The Choice. Kerry Barnes

he was trying to interpret the shape as anything other than a body, but it was so clearly the remains of one. A thought occurred to him that if it was his Tiffany, then he would see the heavy gold chain around her neck or the gold watch on her wrist, but there was nothing that resembled those, only blackened remains. Suddenly, he glared as a firefighter went up to the body, blocking his view. Torvic, though, wanted to have a closer look, but he was held back by another firefighter.

      Torvic blinked and came out of his trance. His eyes diverted to the fire investigators who were kneeling down by what had once been the door. They were spraying something over the areas where the handle and the lock were. Then the penny dropped. He knew they were checking to see if the door was in the locked position. Torvic shrugged the man off him and then focused on the bright-red fire blanket that covered who he assumed was his granddaughter. Now the pieces suddenly fitted together. She had been at the door, frightened out of her life, and the fucking thing had been locked. Jackie had locked her in. He suddenly had a hopeful thought. Perhaps Tiffany had locked Jackie in. Yes, that must be it. Tiffany had locked her in.

      As he turned to storm away, Phil clutched his arm again. ‘Sir, we need to ask you a few questions.’

      Torvic shook his head, shrugged the officer off, and marched towards his car.

      Just as Phil was about to call after the scary old guy, a big-bellied gypsy accosted him. He came so close, Phil could smell the garlic from his breath.

      ‘I know who was in that caravan. Her name’s Jackie Menaces. She probably got pissed and set the van alight, mate.’

      Phil stepped back to get a clearer look at the man who was in his face. ‘Do you know the woman? Only …’ – he pointed to the wild man who was about to get into his car – ‘that gentleman wanted to know if it was his granddaughter in the caravan.’

      Torvic stopped in his tracks and turned to face them.

      The chubby traveller, with a toothless grin, shook his head. ‘Nah, it was Jackie. I saw her through the window earlier.’

      ‘Was anyone else with her?’ asked Phil.

      ‘Nah, I only saw her walking around in her caravan. She’s a pisshead. She likes a good drink, that one.’

      ‘Are you sure no one else was with her?’

      The toothless gypsy nodded his head. ‘I tell ya, it was Jackie Menaces in that van. Ask me missus. She saw her an’ all. We were coming back from feeding the horses, and as we walked past her van, me ol’ gal, said, “Look at her. She’s got a glass of vodka in her hand already.”’

      ‘Are you positive it was Jackie Menaces, though?’

      ‘Cor, yeah. ’Course I’s sure. I ain’t blind. We all knows Jax. She’s the local slut.’

      Phil frowned. ‘And how do you know it was vodka she was drinking?’

      The gypsy laughed. ‘’Cos that’s what she always drinks – morning, noon, and night.’

      ‘And your name, sir?’

      ‘Jericho. Me missus is Mena. That’s her, over there.’

      Phil nodded and gingerly stepped towards the large woman, who was clearly shaken up. Her face was pale, and her eyes were turned down at the sides, red-rimmed and glazed over.

      ‘Your husband said you saw Jackie Menaces in the caravan before the fire. Is that correct? And is there anything else you can remember?’

      Mena swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from her top lip. ‘All I saw through Jackie’s window – she don’t have nets up, see – was her standing with a large glass tumbler in her hand. It was clear liquid. The gal never drinks water, so I guessed it was vodka.’ Her voice cracked. ‘She has a son, little Richard Menaces. Sorry, I mean Ricky Regan.’

      Torvic had heard enough. The police were now busy taking notes, and so it was his call to leave.

      Cora, Tatum’s wife, heard Mena talking to the policeman and decided to join in. She edged her way over and stood side by side with Mena. ‘Yeah, that’s right. The bitch told us the boy was called Richard Menaces, but it was all a pack o’ lies. The boy got released early from prison, probably living with his real farver, no doubt. He’s some geezer called Mike Regan.’

      Phil pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. ‘Mike Regan, did you say?’

      Cora nodded. ‘Yeah. He was in the nick an’ all. Me husband reckons he’s a bit of a gangster or summat.’

      ‘So, then, did this Mike Regan hold a grudge or …?’

      With a smug smile on her face, Cora put in her two pennies’ worth. ‘She had loads of enemies, that skanky bitch. She was always conning people, selling gear … even her own arse. She lied about her boy, and from what me ol’ man says, Mike Regan thought his boy was dead until he met the kid in the nick.’

      Phil smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you. Um …’

      ‘Cora. Me name’s Cora. I live in that van over there.’ She pointed to the caravan, two behind the remains of Jackie’s.

      ‘I’ll call by and get a statement from both of you, if you don’t mind.’

      * * *

      An hour later, Phil had left the site, on his way back to the station to write up his report. He decided to put in a call to Detective Inspector Lowry. ‘Mike Regan. Does that name mean anything to you?’

      Lowry was just about to tuck into a burger when he answered the phone. ‘Yes, it does. Why?’

      ‘Gov, his ex-wife’s van has been burned to the ground. There’s a body inside. It may be her. It could be murder, Gov, because the door was locked, and so whoever was inside couldn’t escape.’

      ‘Okay, Phil, leave it with me. I’ll pay him a visit.’

      ‘Gov, do you think he may have torched it, revenge and all?’

      ‘No, Phil, it’s not his style, but, Phil, leave Regan out of this. He’s … Let’s just say he’s helping us with our inquiries.’

      Lowry wiped the tomato sauce from around his mouth and let out a heavy sigh. Releasing Mike Regan and his firm early in return for cleaning the streets of the Flakka drug was questionable at every turn and not a decision he’d agreed with at the time. As far as he was aware, the firm had found the gang leader, the man they referred to as the Governor, and that was the end of it. The team were told not to ask questions, and, sure as hell, he wanted the least bit of involvement as possible. His superior, the Police Commissioner Conrad Stoneham, was on leave, and it was a good job too since it wasn’t looking good for him at the moment. For Stoneham’s sister, the MP, had been arrested for failing to stop at an accident, and, right now, with the Commissioner’s face plastered across every newspaper, he was right to take time off. Having Regan brought in for questioning was something he really didn’t relish, but it might have to be done. He would put it off though until Stoneham returned. The Commissioner could take the stick if Regan had killed his ex-wife. He himself wanted nothing to do with it.

      ‘Damn you, Stoneham. You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie,’ he mumbled to himself.