby he could hear the rest of the team calling to him. He gestured for them to get out, but didn’t turn or engage them in conversation – he didn’t want to drag them into his madness.

The sound was getting louder now as he mounted the stairs. Was it to the left or the right? As he stood, straining to hear, a roar above him made him dive to the left. A flaming wooden beam came crashing down where he’d just been standing, sending a vast column of white hot sparks leaping up into the air.

Now he was scrambling to his feet, racing to his left. There was no time to hesitate and think, he just had to act. In front of him was a door. He turned the handle and pushed with all his might, but immediately he met resistance. Was it fallen debris behind there or something else?

His head was beginning to throb, the oxygen in his tank draining fast. Muttering his baby son’s name, he shouldered the door once, twice, three times. And now finally it did move. Pushing it roughly open he stepped inside. There on the floor in front of him was a teenage boy in the midst of a full-blown seizure.

It was what Leroy had been hoping to find, but still this discovery filled him with dread. There was precious little chance of him getting out now, let alone two of them. But there was no time to hesitate, so scooping the quivering boy up, he placed him over his shoulder and strode back to the stairs.

Time was against them, there was little hope for either, but Leroy Friend had to try. If this boy was his boy, he would expect nothing less.

87

Charlie lay in bed and listened to the sirens. Another night, another set of fires. It was unbelievable but it was true. She had tried to avoid anything work-related given the horrific day she’d endured, but Southampton’s news was now national news, so even though she’d flicked her DAB radio to a classical station in an effort to relax, the news bulletins still brought real life crashing back into her world. In the end, she’d turned the radio off, pulling the duvet up around her chin, hoping against hope that she could block out the madness and get some sleep.

But old habits died hard. And even as she lay there tossing and turning, there was a part of Charlie that wanted to text Sanderson or McAndrew to find out what was going on. In normal circumstances she would have done so already, probably while driving to the station to pitch in, regardless of whether it was her shift or not. As a police officer you just want to know the details – to find out if you can help, if there is anything that can be done. Even now, with Steve counselling her not to dwell on recent events, with Charlie herself trying to wrench her mind towards more mundane, domestic matters, there was a part of her that craved the detail. What was happening out there?

When you’re wallowing in ignorance, your mind conjures up the very worst kind of images. Who’s to say that their arsonist hadn’t exceeded himself tonight, visiting his most serious night of chaos on Southampton? Charlie shook her head to ward off such morbid thoughts, but suddenly all sorts of nightmarish images presented themselves. Charlie knew she was disturbing Steve and didn’t want to have to explain why, so she fled their room, heading past Jessica’s bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen.

She poured herself a cool glass of water from the jug in the fridge and, having downed half the glass, held it to her forehead. She was surprised to find that she was sweating and for a moment the cold glass soothed her. Draining the glass, she refilled it and drained it again. She seemed to be locked into some kind of panic now. She felt dizzy and, steadying herself with a hand on the kitchen island, lowered herself to the floor. It was cool down here, the quarry tiles radiating a wintery chill from the frozen ground below, but Charlie liked the sensation, so slowly spread herself out, feeling the coolness seep into her chest, her stomach, her thighs. If Steve found her like this he’d probably ship her straight off to the funny farm, but Charlie didn’t care. She just wanted to be calm, cool and quiet for a moment.