Dan played the recording on his phone.

‘Poleece? My husband is in the fire in Brick Lane. I think someone’s tried to kill him.’ In the background, a female voice was talking. ‘I think someone’s murdered him.’

‘I take it that’s you, Mrs Ulbiene?’

‘Taip.’

‘Is that you in the background?’ I watched Marta.

She groaned. ‘Yes.’

‘Why did you think someone had tried to kill your husband, Mrs Ulbiene?’

‘Things are difficult.’ Indra seemed annoyed with herself, as though she’d given away something she hadn’t intended, or was hiding something.

‘In what way are they difficult?’

‘Detektyva, we are immigrants.’ She raised her fist in frustration, and dropped it back on the bed. ‘We work long hours. We’re in a lot of debt because we had to borrow money to set up the business and haven’t paid the loans off yet. Because we are foreigners, we didn’t get the best interest rates. Banks see a Lithuanian passport and immediately see you as high risk.’

I picked up the bitterness in her reply and my heart went out to Indra again. It had been the same for my parents when we arrived in the UK. It’d taken a good ten years for Dad to establish himself, earn enough money for us to live off and gain respect. ‘I understand that. My family were immigrants too, but I don’t see how that relates to you thinking your husband was murdered. Can you fill me in?’

Indra rolled her eyes.

She was a smart woman. Given she’d asked to speak to us, she must’ve known we’d ask her about the call to emergency services. There was something she wasn’t telling us. I was sure of it. ‘Did you think he’d been murdered because you heard that the fire was arson or because you suspected that someone might want to kill him?’

Marta muttered to her sister in Lithuanian.

Indra gabbled a reply and they had a heated exchange. Marta’s speech became faster and louder, and her hands gesticulated in agitation.

‘I don’t remember what I thought,’ Indra said finally. ‘I was in shock when I heard about the fire. I was scared for my husband, and the business is our livelihood.’

I suspected she was going to say something like this. ‘Of course. It must’ve been upsetting news to receive.’ I waited a few moments for her to regain her composure. ‘Who told you about the fire?’

‘Pardon?’

I repeated the question.

‘Tomasz Feldman.’

That was a surprise. ‘Why did Tomasz Feldman tell you about the fire? Do you know him?’

Maya, 8.45 a.m.

Maya, 8.45 a.m.

I was keen to hear Indra’s response to my question about Tomasz Feldman.

‘I don’t understand—’ Indra said, her voice weary.

‘Is Mr Feldman connected to your shop in some way?’ I was wondering why he had Indra’s phone number.