Ruthless - [8]

Janet directed Rachel to take the next turning off Shuttling Way and to park at the precinct.

‘I’ll start with Mrs Muhammad,’ Janet said, touching her finger on the map to the houses opposite the chapel. ‘You do the neighbours.’

‘There may be some CCTV at the shops,’ Rachel said.

‘Yes, we’ll go there next. If anyone’s got tapes, we’ll take them,’ Janet said.

‘After that?’

‘See where we’re up to.’

Mrs Muhammad’s small yellow and cream brick house had been embellished with fancy double-glazing, etched diamond patterns on the windows and elaborate wrought-iron gates with oval tips on top of the upright rods, reminiscent of a row of spears, Janet thought. Handy for security though, slip on those and you’d soon know about it.

There was no answer when Janet repeatedly rang the bell, so she tried the mobile number that Mrs Muhammad had left when she reported the fire.

‘Soapy Joe’s,’ a woman answered.

‘I’m looking for Mrs Muhammad,’ Janet said.

‘That’s me.’

Janet explained the reason for her call and was directed to the launderette. ‘Go up to the shops and we’re the next to last unit on the parade,’ Mrs Muhammad said, ‘before the tanning salon.’

There were eight units altogether, two-storey buildings. Two blocks of four with a gap in the middle that led to an alleyway behind. Chippy, newsagent cum off-licence, hairdresser, then an empty unit either side of the cut-through, a pound shop which covered half the pavement in brightly coloured plastic boxes, baskets and bins, Soapy Joe’s and beyond that the tancab.

The launderette was noisy and humid, a bank of washing machines down one side, several in use, dryers at the far end, bench seating and areas to fold clothes. The smell of detergent and fabric conditioner and hot metal.

One customer sat on the benches, intent on her phone. Mrs Muhammad emerged from the door at the back. ‘Police?’ she asked Janet. Janet nodded.

‘We’ll go outside,’ Mrs Muhammad said, ‘can’t hear yourself think in here.’ She pulled up her headscarf and threw the length over her shoulder to hold it in place.

Janet checked Mrs Muhammad’s details and asked her to describe what she’d seen on Wednesday night.

‘I’d just got back from here and I was putting the youngest to bed, he’s at the front in the boys’ room. I went to draw the curtains and I could see smoke coming across the road, from the chapel.’

‘You didn’t see anything unusual before that?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘And you didn’t hear anything?’ Janet was thinking of the gunshots.

‘No. I looked to make sure, you know, then rang the fire brigade. By then there was even more smoke. Now they’re saying this bloke died in there.’ She looked at Janet, keen, curious.

‘That’s right. Did you ever see people going into the building or in the grounds?’

‘Now and then. Not often, you know. I don’t know how they’d get in. Wire fence all round,’ she said, ‘and the building is all boarded up.’ Her eyes flicked over Janet’s shoulder and narrowed. She stepped to one side and yelled, ‘Oy, Rabia. Get here, now!’

Janet turned to see a teenage version of Mrs Muhammad in black jeans, a white blouse and spike-heeled boots, carrying a large sequined bag.

The girl hesitated – she was at the end of the row of shops – then walked up, her heels smacking on the pavement.

‘Why aren’t you in college?’ her mother snapped as she drew close.

‘Free period,’ the girl said, contemptuously. ‘I’m going back after.’

‘Make sure you do,’ Mrs Muhammad said.

‘I will. I said.’ The girl scowled. ‘OK?’ She spun around and stalked off.

‘Girls,’ Mrs Muhammad breathed, ‘ten times more trouble. You got kids?’

‘Two,’ Janet said, ‘girls.’

‘Good luck with that,’ she said and Janet smiled.

‘People trespassing?’ Janet prompted her.

‘Oh right, so sometimes there’s been kids in, not recently. Don’t know why they’d bother, what’s there to do in there, all weeds, i’nt it? It were a right blaze.’ She shook her head, patted at the scarf on her shoulder. ‘The house still stank even with all the windows shut.’

‘There have been other fires started deliberately?’ Janet said.

‘Yeah, the mosque, the school. It’s not good,’ she said. ‘Thought it was racists, the mosque, you know, but the school, we all use the school. What’s all that about? And this,’ she tipped her head in the direction of the Old Chapel, ‘well, it’s not good, is it? Who could do that to a person? That is really horrible.’

‘Are you aware of anyone causing problems in the area, antisocial behaviour, that sort of thing?’ Janet said.

‘You always get a few.’ She grimaced.

‘Can you think of anyone we should be talking to?’

Her expression altered slightly, becoming guarded, suspicious. ‘No,’ she said.

Janet wasn’t sure whether she resented the implication that she might know criminal elements in the area or whether she did know and was frightened to say so.

4

Rachel spoke to the residents at numbers six and eight Low Bank Road, all of whom had seen the blaze but nothing else. She recognized the woman at number six, she’d been there with the buggy and all her kids. The bloke at number ten, Mr Hicks, was housebound. He thought he had seen someone going down the side of the chapel. Running. ‘I think there were two of them,’ he said.