The Aftermath

" Intense, chilling and filled with a creeping menace, The Aftermath is a book that will keep readers turning the pages long into the night. I couldn’t put it down." – Lisa Hall, author of Between You And Me.

"Dark and suspenseful. I loved it." – Tana Collins, author of the Inspector Jim Carruthers series.

"I was gripped from the first page to the last because nothing - and no one - is as it seems. The Aftermath is mesmerising." – Roger Corke, author of Deadly Protocol.

Another triumph from Gitsham - dark, tense and compelling from the first page until the last chilling twist. I read it in one nailbiting sitting.' – Lucy Martin, author of Last To Leave.

Nail-biting twists that will keep you guessing until the very end. – Antony Johnston, author of the Brigitte Sharp thrillers and The Dog Sitter Detective Series.

About The Author

Paul Gitsham started his career as a biologist, working in laboratories in Manchester and Toronto, before retraining as a secondary school science teacher.

He now tutors in science and writes crime fiction.

Paul always wanted to be a writer, and his final report on leaving primary school predicted he'd be the next Roald Dahl! For the sake of balance it should be pointed out that it also said he'll never get anywhere in life if his handwriting doesn't improve.

Decades later and his handwriting is even worse, and unless Mr Dahl also wrote crime fiction under a pseudonym, he has failed on both counts!

Paul lives in the West Midlands with his wife, in a house with more books than shelf space.

Also by Paul Gitsham

DCI Warren Jones Series

The Last Straw

No Smoke Without Fire

Blood Is Thicker Than Water (Novella)

Silent As The Grave

A Case Gone Cold (Novella)

The Common Enemy

A Deadly Lesson (Novella)

Forgive Me Father

At First Glance (Novella)

A Price To Pay

Out Of Sight

Time To Kill

Web Of Lies

The Aftermath

Paul Gitsham

Not for distribution or resale without written permission from the author.

Copyright © Straw Hat Crime 2024

Copyright © Paul Gitsham 2024

Paul Gitsham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Paul Gitsham.

E-book Edition ISBN: 9781068730504

Paperback Edition ISBN: 9781068730511

Cover design: BespokeBookCovers.com

Typeset in EB Garamond 11pt

Contents

Dedication

Then

Prologue

Now: Three Years After The Fire

1.Chapter 1

2.Chapter 2

Then: The Morning After The Fire

3.Chapter 3

Eight Years Ago: Five Years Before The Fire

4.Chapter 4

Now: The Morning After The Storm

5.Chapter 5

6.Chapter 6

7.Chapter 7

Then: Three Days After The Fire

8.Chapter 8

Five Years Ago: Two Years Before The Fire

9.Chapter 9

Then: Three Days After The Fire

10.Chapter 10

11.Chapter 11

12.Chapter 12

13.Chapter 13

Four And A Half Years Ago: Eighteen Months Before The Fire

14.Chapter 14

Now: The Day After The Storm

15.Chapter 15

16.Chapter 16

Then: Three Days After The Fire

17.Chapter 17

18.Chapter 18

19.Chapter 19

Four Years Ago: Nine Months Before The Fire

20.Chapter 20

Then: Four Days After The Fire

21.Chapter 21

22.Chapter 22

Now: Three Days After The Storm

23.Chapter 23

24.Chapter 24

Three And A Half Years Ago: Six Months Before the Fire

25.Chapter 25

Then: Four Days After The Fire

26.Chapter 26

27.Chapter 27

Two Months Before The Fire

28.Chapter 28

Now: Three Days After The Storm

29.Chapter 29

30.Chapter 30

Then: Three Days Before The Fire

31.Chapter 31

Now: Four Days After The Storm

32.Chapter 32

33.Chapter 33

Then: Night Of The Fire

34.Chapter 34

Now: Five Days After The Storm

35.Chapter 35

36.Chapter 36

37.Chapter 37

38.Chapter 38

39.Chapter 39

40.Chapter 40

41.Chapter 41

42.Chapter 42

43.Chapter 43

44.Chapter 44

The Night Of The Storm

45.Chapter 45

Now: Six Days After The Storm

46.Chapter 46

47.Chapter 47

48.Chapter 48

One Month Later

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Other Writing By Paul Gitsham

For my beloved Cheryl.

This book would not exist without you.

Then

Prologue

Primary Fire. Serious risk to life and property.

The shed was fully ablaze as Crew Manager Matt Brown burst through the kitchen doors and out into the garden. He caught the familiar odours as he pulled his breathing mask across his face. Wood smoke, burning roof felt, and something no firefighter ever wanted to smell.

