After the Fire by Jane Casey Page B

further away from the top of the flats, shedding the gloom that had come over him in the charnel house of flat 113.
    ‘What makes you say that?’
    ‘If anyone was going to be murdered, ever, it was him. He hated everyone who wasn’t white, English and wealthy, and that’s a lot of people. Especially here on this estate. Frankly, I was surprised he wasn’t lynched two months ago when he was wandering around talking shit about that young black kid who was shot.’
    ‘Shot by the police,’ I said as quietly as I could. I wasn’t prepared to shout about Levon Cole. It was a very raw and recent death, and the last time I’d seen Armstrong he’d been scoring political points as a result of the shooting. It wasn’t something I’d found endearing.
    Behind us, I could hear the others starting to come down, their voices echoing in the stairwell. Otherwise the flats were silent. The residents had been evacuated to the local school for the night. There was something chilling about the empty corridors on each floor we passed, strewn with bags and belongings that people had dropped as they fled. Disaster had come to find them.
    I suddenly, quite desperately, wanted to get out of Murchison House and as far away from the Maudling Estate as I could go. I picked up speed, passing Derwent before he realised that was my intention. He couldn’t catch up with me on the last flight, though he tried, and I was the one who made it to the main door first. I shoved it open and stepped outside. As I passed through the door I slowed right down, walking calmly and with composure. There were still people hanging around, even at that late hour. There would be television cameras too. Police officers didn’t run unless there was a good reason to.
    ‘You should have said you wanted a race.’
    I turned my head to answer Derwent and saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, between two cars. I put out my hand to grab his sleeve. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Where?’
    I pointed. He looked, ducking sideways, then crouched down. I heard him swearing under his breath and then he motioned to me to go the long way round, behind the cars. He took the shorter, direct route, and I saw him drop to his knees, then onto the palms of his hands, lowering himself so he was almost flat on the ground.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Una Burt’s voice was loud and shrill behind us as she came out of the building. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting to find Derwent lying on the ground, but it wasn’t the right moment to explain why. I ignored her as I skirted the cars and I was sure Derwent was doing the same. It was hard to tell when his head and shoulders had disappeared under the Ford Focus that was on the left. I knelt down, ignoring the sharp bits of gravel that dug into my knees, and leaned to peer under the car. I could see Derwent, his head turned sideways. He was holding out his hand to the small figure that was curled up in a ball by the wheel. Derwent was showing him his warrant card, complete with a shiny metal crest.
    ‘Come on, mate. Out you come. I’m a police officer. I promise you can trust me.’
    ‘No.’ A small voice but very definite.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Thomas.’ His whole body jerked. ‘I mean, Sam.’
    Derwent looked across at me: had I noticed? I nodded.
    ‘Easy mistake to make,’ he said. ‘You can’t stay under there all night, Sam. Come on out and we’ll find your mum. She’s probably wondering where you are.’
    ‘Have you seen her?’
    ‘Yeah. I have.’ Derwent glanced at me and I nodded again. I’d have said the same thing. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
    ‘Waiting. She told me to wait for her until she came.’ He unfolded enough to show us a dirty, tear-stained face. ‘But she didn’t come.’
    ‘Come on,’ Derwent said again. ‘We’ll find her.’
    ‘Can you do that?’ he asked, his voice very tiny.
    ‘Of course. We’re the police. We can do anything.’
    ‘Are the firemen