“You mean it could have been an accident?” Laura asked, surprised. “An electrical fault or something?”

“Oh, no, not an accident,” Dizzy B said. “But maybe not kids on the rampage either. One of the emergency doors at the back had been forced and some sort of accelerant chucked about, petrol probably. This was arson all right, but by someone who really intended to gut the place.”

“I should have sold out when the developers made me an offer,” Redmond said. “I’d have been laughin’ then, floggin’ a goin’ concern over the odds. It won’t be worth more than the value of the site now.”

“I didn’t know you’d had an offer to buy,” Dizzy B said. “Who from, for God’s sake?”

“Some development firm Barry Foreman knew about. Wanted to convert into flats with shops underneath—like they done further up the street. They probably won’t be interested now.”

“What’s the company called?”

“City Properties? City Ventures? Somethin’ like that. Barry said they were the people who are going to redevelop the Heights.”

“Are they?” Laura said thoughtfully and saw the flicker of interest in Dizzy B’s eyes.

“You thinking what I’m thinking,” he asked. “Maybe someone wanting to force a sale they couldn’t get any other way?” Darryl Redmond shrugged.

“What difference does it make now? Come with me down the police station, Dizzy, to make this statement they want,” the club owner said, his face weary under the scattering of ash which clung to his dark skin and hair like mould. “If I ain’t careful I’ll find myself banged up for firin’ the place myself.”

“Right,” Sanderson said. “Though I don’t think I’m persona grata down there. But Laura, let’s get together, can we? I think we need to talk.”

“Call me when you’re free,” Laura said. “You’ve got my mobile number.” She watched the two men pick their way up the street to Sanderson’s car and waited until Bob Baker emerged from the ruined building where he had been deep in conversation with Val Ridley.

“OK?” Laura asked.

“Right, I think I’ve got the gist,” Baker said airily. “The usual stuff, Asian and black lads in a skirmish outside the club. The place gets a petrol bomb and most of them turn on the fire engine and police cars when they arrive. Small riot, not many hurt, one Caribbean club down the tubes. No tears in Little Asia.”

“Right,” Laura said demurely, knowing that Baker had got it wrong in one crucial respect. But she would wait to contradict him, she thought happily, until they were reporting back to Ted Grant in the office. She owed him that.

Michael Thackeray listened to DI Ray Walter silently although his face was grim. He and the drug squad inspector were gathered in Jack Longley’s office and the superintendent was watching the two younger men warily as Walter outlined his night’s work with evident satisfaction.

“Even though the catch was a bit disappointing, the whole exercise keeps the bastards jumpy. They never know where we’re going to hit them next. And that’s half the battle,” Walter said.

“So how many searches did you make?” Thackeray asked.

“Six altogether. All on information from the lad I’ve got undercover up there.”

“And how much illicit material did you find?”

Walter glanced at Longley as if for assistance but none was forthcoming. Longley appeared to be waiting with as much anticipation as Thackeray for Walter’s answer.

“Not a lot,” Walter admitted. “We’ve a couple of lads down Eckersley police station looking at charges of intent to supply. But what I’m hoping is that they can be persuaded to tell me who their supplier is, the next one up the chain. That’s what we’re really after, and we’re not there yet.”

“Sounds like a lot of resources for a small result,” Longley said. “All that overtime. Uniform won’t be happy.”

“They can live with it,” Walter said. “And from their point of view it keeps the neighbourhood happy if they think we’re picking some of the dealers up. But when I’ve talked to the two we nicked last night, plus the people at the computer project we arrested the other day, I reckon we’ll be getting a lot closer to the main man.”

“Donna Maitland’s dead,” Thackeray objected mildly enough, although inwardly he seethed at Walter’s casual certainty.

“And what does that tell you?” Walter asked. “Couldn’t face the music, could she? Anyway, never mind her. The so-called DJ Sanderson’s up to his neck in the supply chain, I reckon.”

“But he’s only been in the town two minutes,” Thackeray objected.

“So he says,” Walter shot back. “In any case, London’s not so far away these days. This is an international trade we’re talking about, not some local scam run from a back room. It’s big business. Run by big businessmen. You’ve got to work your way up the chain to find the top dog. We’ll get there. I’ve got my man well in up there. He’s not come up with a lot yet but I’m optimistic.”

“I’m glad someone is,” Thackeray muttered but said no more as Jack Longley flashed him a warning glance.

“What really bugs me is that your man Mower’s been up there for weeks as well without a word to anyone,” Walter said pointedly to Longley. “He must have picked up some intelligence that was worth reporting back with. Didn’t you know he was there, for God’s sake?”

“Not until you made arrests at the Project,” Thackeray cut in. “He’s on leave. He’s had a rough time.”

“He’s a bloody loose cannon if you ask me,” Walter said to Longley. “Gone native, I shouldn’t wonder. Any road, keep him out of my hair from now on, would you, sir?”

“He’ll be told,” Longley said, glancing at Thackeray.

“Jack here tells me you think I can help you with something?” Walter turned to Thackeray without any sign of eagerness to assist his colleague. “What’s all that about?”

“Stanley Wilson,” Thackeray said. “Have you any indication that he was involved in the drugs scene? He was seen up on the Heights regularly chatting to some of the lads for no very good reason that I can discover.”

“This is the gay bloke found with his knickers in a twist, is it?” Walter said. “I’ve not heard the name, but I’ll have a word with the team. He may have cropped up in some report or other. But surely his boyfriend has to be prime suspect, doesn’ t he?”

“Well, he’s certainly on the list,” Thackeray said. “But Wilson seems to have had a finger in more than one bit of unpleasantness so it’s not impossible that he was into drugs as well. He worked for Barry Foreman.” Thackeray dropped the name into the conversation without meeting Longley’s eye, but he got no reaction from the drug squad officer.

“If I hear anything I’ll let you know soonest,” Walter said. “In the meantime keep me in touch with anything you come across that might be relevant. I’d like to know who torched the Carib Club, for instance. Could well be drug inspired, that. Sanderson was involved down there as well.”

“As a DJ,” Thackeray said.

“Did you source the Ecstasy the grammar school kids had taken the night of the accident?” Walter asked. “Are you sure they didn’t get it at the Carib?”

“We haven’t sourced it anywhere,” Thackeray said. “The parents have drafted in some big legal guns and the kids have conveniently forgotten all about where they got their pills.”

“Do you want me to have a go at them?” Walter asked. “I know it’s your case, but I’d dearly like to pin Sanderson and his mates down, even if they’re not part of the main scene.”

Thackeray glanced at Longley who shook his head imperceptibly.

“Thanks but no thanks,” Thackeray said. “Leave it with me. I’ll let you know if anything of interest emerges, but I’m not hopeful. Chasing sources of Ecstasy’s a bit like asking five year olds where they got their jelly babies, isn’t it? They’ve had so many they don’t remember.”

“Don’t let the Chief hear you talking like that,” Walter said getting to his feet. “According to him the war on drugs is winnable, so don’t you go spreading negative messages if you want to make superintendent.”