To the left of the shed, a man in a shirt and trousers was on his hands and knees retching. Beside him a garden hose pumped water ineffectually onto the path. The water pressure this far from town was crap; they’d have to pull their hoses through the house and use the appliance’s water pumps to douse the inferno.

I can’t get the door open, the man wheezed. I can’t get in. A series of coughs wracked his body, and he threw up on the lawn.

Behind him, Brown heard the thud of boots as his colleagues followed him.

Pausing to size up the challenge ahead, he hefted the crowbar in his hand, then approached the conflagration.

The wooden outbuilding was completely alight, flames licking its roof.

Deliberate, he thought. Treated wooden sheds didn’t just spontaneously catch fire.

The shed door was reinforced with a high-security lock and two padlocks, one at the top and one at the bottom. They were both hanging from their hasps.

He reached for the handle with his insulated gloves and gave it a firm twist. Nothing, it was locked.

I can’t find the keys, the man gasped, before coughing again.

Come with me mate, it’s not safe. Brown heard his crewmate’s soothing voice behind him. Even through his protective suit, the heat was fearsome.

He inserted the crowbar between the lock and the door jamb and levered it back. With a splintering crunch, the door opened.

Behind him he heard scuffling and a surprised grunt from his colleague. Woah mate, stay with me.

Turning, Brown blocked the entrance to the burning shed and grabbed the flailing homeowner.

No mate, no mate, you don’t want to see in there, he said, struggling to stop the man from going any further.

One glance and years of experience had told him that once seen, the inside of the shed could never be unseen.

The man let out a shrieking scream. Carole!

Now

Three Years After The Fire

Chapter one

Dominic Monaghan tapped the side of his champagne flute with a fork and stood. Raising his voice above the howling wind and pounding rain outside, he lifted his glass.

Ladies and gentlemen, a moment of your time, please.

I thought the speeches were supposed to be at the end of the meal? someone called out.

And give you the opportunity to sneak out early to relieve the babysitter? I’m wise to that one, Pete.

Seamus Monaghan gave a mock groan and placed his head in his hands. Beside him his fiancée, Andrea, laughed and settled back in her seat. Dominic was an entertaining and witty public speaker; she looked forward to what he had to say. She looked forward even more to the small glass of champagne she was allowing herself. Seamus reached for his red wine and finished it in one gulp.

Andrea squeezed his hand in support. Where Dominic was loud and outgoing, happy to be the centre of attention, Seamus was more quiet; shy even.

Seamus reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. I think I’m going to need this, he muttered. The dozen or so friends gathered around the table chuckled at his discomfort.

Grin and bear it sweetheart, she whispered in his ear. He’s picking up the tab, remember.

Seamus took a large swallow of his wine.

Today we are gathered to celebrate my little brother, said Dominic. Thirty years old and he doesn’t look a day over forty.

Piss off, said Seamus, as he emptied his glass. Unlike some people here, I don’t dye my hair.

I think the grey makes you look sexy, Dom, piped up Anton. I’ve always had a thing for silver foxes.

You have a thing for anything with a pulse, said Dominic.

Anton gave a good-natured shrug. There is that.

Seamus reached for the wine bottle again, and Andrea buried a twinge of jealousy. It was his birthday; if not tonight, then when? For months, he had abstained from drinking in the house. Their fridge was filled with alcohol-free beers and the spirit collection had been banished to the garage. It was a silent sign of support that reminded her why she loved him so much.

Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, continued Dominic, tonight, we are here to celebrate my little brother reaching another milestone, his voice took on a mock wistful air. Why, it seems like only yesterday, I was teaching him how to shave and talk to girls,

Oh, so that’s your fault? called out Andrea. You and I need a chat. She kissed Seamus on the cheek. No offence, sweetie.

The bathroom looked like a murder scene, said Seamus. His voice was slurred, but he wore a sloppy smile. I must have ended up with half a loo roll stuck to my face.

Manual dexterity never was your thing, said Dominic, over the laughter. He spoke in a mock stage whisper. It’s why he’s never beaten me at FIFA.

There was a chorus of oohs, from around the table.

Oh, that’s a low blow, Andrea said.

Dominic gave an exaggerated shrug. All I’m saying is that you should leave it to Uncle Dom to teach the bump how to play video games, change a tyre, wire a plug …

Seamus’ retort was drowned out by a deafening crack of thunder. A moment later, the restaurant was plunged into darkness.

There was a collective gasp from the assembled diners and a squeal of surprise from one of the servers. After a few seconds the emergency lights above the fire exit blinked on, the flickering tealights the only other source of illumination.

Dominic stepped over to the full-length windows and peered through the glass.

