Out of the Ashes. Vicky Newham

I used to—?’

      His face softened. ‘Oh, I remember you two. The pick-n-mix,’ he said with a note of amused affection. ‘I was sorry to read about your brother. Dreadful thing to happen.’

      ‘Thank you.’ I paused to recalibrate and tell him about the gas in the soup shop. ‘The reason we’ve evac—’

      ‘It’s very damp in your mother’s shop.’ Dan’s interruption broke my train of thought. ‘Couldn’t you help her to get the heating updated?’

      I shot Dan an unimpressed look. ‘Er – this is my sergeant, DS Maguire.’

      ‘I’ve been trying, believe me,’ Tomasz replied. ‘Spent the last ten years trying to get Dad to sort it out. Even offered to organise and pay for the work myself but the old man wouldn’t hear of it. Said the place was fine.’ He raised his hand in a baffled gesture. ‘Everyone can see it’s been neglected for years. With Dad, unfortunately, I think it was pride.’ He focused his gaze on me. ‘But it’s created an impasse as Mum seems to feel some misguided sense of loyalty now that Dad’s dead, and she won’t agree to work being done either. I’ve offered to put her up in one of my properties while the work is done but she won’t hear of it. I’ve run out of ideas.’

      ‘What’s your line of business?’ I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t followed his parents into running the newsagent’s. He’d always seemed ambitious.

      ‘I own some property and I have a bar.’

      ‘Around here?’

      ‘A bit further towards Shoreditch.’ He gestured behind him with his thumb.

      Dan was already on his phone. He seemed to have taken a dislike to Rosa’s son.

      ‘Do you live up there too?’ I asked.

      ‘Yes. When my sister and I left home, she moved out to Newham and I stayed in Tower Hamlets. She had a family and when Dad got sick, it was easier for me to keep an eye on Mum when I was up the road.’

      ‘Are you in touch with your sister much?’ She’d been a few years younger than me I’d never got to know her.

      ‘Agnieszka? Oh, yes. We both do what we can to help Mum. Especially now Dad’s not around.’ He paused, as though he was deciding what to say. ‘It isn’t easy. I don’t think they make them like her anymore.’ He gave a small, frustrated laugh. ‘Perhaps it’s a generational thing: being born at the end of the war and emigrating . . . ? It must have been hard. She’s fiercely independent and not good at asking for help. The old man was extremely proud. He didn’t like help either.’ His smile creased the corners of his mouth, and the obvious affection made his thoughtful brown eyes shine.

      His comments reminded me of my own mother, and I wondered how she would have coped, slogging away in a shop, organising orders and deliveries, and doing business accounts at the age of seventy-five, after losing her husband months earlier.

      ‘Agnieszka and I both told them to give up the shop years ago. Things have changed round here. All the people Mum and Dad knew have moved out of Brick Lane.’ He pointed, first at Alchemia, with its new glitzy shopfront, and then at his mother’s newsagent. ‘It’s sounds harsh but no-one needs Basildon Bond envelopes and jars of instant coffee when we are surrounded by espresso bars and supermarkets.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’d better shoot. I want to get to the hospital and make sure she’s OK.’

      ‘Before you dash off, we’ll need your contact details.’ I signalled for one of the uniformed officers. ‘When did you last see your mother?’

      ‘First thing this morning.’ The frown clouded his features briefly and I noticed that his hair was scattered with grey at the temples. ‘I helped her with a delivery. The boxes were far too heavy for her and the driver dumped them in the street.’

      ‘Did you see any activity over the road at the soup shop?’

      ‘I saw Indra leave around nine. The shop was shut up. That’s extremely unusual for them.’

Maya, 6.15 p.m.

      As Dan and I walked away from the crime scene, my thoughts shifted from Rosa Feldman. It was clear that the fire was arson, so we now had a double murder and two people in hospital, both extremely ill. I’d need to report in to Superintendent Campbell and request she appoint me SIO. Questions were swirling in my mind, and I was determined that whoever was responsible would be brought to justice.

      I dialled the hospital and asked to be put through to the ward. Rosa was much better but was refusing to go and stay with her daughter. ‘Rosa has been having more nightmares,’ I told Dan once I’d rung off. ‘She’s waking up screaming, convinced she’s back in Warsaw.’

      ‘Poor lady. If she was born at the end of the war, the German army razed the city to the ground. The Soviet troops finished it off a year later. I’m not surprised the fire has triggered traumatic memories.’

      ‘Once she’s awake she knows she’s not back in Poland, but she insists that the only place she feels safe is at the newsagent’s . . . ’

      ‘. . . which may be true but isn’t necessarily what’s best for her.’

      ‘How on earth can she return to the shop after inhaling all that smoke?’ I asked.

      Dan was pensive. ‘I’m sure her kids will see her right. Tomasz has gone to the hospital, so he’ll find out about the dreams. It sounds like he’s got property to put her up in.’

      As we walked away, a gaggle of reporters swarmed towards us, clutching microphones and filming equipment, and shouting questions. Cameras flashed in my face, blinding me temporarily. I blinked and recognised a slim figure in a full-length coat at the front of the group. Her usual long black tresses had been pulled up into a faux-casual top-knot, and she was wearing her trademark four-inch heels.

      ‘Inspector Rahman.’ Suzie James’ rasping voice was unmistakeable. ‘What can you tell us about the fire?’

      I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. At this stage of the investigation, I couldn’t afford to antagonise the press or get into a skirmish with Suzie.

      ‘Has anyone been killed and was it arson?’ Another reporter shouted and shoved a microphone at me.

      I stopped and prepared to address the group. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Maya Rahman. An investigation is underway following the fire at the Brick Lane Soup Company this afternoon. The fire is being treated as deliberate, and my team and I are working hard to piece together the sequence of events and to apprehend whoever may be responsible.’ I paused, wanting to emphasise our request for help from the community. ‘We are appealing for a number of critical pieces of information. Firstly, we want to hear from anyone who was at the flash mob or in the shop area this morning. If you saw anyone acting suspiciously, or have smartphone video footage, please contact us. Secondly, anyone who has been unable to contact a friend or loved one since the fire, please call us. At the moment, we have two fatalities, and we need help identifying one of these. We are keen to hear about anyone who is missing or from anyone who cannot contact a female friend, sister, mother or daughter. Any information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, please contact the incident room at Limehouse Police Station. Thank you.’ I checked my watch. ‘I’ll take a few quick questions.’

      A cacophony of voices broke out.

      ‘Where is the shopkeeper, Mr Gudelis?’ a local journalist shouted.

      ‘We are trying to establish his whereabouts,’ I replied.

      ‘Is this a hate crime?’ shouted a reporter for The Messenger.

      ‘We have no evidence of that.’

      ‘You’re not ruling it out though?’

      ‘We are pursuing a number of lines of enquiry.’

      ‘We’ve