‘It’s possible,’ the boss answered.
‘Any sign of how they got in?’ Rachel said. ‘The place was boarded up, wasn’t it?’
‘No answers yet,’ the boss said. ‘Find out who the current owner is, talk to them, any history of break-ins and so on. CSI and fire investigation still ongoing. Could be some time. What we do have is a gold wedding ring recovered from our victim, inscribed R.K. and J.S. 23.4.72.’
‘Forty years,’ said Pete.
‘To that end, Kevin,’ Her Maj’s beady eyes bored into Kevin’s head, ‘start a trawl of the marriage records, beginning locally, that date and those initials.’
‘Narrows it down,’ Lee said dryly.
‘I know,’ the boss agreed, ‘without an ID, motive is likewise obscure. But perhaps Kevin will be able to help us with the name and next of kin and we can trace the widow. Rachel, Janet, Lee and Mitch, house-to-house in the area. Janet, you’re still acting sergeant, you coordinate it,’ Godzilla instructed. ‘Did anyone see any activity at the chapel on Wednesday? I’ll be meeting with the area intelligence manager.’
‘Use of a firearm,’ said Mitch. Ex-army was Mitch, good on hardware. ‘That size – we’re talking a small handgun.’ Mitch pointed to the magnified image of the two bullets that had been taken once they were recovered from the body. ‘Do we know what weapon?’
‘At the lab now,’ Godzilla said.
‘Could be a hit,’ Mitch said. ‘Though no bullet to the head, which is a little unusual.’
‘An assassination?’ the boss said. ‘Why burn the body? With an organized hit half the intention is to send a message, “Look what big scary fuckers we are, anyone else tries it gets the same.”’
‘Setting the fire, that’s quite different, that’s twisted,’ Rachel said. ‘The desire to hurt, isn’t it?’
Lee nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, think of all the ex-partners who stuff burning rags into houses, kids upstairs in bed. Whole families.’
‘Personal,’ Her Maj mused, ‘which doesn’t sit easily alongside the organized hit scenario.’
‘Drugs?’ said Rachel. Drugs and guns, like fish and chips, rum and Coke.
‘Mitch,’ the boss said, ‘have a chat with the drug squad, find out what little sleaze-ball’s running the supply on Manorclough. We should know later today or tomorrow what weapon we’re looking for and whether there’s a tie-in to any other shootings. The first call to the fire service was from a Zainab Muhammad at the flats opposite. Several more calls came in after. So house-to-house, speak to Mrs Muhammad and her neighbours.’
‘Any reports of gunfire?’ Rachel said.
‘Nothing logged,’ said the boss, ‘see what the locals tell you. The residential properties are across the road from the chapel, no homes on the chapel side. Our colleagues in the fire service are also looking into similarities between this arson and two prior incidents.’
Rachel thought of the crowd she’d seen gawking at the inferno. Wondered if any of those watching knew that a man was inside the building. Would any of those who’d rubber-necked feel differently once they heard? A harmless spectacle, a bit of a thrill in their dull, tedious little lives transformed into a tragic loss of life. Some would probably get a kick out of the notion, Rachel thought, that X-factor moment of coming close to murder, death, scandal.
‘What were you doing loitering on Manorclough?’ Janet asked Rachel as they got in the car.
‘Why?’ Rachel said.
‘I’m nosy, humour me.’
‘I’d been for a run.’ Rachel started the engine.
‘A run. I’m not sure I could run for a bus,’ Janet said. There never seemed to be any time to take exercise.
‘Running twice a week. Boxing club every Tuesday. Well, that was the plan,’ Rachel said.
‘Boxing! What does Sean think about you boxing?’
‘I’m not boxing,’ Rachel laughed. ‘I’m helping train ’em up. Self-defence. Though I can do a mean kickbox if pushed. It’s the youth project. Keep ’em off the streets. Community-minded, right?’
‘I suppose,’ Janet said.
‘There’s fuck all else for kids to do, I used to help out back when I was on probation. Good for the CV. Tried to get Dom along-’ She stopped abruptly. Janet knew Rachel was still devastated about her brother and also that she hated talking about it. Before Janet could say anything Rachel ran on, ‘Anyway, what’s Sean got to do with it? He’s not the boss of me.’
‘No, I am,’ said Janet.
‘Sarge!’ Rachel laughed.
‘Give over.’
‘Someone should ring Andy, let him know.’
‘Shut. Up,’ Janet enunciated clearly. Sergeant Andy Roper had been abruptly transferred to another syndicate in the meltdown that had followed their brief affair, with Andy morphing from Janet’s secret lover to stalker then saboteur. His removal had led to Janet’s temporary promotion. She hoped it wouldn’t last too long. She didn’t need any new challenges, was eager to just let everything settle, subside. She craved some stability. She owed it to the girls, as well. No sooner had Ade moved out after a miserable, gut-wrenching row than their grandma, Janet’s mum, Dorothy, had moved in needing support after her hysterectomy. Now Dorothy was back in her own home and Ade was back in the marital bed. It felt like musical chairs. Without the fun. And now Ade was talking divorce.
Janet looked at the map of the area surrounding the Old Chapel. A large roundabout marked the middle of the estate, perhaps designed as Oldham’s answer to the village green. The main roads met at the roundabout. Off Manorclough Road was the shopping precinct. On the far side of the roundabout two tower blocks stood. Opposite the Old Chapel, slum housing had been cleared in the 1980s and replaced by new-built maisonettes. There were a few larger buildings marked on the map to the north between the canal and Shuttling Way, the dual carriageway they were driving along. Janet looked up and identified the mill, now converted into retail use: paint, furniture, mirrors, fabric and lighting. Further clues as to the area’s past were in the names of the streets, Fullers Yard, Tanners Back Lane, Mill Lane and Spindle Road. Cotton had driven the expansion of the area, cotton too brought workers from Pakistan, India and Bangladesh. Ade, a geography teacher, would be proud of her.
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.