Looks like that took out the whole hillside, he said.

A low hubbub started amongst the other guests. Eventually Francesco, the restaurant owner, emerged from the kitchen, a torch in his hand.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am so sorry, he said loudly. We have completely lost power, along with the rest of the area. I’m afraid we are going to have to close for the night.

What about the rest of our meal? demanded a middle-aged man in a suit and tie. Don’t you have a back-up generator?

I’m sorry, but it only powers the emergency lights and keeps the freezers running, Francesco said.

Don’t you cook on gas? asked the man’s wife.

Yes, but it isn’t safe for my staff to work without proper lighting, Francesco said.

As the harried restaurant owner tried to placate the irate customers and stave off the one-star reviews, Seamus stretched his back.

Spared by a divine act, he said to his brother.

Don’t worry, I’ll save it for team briefing, Dominic said, clapping him on the back as he headed for the young waitress who had been serving them.

I take it the tills are down? he said.

Yes, she said. She nodded anxiously.

Don’t worry, Dominic said. Frankie’s a mate. I’ll pop back later in the week and settle up for the wine we’ve drunk.

He opened his wallet and took out a twenty-pound note. Stick this in the tip jar, it’s not your fault the weather’s so bad.

Back at the table, the rest of the party were getting their coats and saying their goodbyes. Andrea grabbed a couple of handfuls of bread from the baskets on the table; it was already an hour past the time she and Seamus usually ate, and she was ravenous.

She looked at her champagne flute, before deciding she’d earned it.

You stay here, Dominic said, materialising at her side. I’ll bring the car around.

No rush, she said patting her swollen belly. Bump needs a wee.

***

Maurice Seacombe peered through the windscreen of his elderly Subaru, the headlights barely cutting through the pounding rain. Another flash of lightning left coloured spots dancing in his vision. Beside him, his wife shifted in her seat.

Slow down, Maurice, she said. He ignored her, concentrating on the road ahead. His daughter had offered them her spare room for the night, but Winnie was hosting tomorrow’s Macmillan coffee morning and she wanted to get up early to do some more baking. He should have put his foot down and insisted they stay. But after forty years of marriage, he’d learned to pick his battles.

You’re going too fast, she said, as if a lifetime of knitting in the passenger seat had somehow made her an authority.

Do you want to drive? he asked, glaring at her.

Look out!

Snapping his attention back to the road, he hit the brakes, feeling the wheels lock and the car start to slide.

He caught a brief glimpse of the woman’s face as she tumbled down the embankment, and then she was gone.

Wrestling with the wheel, he felt the drumming through the brake pedal as the car’s ABS fought for grip on the slick tarmac, before they finally came to a scraping, juddering halt, resting against the crash barrier.

He let out a deep breath.

Are you OK? he asked, turning to his wife.

She pointed at the huge crack in the windscreen, her voice a whisper. I think you hit someone.

Chapter two

Wind buffeted the car as Dominic steered it carefully along the country lane, the rattle of the rain all but drowning out the faint whine of the Tesla’s electric motor.

Ah, shit, said Seamus as they pulled up to the electric gates at the end of the driveway. The house beyond was in total darkness; not even the security lights came on.

You know I’m not one to say I told you so … Dominic said.

It’s pitch black, Seamus said. Solar panels don’t work at night. You’ll be sitting in the dark, just like us.

Are you sure you don’t want to stay over? asked Andrea. The weather is appalling.

Dominic gestured towards the traffic update on the car’s display. The main road is still open, he said. I’d rather get home before it floods. He turned to his brother. And you’re forgetting; I have battery back-up. Forty-eight hours of lovely lighting, TV, heating, cooking … You know I might even turn the hot tub on …

Anyone ever tell you, you’re a knob? Seamus asked.

Only you, Dominic said. He turned to Andrea in the backseat. You know what, Andy, why don’t we leave Seamus to sit in the dark with a candle and eat cold baked beans, whilst we go back to mine, reheat last night’s lasagne and chill in the hot tub?

That’s sweet, Dom, but I really wasn’t planning on a water birth with you as the midwife.

Dominic shrugged. Your loss. If you change your mind, I’ve got loads of fresh towels, and I’ve watched videos on YouTube; it doesn’t look that difficult.

Andrea leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. You’re such a charmer.

Seamus reached across the centre console and gave his brother an awkward hug.

Sorry about tonight, Dominic said. I’ll have the two of you over next week and I’ll cook us something to celebrate properly.

Looking forward to it, Seamus said before stepping out into the rain. Opening his umbrella, he sheltered Andrea as she heaved herself out of the car.

