The Fire Man (2 page)

There was scant information in the file. It simply comprised the sums insured, the basis of settlement (which was reinstatement – “New for Old” in layman's language), the address, contact numbers and a note to the effect that the full policy details were in the process of being scanned and would be emailed later.

Haven't got time to wait for them
, thought McRae.
We need to get cracking!

So, what to do? Should he handle it himself or let Grim loose? Frankly, Grim was every bit as good an adjuster as he was himself, but he supposed that he ought to take the personal responsibility, just in case any politics emerged. Better still, perhaps they should double up? The loss was minor, but if he wanted to have the slightest chance of impressing CFG, two heads might prove better than one.

‘Where's Grim, Karen?' His shout echoed around the outer office. No reply, she must be out.
Probably gone to the bank
, he thought, before easing himself out of his chair. No sooner, however, had he reached the door than she materialised.

‘You bellowed?' she snapped.

‘Yeah, just wanted to know where Grim is?'

‘I've just seen him parking downstairs, should be here in five minutes. Anything else… sir?'

‘No, that's fine,' he responded, musing that even to a man of his equanimity, the constant smart-arse chippiness could become a little wearing. At Karen's personnel review every quarter, he entered the three-word summary: “Brilliant, but Stroppy”. It summed her up perfectly.

Actually, come to think of it, Karen did seem just a little crankier than was normal – even for her
. He reached behind him into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, which was draped over the back of his chair. Extracting his diary, the reason for the woman's mood became horribly apparent. He had promised her lunch today.

‘Shit.'

He had automatically shuffled off to the pub with Grim, forgetting the promise that he now dimly recognised was of rather more significance to her than it was to him.
Still, there was time to put it right
, he thought. He could suggest dinner, which she would undoubtedly leap at even though she knew perfectly well he had forgotten the lunch.

He decided to bluff it out.

‘Karen,' he called out to the outer office. ‘I thought rather than lunch we might have an early dinner today, after I get back from the Walsall job. What do you think?'

There was a lengthy pause before she replied evenly through the open doorway. ‘Okay, shall I book somewhere?'

Damn
, he thought,
that's going to cost me
. Then, with heartiness he didn't entirely feel, replied: ‘Great!'

Walsall – “famous” to pub-quiz cognoscenti as the birthplace of the leather-lunged Noddy Holder of 1970s pop group Slade – was not a pretty place, even at the best of times.

In this persistent downpour, against the backdrop of a yellow tinged, slate-grey sky, the entrance to the Foundry Business Park looked as unwelcoming as Broadmoor. The partially illuminated, graffiti-scrawled sign listing the “inmates” was a fair reflection of the area's industry. Buckle makers, panel beaters, zip importers and assorted metal-bashing companies predominated with just a sprinkling of leatherworkers to add a touch of levity. Hellenic Fashion's name stood out like a ballet dancer at a rugby league ground.

Screwing up his eyes to decipher the unit number, which was partially obscured by the scholarly addition –
“
wanker
”
in blue aerosol paint, McRae eventually made out the letters H16.

‘Looks great, eh?'

‘Depends what you're used to,' muttered the small figure slumped in the passenger seat of McRae's Audi.

‘What the hell does that mean?' retorted McRae.

‘Well… to those in a position to allocate themselves all of the high quality cases in Solihull and Stratford, it no doubt appears a little unsavoury – but to lesser mortals, fed an unending diet of Black Country crap, it looks pretty good,' sniped Grim.

Yeah, yeah, yeah,
thought McRae,
here we go again.
He contented himself with a dismissive snort. Listening to Grim, you'd think he had never got his hands dirty, but 12 years exposure to rundown council estates, converted mills and dodgy customers in Manchester, Liverpool and the Lancashire mill towns, had given McRae a thorough grounding in the gritty side of life. Come to think of it, Grim had been with him in most of those places anyway, so he should know better. It was, he reasoned, hardly his fault that Grim and his delightful missus had chosen to live in Aldridge on the northern fringe of Brum, so it stood to reason that he was going to pick up a lot of jobs in less-than-desirable locations. He chuckled to himself.

‘What's so bleeding funny?' enquired Grim.

‘Nothing, but from the look of that police tape, it would appear that we're nearly there. I'll park up.'

Running the Audi half onto the grass verge, which was scattered with pasty wrappers, beer cans and similar high-quality detritus, McRae applied the handbrake and switched off the engine.

‘Shall we take a quick butcher's before we announce ourselves?'

‘Why not?'

The two men ducked under the flapping tape, which was somewhat easier for Grim than McRae, before striding towards the incident location that was concealed behind a screen of fire tenders and police vehicles. Altogether McRae counted five pumps and a ladder platform amongst the assembly, although one or two of the tenders were looking ready to leave. The smell in the air was unmistakable: a distinctive acrid blend of burnt wood, plastic and chemicals that seemed to accompany every serious fire. A thick column of smoke could still be seen hovering above the vehicles.

Surprising number of appliances,
thought McRae.
Must have been a quiet day down at the Blue Lane station – either that or they're all on attendance bonus.

