times, otherwise a shed, one was a garage. The one nearest you was a car.’
‘That was a while ago.’ I counted back in my head. ‘In the spring, or maybe even before that.’
‘So you did know about them?’
‘Not that there was a “them”. I knew about the car because I saw it.’
His voice sharpened. ‘What do you mean, you saw it? You were there?’
‘I was on Mr Rudiger’s terrace – I’m there now, too, by the way, so you can ask him as well. We saw a huge pillar of black smoke. I rang 999 to report a fire, and they said it had already been called in.’
‘And then what?’
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. It had no explanation for that question, so I returned it to my ear and repeated ‘And then what what ?’
‘And then what did you do?’
I didn’t understand what he was asking me. I looked around as though I would find an explanation floating in space. ‘I don’t know, it was months ago.’ I looked at Mr Rudiger. ‘Do you know what we did after we saw that car on fire in the spring?’ He smiled gently and shook his head, so I returned to Jake. ‘Neither of us knows. We went on talking, most likely. Or I went downstairs. Or to a movie. I read a book. Played with Bim in the garden. Danced the tango. How the hell do I know what I did one afternoon months ago?’
I could hear him smile. ‘I meant, did you go and watch the fire?’
I laughed. ‘Of course not. Why would you even think that?’
‘Because you would have if you were a man – not an agoraphobic man.’ Courteously he excluded Mr Rudiger from his sweeping generalisation. I heard a voice near him, and Jake said, ‘In a minute.’ Then he was back. ‘Got to go. I’ll be lateish.’
I hung up. If I were a man, I would have gone and watched a car burn? I decided not to share this psychological insight with Mr Rudiger, instead telling him that there had been a series of fires that the police were linking together. He’d heard about a garage burning, as well as seeing the smoke from the car with me, but, like me, he hadn’t known that there were more fires to be taken into account, much lessthat the police were thinking of them as a series.
Mr Rudiger again refused supper, so eventually I went back down. ‘Lateish’ for Jake meant he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner, but was likely to be back before I was asleep, so I read a manuscript as I ate, and then sat in the garden for a while. After a time, lateish turned into late, and I decided not to wait up. I was just slipping into sleep when I heard Jake’s key in the door. By the time he’d walked the short distance down the hall, I was fully asleep.
In turn, Jake was still asleep when I got up early to go running. I call it running, although people who really do run might question my choice of verb. But that’s their problem. The plus of the early morning was that it was cool. I nodded to the various regulars as I passed – the man who ran with two huge Dobermans (did two of them make them Dobermen, I wondered each time I saw them?); the three old men from, I had always assumed, the sheltered accommodation flats near the park, who stood waiting to collect their newspapers from Azim the very second he opened; the woman who looked like she was having a coronary every time she ran – oh wait, no, that was me.
I knew I looked like I was having a coronary every time I ran, there just didn’t appear to be anything I could do to change it, so I ignored it, as always. Jake was making coffee by the time I hit the shower, and was reading files at the table when I emerged. He looked up as I filled my cup, but waited to speak until I sat down. Then he began without a preamble. ‘They ID’d the dead man from the fire last night,’ he said. ‘He ran an after-school club, a programme to keep adolescents out of trouble, kids who might be at risk.’
‘And?’
‘And it looks like he didn’t keep them out of trouble. It looks like he was trouble.
‘That was a while ago.’ I counted back in my head. ‘In the spring, or maybe even before that.’
‘So you did know about them?’
‘Not that there was a “them”. I knew about the car because I saw it.’
His voice sharpened. ‘What do you mean, you saw it? You were there?’
‘I was on Mr Rudiger’s terrace – I’m there now, too, by the way, so you can ask him as well. We saw a huge pillar of black smoke. I rang 999 to report a fire, and they said it had already been called in.’
‘And then what?’
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. It had no explanation for that question, so I returned it to my ear and repeated ‘And then what what ?’
‘And then what did you do?’
I didn’t understand what he was asking me. I looked around as though I would find an explanation floating in space. ‘I don’t know, it was months ago.’ I looked at Mr Rudiger. ‘Do you know what we did after we saw that car on fire in the spring?’ He smiled gently and shook his head, so I returned to Jake. ‘Neither of us knows. We went on talking, most likely. Or I went downstairs. Or to a movie. I read a book. Played with Bim in the garden. Danced the tango. How the hell do I know what I did one afternoon months ago?’
I could hear him smile. ‘I meant, did you go and watch the fire?’
I laughed. ‘Of course not. Why would you even think that?’
‘Because you would have if you were a man – not an agoraphobic man.’ Courteously he excluded Mr Rudiger from his sweeping generalisation. I heard a voice near him, and Jake said, ‘In a minute.’ Then he was back. ‘Got to go. I’ll be lateish.’
I hung up. If I were a man, I would have gone and watched a car burn? I decided not to share this psychological insight with Mr Rudiger, instead telling him that there had been a series of fires that the police were linking together. He’d heard about a garage burning, as well as seeing the smoke from the car with me, but, like me, he hadn’t known that there were more fires to be taken into account, much lessthat the police were thinking of them as a series.
Mr Rudiger again refused supper, so eventually I went back down. ‘Lateish’ for Jake meant he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner, but was likely to be back before I was asleep, so I read a manuscript as I ate, and then sat in the garden for a while. After a time, lateish turned into late, and I decided not to wait up. I was just slipping into sleep when I heard Jake’s key in the door. By the time he’d walked the short distance down the hall, I was fully asleep.
In turn, Jake was still asleep when I got up early to go running. I call it running, although people who really do run might question my choice of verb. But that’s their problem. The plus of the early morning was that it was cool. I nodded to the various regulars as I passed – the man who ran with two huge Dobermans (did two of them make them Dobermen, I wondered each time I saw them?); the three old men from, I had always assumed, the sheltered accommodation flats near the park, who stood waiting to collect their newspapers from Azim the very second he opened; the woman who looked like she was having a coronary every time she ran – oh wait, no, that was me.
I knew I looked like I was having a coronary every time I ran, there just didn’t appear to be anything I could do to change it, so I ignored it, as always. Jake was making coffee by the time I hit the shower, and was reading files at the table when I emerged. He looked up as I filled my cup, but waited to speak until I sat down. Then he began without a preamble. ‘They ID’d the dead man from the fire last night,’ he said. ‘He ran an after-school club, a programme to keep adolescents out of trouble, kids who might be at risk.’
‘And?’
‘And it looks like he didn’t keep them out of trouble. It looks like he was trouble.
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