Dominic waited until he was sure the side gate had opened, before turning the car around. He quietly beeped the horn and glided away.

Sheltering under the porch as Seamus unlocked the door, Andrea watched as the Tesla’s rear lights disappeared from view.

She shook her head. What are we going to do about him? she asked. Not for the first time. What was the excuse this time? Too needy?

Something like that, Seamus said, as he let them into the house. You know, when we were younger, he was the one who all the girls liked. He was handsome, funny and smart. He can cook, and he had his own company by the time he was twenty. I figured for sure he’d be married with kids by the time he was twenty-five. Meanwhile, I was short, spotty and shy.

Yeah, it’s weird how one of you got all the good genes, Andrea said. She kissed him. No offence.

He swatted her backside. It’s my birthday, you’re supposed to be nice to me. It’s the law.

You know, I’ve been wondering something for a while, Andrea said. Dominic’s always pulling lovely girls, but they never seem to last very long. I was just thinking …

That he might be gay, Seamus finished.

You’ve got to admit, it’s a possibility, she said.

Seamus puffed out his lips. It’s crossed my mind, he admitted.

Do you think we should say something? Andrea asked as she groped around in the junk drawer for candles.

By we, you mean me?

Well, he is your brother. But seriously, Seamus, if you would find it too awkward, I don’t mind.

I’ll think about it, Seamus muttered.

I’ll tell you something, though, she said, moving the subject to safer ground. He might be right about the solar panels and battery back-up. It’d be nice not to have to dig the candles out every time there’s a storm.

Yeah, I’ll look into it, Seamus said. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Our last electricity bill was horrific, and it’s only going to get worse. It’s just Dominic can be such a smug git when he’s right.

***

Dominic drove through the pounding rain. The live traffic updates had shown the most direct route to be blocked, so he took the longer main road. Even so, he kept his speed low. The powerful headlights struggled to penetrate the blackened gloom and the wipers were swishing flat-out.

Eventually he turned off the wide A-road, and started down the narrow, single-lane track towards his house. The rain running off the embankment had turned the road into a muddy quagmire, and he was glad he’d not waited around any longer. Much more of this and it would be impassable.

Finally, his house came into view.

Shit.

The house was pitch black. He thumped the steering wheel in frustration. The battery back-up had cost a small fortune; it was supposed to store unused electricity from the array of solar panels on the roof and mean he wasn’t reliant on the National Grid at night, or in the event of a power failure. This was exactly what it was supposed to prevent.

Thank God Seamus wasn’t with him; he’d never live it down.

Then

The Morning After The Fire

Chapter three

Seamus Monaghan cradled the cup of coffee in his hands; a thin film had formed as it cooled. It was his third that morning. It too was destined for the sink.

The two detectives were sympathetic, expressing their condolences; he’d barely heard them. All he could see were the flames engulfing the body. And the smell … oh the smell … he knew he’d never forget it.

The younger of the two, a black woman with braided hair, sat awkwardly, clutching her own coffee whilst her partner, an older white man in his fifties with greying hair and a thin moustache, made notes in his pocketbook.

DS Freeland had asked most of the questions so far.

Was your wife depressed or upset? he asked.

Seamus shrugged. His brown eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his blonde hair tousled where he’d been running his hand through it. Not really. We’ve had a tough couple of years, obviously, but I thought she was coping. She never said anything …

What about recently? Was there any change in her mood? Anything worrying her, or causing her stress?

There was a round of shrugs from the others present in the room; Seamus’ older brother and the best friend of Carole, Seamus’ late wife.

What time did you return home last night? asked the younger detective.

A little after ten, I think? Maybe half-past? Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name, Detective.

DC Obigwe. Call me Mercy, she said, gently. And you said you’d been away for a few days?

Yeah, Manchester.

There was a trade conference, Dominic said. I would have gone myself, but we’re in the middle of negotiating a new contract … He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. Maybe if you’d been here … If I’d gone instead, she wouldn’t have … he broke off and wiped his face. I’m so sorry, Seamus.

Seamus shook his head but couldn’t bring himself to speak.

When did you last speak to your wife? Freeland asked.

The morning I left. Monday. I texted her a couple of times to let her know how things were going, then to let her know when I was due to return.

But you didn’t speak?

He shook his head, tears forming again. I didn’t get a chance. It’s the biggest conference of the year. I spent all day pitching to people, then ate out with existing clients in the evening. By the time I got back each night, it was too late … His voice caught. I should have made the time. Maybe if I’d spoken to her, she wouldn’t have … maybe I could have heard something in her voice and realised she needed me …

Hey, hey, stop that, Dominic said, enfolding Seamus in his arms. "You couldn’t have