After negotiating the flank of a water tender and stepping carefully over a nest of unruly and heavily weeping hoses, the premises of Hellenic Fashions came into view. Grim was the first to react.

‘Well, well, well… I'll be buggered. If that's a twenty grand loss, I'm the effing Pope!'

Certainly, the sight that greeted them was unexpected. Unit H16 had been an extensive steel-framed, single-storey warehouse with a brick façade, fronted with a two-storey office administration block. The offices had clearly survived largely intact but the warehousing had been pretty much gutted. The perimeter walls had buckled, pushed out of the vertical by the expansion of the steelwork, and much of the profiled steel roof had collapsed in on itself. The atmosphere was thick with the damp stench of destruction.

The car park fronting the offices was piled high with debris, presumably pulled from the storage areas by the firefighters. Miscellaneous garments in a multitude of garish colours, mainly tops, skirts and dresses, lay scattered on the ground like battered flowers, muddied, soiled and saturated. What hadn't been smoke- stained or soaked by the enthusiastic efforts of Walsall's finest, was now benefitting from unexpected exposure to the rain, which was now gusting across the depressing scene.

Well, depressing to some
, thought McRae. It looked like a very substantial case, hence an equally substantial fee, to his jaundiced eye.

The usual cast had assembled in their respective knots: police, fire brigade personnel, some unnecessary ambulance guys and a bunch of what McRae presumed to be factory employees in grey overalls. A group of local youths in their regulation hoodies were clowning about on undersized bikes on the fringe. McRae's eyes were drawn to four men wearing suits under yellow hi-visibility vests who were sheltering under a pair of umbrellas. They were smoking and looking suitably sombre. Two of the men were listening intently to a tall, slim guy gesticulating towards the rear of the property, while the fourth, a stocky, swarthy man, with an almost Friar Tuck-like fringe of short hair surrounding an oval bald patch, appeared more interested in the activity of the firemen who were now winding down their operation. As the adjusters stared at the group, Friar Tuck glanced in their direction.

‘Right, let's get back to the car before we introduce ourselves,' said McRae. ‘Going to need the weather gear and boots, I reckon.'

‘I need a fag is what I reckon,' was the reply.

The appointment Karen had arranged with Hellenics' head man had been fixed for approximately 3pm and, glancing at his watch as he opened the driver's door of the Audi, McRae noted it was not quite 2.35pm. He squeezed back into his seat and slammed the door.

‘Let's just think about how we approach this a second, eh?' he said, shaking a cigarette out of his pack and offering the pack to his colleague. Grim simultaneously extracted a cigarette with his right hand, while lowering his window with his left.
What a talent,
thought McRae. Having lit his cigarette and adjusted the window to his satisfaction – just a fraction; enough to let the smoke out, but keeping the rain from entering – Grim eventually replied.

‘Shall I concentrate on the structural damage and machinery, as usual, while you do the chat and get a handle on the stock?' he enquired.

‘Mmm, maybe,' replied McRae, ‘or perhaps we should both do the interview this time and then split the assessment later.'

‘But it'll take longer that way,' protested Grim.

‘Yeah, but I don't want us to miss anything on this one, mate. Two heads better than one etc.… In fact, that's what we'll do,' he said, suddenly decisive. ‘CFG are going to be bloody nervous when they see the reserve on this, so we'd better make sure they have no excuse to take the case back from us.'

Concluding their cigarettes and having struggled into Fairclough-emblazoned wet-weather gear, hard hats and boots, the pair, laden with cameras, files and clipboards, retraced their steps to Hellenic Fashions. It was now 2.50pm, but the sky was as dark as Hades and the rain was showing no sign of relenting. It was a bit of an ominous day, all in all.

He doesn't look like a typical Greek
, thought McRae, as they shook hands amid the debris.
More Prince Philip than Zorba, that was for sure.
The group was currently sheltering from the worst of the rain underneath what remained of the entrance porch. Beneath his anorak hood, it was apparent that Kanelos was a pale-skinned, fair-haired man, quite tall and slim, with a handsome, straight-nosed face. Particularly surprising was the man's deep, velvet, well-modulated voice. For some reason that McRae couldn't define, the voice seemed incongruous being so exceptionally soft and easy on the ear. Very English and refined, it seemed that Kanelos must certainly have been born in the UK. He wasn't just unusual for a Greek, but also as a “rag-trade” man; he had the persona of a merchant banker or a distinctly upmarket solicitor.

‘Thanks for getting here so quickly, gentlemen. I'm afraid it looks pretty desperate,' Kanelos sighed. ‘Mind if I see your cards?'

Fishing a somewhat dog-eared visiting card from the breast pocket of his suit with some difficulty, McRae juggled with his clipboard before handing it over. It was quickly joined in the slim grasp of the Greek's hand by Grim's clean and pristine equivalent. Kanelos glanced at the cards for a fraction of a second before asking, ‘So, gentlemen, where would you like to start?'

