Private Oz (Private 7)

“Something I picked up from Darlene. Always handy … if you’ll pardon the pun,” she wiggled her fingers at me. “Here.” She fished out a second pair from her cargo pants. Tossed them over. The place still stank really bad.

“Tried to open a window,” Mary said. “Sealed tight.” She flicked a glance toward a small window along the wall near the bedroom. “Checked every cupboard. No one in any hidey-holes. Looks like Julie O’Connor left in a hurry, but there’s no sign of a handbag or purse. Found this on the floor over there,” Mary added, picking up a five-dollar bill.

“Probably dropped it after snatching notes from this,” I replied, indicating a jar lying on its side on top of the fridge. A few coins had been left inside.

“So what’d she set alight?”

“It’s hard to tell.” Mary nodded at the crispy papers. “Some of it’s just burned to nothing.” She pointed to a pile of black, fire-ravaged paper, then carefully shifted through a few pages of what looked like some sort of a scrapbook. “Don’t want to damage it more, Darlene’ll kill me!” she commented. Prising it open about halfway through, she glanced at the pages.

I walked round and peered over her shoulder. There was a scorch mark running across the paper. “Personal info, descriptions,” I said. “That set of numbers halfway down the left side.” I hovered a finger over the damaged papers. “List of credit card numbers … always sixteen digits, batches of four.”

Mary nodded, turned a page carefully. “She’s headed each double page with a woman’s name.”

I felt a tingle pass up my spine as I saw the name at the top of the first pair of pages. Elspeth Lampard. “Alright,” I said. “Let’s bag this stuff. Get it to Darlene.” I glanced round to search for a plastic container. That’s when we both heard, from the hallway, the sound of smashing glass.

Then a loud “whoosh”.

Chapter 105

THE FIRE SHOT along the short, narrow hallway like the jet from a flame-thrower. “A Molotov!” I yelled above the roar of the blaze.

Mary was up in a flash, her chair flying across the kitchen floor as she ran for the bedroom. I scanned the room desperately and spotted a plastic trash bag scrunched up beside a garbage bin. I plucked it up. Moving as fast as I could, I scooped the material on the table into the bag, then tucked it inside my jacket.

Before I’d finished, Mary was back in the living-room clutching a pair of blankets. The flames from the hall had spread, tendrils

reaching toward the ceiling of the main room. A tatty sofa close to the hall end had caught fire, the cheap foam adding to the stench as it melted.

Mary ran over to the sink, pulled on both taps, twisting them to “max”. “Got to wet the blankets!” she hollered and threw them under the running water. I caught a sodden blanket. Following Mary’s lead, I ducked my head under the stream of tap water. Then I wrapped the wet blanket about my shoulders, across my front, letting the bottom edge knock against my shins.

“Go!” I bellowed, and without wasting another second, I ran straight for the flames and the hallway.

The fire had engulfed half the living-room. I could sense Mary a foot behind me as we stumbled into the hallway.

The heat from the fire hit me like flames from hell. I knew I had to keep running. The floor was alight, scorching my shoes.

Gripping the blanket, I reached for the latch and twisted. It was locked.

I felt panic rise up in my chest. It was getting hard to breathe. I turned to Mary. I’d never seen her scared before. Then we both reached the same decision at the same moment and charged forward, slamming into the door together.

I heard the wood splinter and managed to stagger back. My chest was screaming at me. My feet felt like I was walking barefoot on hot coals, but I knew that if I didn’t keep going we would both die.

Mary obviously thought the same thing. We ran for the door again. A pain shot across my shoulders and up my neck. The door gave, but only opened a fraction. We charged a third time, the sense of desperation growing. The door fell outwards, and I collided with Mary as we crashed onto the concrete landing.

We pulled ourselves up but I tripped on the blanket, falling heavily against a door on the other side of the landing. Shrugging off the pain, I tossed the blanket aside and felt something hit me hard across the face and chest. I looked up and saw Mary leaning over me beating out a line of fire with her blanket, yellow flames searing across the front of my shirt.

Chapter 106

WE STAGGERED OUT onto the smudge of ground between the buildings. I was leaning forward, hands on my knees, gasping for air. A couple of teenagers saw us and ran over. Mary was coughing from her gut and then she spun round and vomited. I saw the first guy approach as I straightened and felt a terrible pain in my jaw. I stumbled back and caught a glimpse of the other kid as he jumped on Mary’s back.

Before I could take in that the bastard had hit me, he swung his fist again. I dodged it, lashed out and caught him on the side of his face.

I heard a crash from behind and saw the kitchen window of Julie O’Connor’s apartment shatter outwards, a great sheet of flame spewing out. The teenagers were distracted and Mary had recovered amazingly quickly. She whirled round, a string of vomit running down her vest top, threw the teenager clinging to her back straight over her head. He crashed to the ground, face first. I landed a second punch to the side of the other kid’s face and Mary connected her right boot with his balls. He doubled up, moaning.

I noticed the bandage around Mary’s hand was bloodied. “You alright?” I gasped almost inaudibly.

“Felt better, Craig. You?”

I started coughing and couldn’t stop for at least ten seconds, then groaned. Fire alarms in the apartments began to wail.