Out of the Ashes: A DI Maya Rahman novel. Vicky Newham

      ‘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 there was no misunderstanding.

      ‘Of course.’ She frowned. ‘Where else would he be?’

      ‘I have to ask this, I’m afraid. Can you think of anyone who might wish your husband harm?’

      Anguish spread over Indra’s face, and she looked at her sister and then me. ‘No. I cannot.’ No Lithuanian this time.

      ‘You told the 999 operator that you thought someone had tried to kill your husband. Why did you think that?’

      She blushed.

      ‘Mrs Ulbiene?’

      Dan had joined us again. He gave me a subtle thumbs-up.

      ‘If I remembered saying it, I’d say.’ Indra’s tone of voice told me she knew exactly what she’d done and why, but something was stopping her from saying.

      ‘Are you saying you don’t remember calling 999 or you don’t remember saying it?’

      Marta sucked a breath in through her teeth.

      ‘Calls to 999 are recorded and this one was traced to your mobile.’

      ‘She said she doesn’t remember.’ Marta’s expression was mutinous.

      Dan played the recording on his phone.

      ‘Poleece? My husband is in the fire in Brick Lane. I think someone’s tried to kill him.’ In the background, a female voice was talking. ‘I think someone’s murdered him.’

      ‘I take it that’s you, Mrs Ulbiene?’

      ‘Taip.’

      ‘Is that you in the background?’ I watched Marta.

      She groaned. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why did you think someone had tried to kill your husband, Mrs Ulbiene?’

      ‘Things are difficult.’ Indra seemed annoyed with herself, as though she’d given away something she hadn’t intended, or was hiding something.

      ‘In what way are they difficult?’

      ‘Detektyva, we are immigrants.’ She raised her fist in frustration, and dropped it back on the bed. ‘We work long hours. We’re in a lot of debt because we had to borrow money to set up the business and haven’t paid the loans off yet. Because we are foreigners, we didn’t get the best interest rates. Banks see a Lithuanian passport and immediately see you as high risk.’

      I picked up the bitterness in her reply and my heart went out to Indra again. It had been the same for my parents when we arrived in the UK. It’d taken a good ten years for Dad to establish himself, earn enough money for us to live off and gain respect. ‘I understand that. My family were immigrants too, but I don’t see how that relates to you thinking your husband was murdered. Can you fill me in?’

      Indra rolled her eyes.

      She was a smart woman. Given she’d asked to speak to us, she must’ve known we’d ask her about the call to emergency services. There was something she wasn’t telling us. I was sure of it. ‘Did you think he’d been murdered because you heard that the fire was arson or because you suspected that someone might want to kill him?’

      Marta muttered to her sister in Lithuanian.

      Indra gabbled a reply and they had a heated exchange. Marta’s speech became faster and louder, and her hands gesticulated in agitation.

      ‘I don’t remember what I thought,’ Indra said finally. ‘I was in shock when I heard about the fire. I was scared for my husband, and the business is our livelihood.’

      I suspected she was going to say something like this. ‘Of course. It must’ve been upsetting news to receive.’ I waited a few moments for her to regain her composure. ‘Who told you about the fire?’

      ‘Pardon?’

      I repeated the question.

      ‘Tomasz Feldman.’

      That was a surprise. ‘Why did Tomasz Feldman tell you about the fire? Do you know him?’

Maya, 8.45 a.m.

      I was keen to hear Indra’s response to my question about