‘A bit of background I think, Mr Kanelos, but perhaps you can introduce us to your colleagues first?' McRae glanced out of the side of his eye at the two men who had hung back a little as Kanelos had introduced himself.
Now, they look almost theatrically Greek
, thought McRae,
the only thing missing was a pair of piratical moustaches
.

‘Of course, of course, how rude of me,' responded Kanelos, smiling apologetically. ‘This gentleman is Spiros Angelous, our sales director,' he said, gesturing in the direction of the taller of the two, ‘and this is George Gallo, our operations manager.'

The men exchanged cursory handshakes. The fourth man that the adjusters had noticed during their unannounced preview was nowhere to be seen.

‘Can you firstly tell us a little about the company, Mr Kanelos? Please assume that we know nothing about the fashion industry.'

‘Certainly,' replied Kanelos, before starting to outline the history.

It transpired that Hellenic had been in existence for over ten years. The company employed around twenty personnel, most of whom were either designers, office workers or warehousemen. Originally, the company had operated in the heart of Birmingham, before transferring to Walsall as they had outgrown their original premises. Kanelos explained that Hellenic had initially manufactured their lines in-house but now was effectively a wholesale trader, importing its stock mainly from Greece, where it was made up to Hellenics' requirements. The man was keen to emphasise that Hellenic was a superior operation, with its own highly respected branding and a reputation for quality.

‘We aren't some Bangladeshi t -shirt outfit; our garments are well-made, high-fashion, high-margin clothes. We regard ourselves as up there with the very, very finest… you understand?'

‘Right, understood,' said McRae, pausing to absorb the drama of Kanelos's emphasis. ‘So can you just give us a feel for the layout?'

Before Kanelos could respond, Gallo interjected, ‘We can do better than that... this is a plan of the warehouse I was able to rescue from my desk. It's a bit grubby but it may help.' He brandished a heavily creased and distinctly smoke-permeated piece of paper in his left hand. The adjusters stepped forward and craned their necks to scrutinise the plan.

The building was a simple one. Running horizontally across the front was a two-storey office and administration block built of brick with a flat asphalt roof, behind which were three connecting, lofty, steel-framed bays that stretched back at 90 degrees to the administration block. Gallo indicated, using a stubby, nicotine-stained index finger, the entrance where the group was clustered. Immediately behind them on the plan was the reception and on either side were indicated the general and sales offices respectively. The ground floor of the office block was completed by a small kitchen and canteen with adjacent toilets.

‘What's above?' enquired Grim.

‘The designers' room and our offices,' replied Kanelos, presumably meaning the directors. ‘Generally, the damage to this area is not too bad. It's the warehouse that's really been buggered.' Leaning in towards the crumpled plan, Kanelos then pointed towards the three bays. ‘Unit A is used mainly for receiving, treating and processing deliveries, Unit C is for despatch control and most of the stock was in B.'

I can see he doesn't get too involved in the dirty end
, thought McRae as he studied the elegant, impeccably manicured fingers of the Greek.

‘So, what can you tell us about the circumstances?' he asked.

‘Well, all we know at present is that George here was the last to leave at around 8pm last night.' Gallo did his best to look innocent as this damning remark was uttered. He succeeded. ‘He had to hang around to accept a late delivery, which was offloaded at about 7pm. Everything was locked up as usual and the first thing we knew was when George got a call from the alarm company, Alaska, at about 6.15am this morning, telling him that the central station burglar alarm had been triggered. About five minutes later, the police arrived while he was getting dressed to say that the place was on fire. He rang me immediately. I called Spiros and we all arranged to come down here together. We got here eventually about an hour later. The fire was pretty fierce by then, I can tell you. It took the brigade about another hour to bring it under control.'

‘So, why did George get contacted? Is he the registered keyholder?'

‘Of course,' said Kanelos. ‘George looks after everything concerning the premises. He effectively manages the place day to day.'

‘Do you own the building?' enquired Grim.

‘Yes, we do actually. We used to rent, but we had an opportunity to buy out the lease last year,' replied Kanelos with a slightly unconvincing appearance of regret.

‘And how much stock do you think you were carrying?' enquired McRae.

‘Well, fortunately we do stock reconciliations on a weekly basis, so we have a pretty precise idea. As of last Friday, the stock stood at just under £8million.'

He looked enquiringly towards the two adjusters. There was a pregnant pause while McRae and Grim exchanged glances before the former spoke.

‘Fine, I think that'll do us for now,' he said. ‘Time to take a good look around. We'll have another chat with you in about an hour if you don't mind hanging on here, but we may need to come back with any queries as we proceed.'

‘Yes, well, as you might imagine, I have quite a few things to be getting on with,' said Kanelos ruefully. ‘We may well decide to be represented by someone who can help us with our claim, so I have to sort out some meetings with a few assessors. Perhaps you wouldn't mind raising any questions with George here in my absence?'

‘Certainly', replied McRae, ‘but we will definitely need to speak to you personally at some stage later.'

‘Of course,' smiled Kanelos.