A Cast of Vultures by Judith Flanders Page A

There’s an app that lets you download free out-of-copyright books, and when I first bought a smartphone I got carried away and loaded up, figuring you never knew when you might need an emergency copy of Great Expectations , or Treasure Island . So far, Great Expectations emergencies had been thin on the ground, but today was apparently the day those advance preparations were going to pay off. I stretched my legs out and began to read.
    Miss Havisham had just appeared when the sun was blocked by a cloud. Without my noticing, the day had moved from warm to mild, and I’d definitely been there for longer than ten minutes. I looked up. It wasn’t a cloud, it was a person. Sam, my namesake. He was standing lessthan a metre away from me, and I hadn’t heard a thing.
    Apart from our name, Sam and I have little in common. I’m female, and over forty, and no one ever notices me much. He’s eighteen or so, and his south-east Asian dark hair is set off with peroxided blonde tips, his ears are multiply pierced, and his jeans permanently hang down around his arse, which, since he’s young and pretty, draws attention. Despite our differences, we like each other.
    ‘You’re not texting, and you’re not on Facebook,’ he said. ‘YouTube without the sound?’
    I smiled up at him. ‘Much worse. I’m reading a book.’
    He shook his head. He’d already told me what he thought of my bizarre hobby. He looked towards Viv’s door. ‘You waiting for her?’
    ‘Um-hmm. I wanted to hear if she had news of her missing neighbour.’
    Sam shrugged. He didn’t know about missing neighbours. So I moved on. ‘What’s the news on the fire?’
    He’d been leaning casually against the wall, but now he pushed himself upright, and his face became blank. ‘Why?’
    ‘What do you mean, why? A building burnt down two minutes’ walk from my house. Of course I’m interested in updates.’
    He crossed his arms defensively. ‘Who you asking for?’
    ‘What do you mean? I’m asking for myself, for exactly the reason I said I am – I’m nosy.’
    No smile. ‘Not for your boyfriend?’ It was an accusation.
    ‘My boyfriend? What’s he got to do with it?’
    ‘He’s a cop.’
    ‘He is. But he’s CID. He doesn’t do fire investigation. And’ – I snorted – ‘and he definitely wouldn’t use me to askquestions. Mostly he tells me to stop asking questions.’ I waited, but so did Sam, so I tried again. ‘What’s going on?’
    Sam leant back against the wall again, but he still didn’t look at me. ‘The cops have been around, “making enquiries”.’
    ‘Talking to you?’
    He shrugged. ‘Me and my mates.’
    ‘About the fire? Why?’
    He still wouldn’t look up. ‘Because when there’s trouble, it’s us that’s to blame.’
    I knew this was true. When I first met Sam, I’d been told that he’d been ‘in trouble’ with the police. I didn’t know what that meant. It could have been anything from drunk and disorderly to something more serious. I’d never asked, and didn’t plan to now, either. Whatever he’d done before, in the time I’d known him he was so clearly a good person.
    ‘They think you know about the fires? One of you?’
    He nodded.
    ‘That’s nuts.’
    He smiled, but it was bitter. ‘Glad you think so, but they don’t. They wanted to know where we were Saturday night, and then on Wednesday last week, and a lot of other days, which we think must have been when the other fires were.’
    ‘You weren’t there.’ I made sure it wasn’t a question.
    He was tense, staring at the ground. ‘I could tell them where I was on Saturday, and last week. Before that, how would I know?’ He put on a parody upper-class accent: ‘“I’m sorry, officah, but you’ll have to ahsk my secretary. She keeps my engagement diary.” I work part-time, when I can get it. I don’t know what I was doing three months ago.’
    ‘What do you do?’ I’d never known. I’d guessed he was seventeen or eighteen, but