Out of the Ashes. Vicky Newham

for his father when he was at school, doing a paper round, and then helping with deliveries and putting stock out. The two of them worked alongside each other for twenty-five years. He took the shop over when his father died, and then he and I ran it together. I’d known him since I was four.’ Her mouth flickered a tiny smile and it was one of the saddest things I’d ever seen.

      The arrival of a staff member prevented Rosa from saying anything further. ‘Time for your meds, Mrs Feldman,’ the nurse said cheerily, and she poured out fresh water.

      I waved to indicate I was off. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’ My phone had been vibrating in my pocket, so I took the opportunity to check my messages.

      It was a text from Shen.

      Indra had woken up and was extremely agitated. She wanted to speak to me.

Maya, 8.30 a.m.

      Dan and I were in the lift at the Royal London Hospital, on our way to interview Indra on the ward.

      ‘Rosa is adamant she’s going back to the shop,’ I told him, and pressed the lift button. ‘I’ve asked Shen to speak to the consultant. She’s a determined lady. I’ve got visions of her discharging herself, flagging a black cab down in her hospital gown and then falling down the stairs at the shop.’

      ‘Good idea.’

      ‘Given what Indra’s gone through, I’d have preferred to leave it a day or two before broaching the subject of money and murder motives, but we have to consider her a suspect.’

      ‘I hope for her sake the shop was well insured. Not just the building but their income and business.’

      ‘I was thinking the same thing.’ The lift dinged and I followed Dan out.

      ‘I want to know why she told the police she thought Simas had been murdered. Don’t you?’

      ‘I guess it’ll depend whether she knew about her husband’s infidelities. If that’s his body in their shop, and he was messing around with another woman . . . ’ The thought was upsetting. ‘I’m hoping there will be an innocent explanation for the woman being there. Perhaps the two of them huddled together to escape the fumes?’ One thing was sure, the interview was going to require careful handling.

      When we arrived at Indra’s ward, rows of narrow beds greeted us. Nylon curtains hung on rails round each unit. It was hardly private. Marta was sitting beside her sister’s bed on the visitors’ chair, holding Indra’s frail hand. It was bruised, and Marta held it carefully so as not to aggravate the place where the cannula entered the vein.

      Indra’s blonde hair lay around her head like a nest, and her eyes looked huge in her gaunt features.

      ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Ulbiene. We all are.’

      ‘Ačiū.’

      I pulled up a chair and gathered my thoughts. ‘Would you like your sister to stay with you?’

      ‘Таip.’ I knew this meant yes. Beside the bed, the drip stand held a bag of clear fluid.

      ‘I’ll keep it as brief as I can. They aren’t tactful questions, I’m afraid.’

      She didn’t react.

      ‘Is your shop insured?’

      ‘Таip.’

      ‘Building and contents cover?’

      ‘Taip, žinoma.’

      ‘Are you OK to speak English or do you need an interpreter?’

      ‘I speak English.’

      I smiled an acknowledgement. ‘Do you remember the name of the insurers?’

      ‘My husband deals with that side of the business. The paperwork is in the flat and . . . ’ Her arm flailed in the air because the rest was obvious. Hopefully, she’d have details of their insurers in an email account.

      ‘Did your husband have a life insurance policy?’

      ‘Žinoma, ne.’

      ‘Does your husband have any family in the UK?’

      ‘A brother in Bethnal Green.’

      ‘What’s his name?’

      ‘Artem Gudelis.’

      Dan opened his phone browser.

      ‘Were they close?’

      ‘Of course.’

      Dan shifted his gaze from his mobile to Indra in the bed. ‘Does Artem run the club COCO?’

      ‘Таip.’

      ‘Get hold of him,’ I whispered to Dan. ‘Tell him we need to speak to him in person, ASAP.’

      Dan slid away from Indra’s bedside and marched towards the ward exit with his mobile already clamped to his ear.

      ‘Mrs Ulbiene, did you speak to your husband yesterday?’

      ‘Таip.’

      ‘Are these questions necessary?’ Marta stroked her sister’s forehead soothingly. ‘You can see she —’

      ‘They are,’ I said to Marta. ‘What did your conversation entail?’

      ‘It was short. We’d just arrived at the hospital and the security man told me I’d need to switch my phone off when we reached the ward.’

      ‘Was your husband home all day?’

      ‘As far as I know.’ Indra shielded her face with her hand.

      ‘What were you doing?’

      ‘I had . . . ultragarsu at the hospital in the morning for the baby. After that, Marta and I went for lunch to celebrate, then to a salon for facials and masažas.’

      ‘What time did you leave home to meet your sister?’

      ‘Nine-ish?’ She glanced at Marta for confirmation.

      ‘Were you with Marta the whole time until you came to Brick Lane?’ This would mean they were each other’s alibis.

      ‘Таip.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘Am I a suspect? Is that what these questions are about?’

      ‘I’m sorry. We do need to know whether you were involved with the arson, yes.’ I winced as I said it. It was horrible to think Indra could have been responsible, and even worse to have to raise it so soon after she’d lost her baby.

      ‘Kristus.’ Indra raised her arm in irritation and let it fall back on the bed. ‘Why would I kill my husband? And set fire to my own business? We’ve worked our arses off trying to get it off the ground. We wanted to expand.’

      ‘Which day do you normally close the shop?’

      ‘We never close in the daytime. Neither of us has had a day off in two years. We work seven days a week. We were trying to build up the business so we could open another shop. Maybe set up franšizės around London.’

      ‘Has your husband ever suggested closing the shop before today?’

      ‘Ne.’

      ‘When you spoke to him, did he mention having any visitors at all?’

      ‘Ne.’

      ‘He didn’t say that anyone had called round to see him or that he’d arranged for someone to come round? Your GP? Or a friend?’

      ‘He was sick. I told you. He called me. Said he was in bed with a fever. That was it.’

      ‘Was he in your bedroom? The left-hand room at the front of the house?’ I gestured with my left hand to make sure