Just following orders... (2)

            All we knew was that Carl was dead - and that's all they would tell us.  For a couple of days, we were in a limbo of shock and disbelief. 

            Was it suicide? 

            Surely not.  He wasn't the type.

            But what was the type?  Who knew for sure?

            What else could it be? 

            Mandy had let Graham know, of course.  The following night, he rang me to find out how I was, and if we'd heard anything. 

            "Mandy's just hysterical," he said.  " I thought you'd be the voice of reason."

            I told him we knew no more than he did.

            "It's horrible," he said.

            "Yes," I said.  "He was so young."

            He said he'd been tied up with business, but would be down the next day.  I said I was still on leave from work, so would see him then.  The next day, though, he didn't arrive.  Mandy came down in the afternoon and told me she'd had a call from the police.  They wanted to come that evening to speak to us all individually.

            "They still wouldn't say what happened to him.  Hopefully, we'll find out something at last."

 

            The D.I. who interviewed me came straight to the point.

            "I've seen the toxicology report.  I'm in no doubt about how Carl died.  The carbon monoxide levels in his bloodstream were consistent with him having been in a fire.  We've shut down the boiler, pending further investigation.  The landlord has been arrested."

            I tried to let that sink in.  It wouldn't.  Carl's room was directly above the boiler room.

            "Are you ready to make a statement?" he said.

            "Okay."

            He asked me how long I'd lived there.  If I'd had any problems since I'd been there.  What my impression was of the landlord.  I answered honestly, though still in a state of disbelief.  I said he seemed a decent enough chap.  I said he'd been generally attentive - though I mentioned my long wait for the extractor unit.

            "You said he told you to stop using it in case it caused a fire?"

            "Yes.  So I stopped using it.  I had to open the windows when I cooked."

            "How long did you have to wait for it to be replaced?"

            I thought about it.  "Eight months, near enough."

            I then went on to mention the thing about windows, and how Graham had instructed us to keep them closed.

            "Do you still have the note he left to that effect?"

            "No.  It was ages ago."

            He asked if I had a gas safety certificate.  I said I'd never seen one.  He asked who serviced the boiler.

            "Graham does.  He does everything.  I assume he's qualified."

            He shook his head. 

            "Nope.  He doesn't have any training or a single qualification.  He certainly shouldn't be touching that boiler.  It shouldn't even be in use.  Do you know how old it is?"

            "No."

            "Over thirty-years-old.  It was installed when the place became a residential home in the late seventies."

            "Jesus!"

            I continued to answer his questions as best I could.  He read the statement back to me.  I said it was right.

            "Is there anything else you'd like to add before signing it?"

             I had a think.  It was then that something occurred to me.

            "I haven't been feeling well this last week.  Very tired.  Sleeping a lot.  I even put a silly post on Facebook about it."

            He asked me to show him.  I did.  He made a note of it on the statement.  He told me to keep it as it would probably be needed as evidence.

                       

            When they'd gone, Phil and Mandy came in to see me and compare notes.  We were all shaken up.  I mentioned to them I'd not been feeling good for a few days.  Sleeping a lot.

            "Me, too," said Phil.  "I've been feeling nauseous a fair bit."

            His flat was next to the boiler room.

            "Maybe we should all have blood tests," I said.

            Phil shook his head.  "Could do.  But carbon monoxide leaves the system quickly once the source is shut off.  It'll probably be too late tomorrow."

            Mandy put her head in her hands.  "My God!  I knew something was wrong here.  I'd been saying it all along to him.  That bloody stupid man.  We could all have been killed."

            Yes.  We could.

 

            The next morning, police forensics arrived with a gas engineer and an electrician to examine the premises.  We were questioned further.  Suddenly, it felt like we'd all been part of some bizarre form of Milgram Experiment.

            "Why are all the fire doors propped open?"

            "Because that's what the landlord told us to do.  To keep the heat circulating."

            "Did you realise that the boiler room doesn't have adequate ventilation?"

            "No."

            "Both extractors were non-functioning.  The slats were propped open with washing-up brushes."

            "Yes.  They always had been.  He told us it was okay.  It was all that was needed."

            "Have any of you ever been concerned about these things?"

            "No.  We assumed that he knew what he was doing."

            And so on it went.  And all those things that were staring us in the face - especially the fire doors and the vents - just made us all feel as stupid as Graham had been.  Almost complicit in the whole tragedy. 

            How could we overlook such things? 

            Why hadn't we questioned them? 

            Because... we trusted him.  He was the landlord.  It was his property.

            That's why.

            We mentioned again how insistent he'd been on our keeping our windows shut.  We mentioned the dodgy thermostat.  We mentioned the jar of spills that were kept by the boiler pilot hole, with instructions about how to relight the pilot if it went out.  As we said these things, something very dark began to take shape in my mind.  It was almost like I was finally voicing concerns I never even knew I had.  Like, in the saying of it all, I was revealing to myself the plot that had been going on around me without my knowledge.  I hadn't been able to see the forest because of all the trees in the way.

            The electrician showed us into some of the empty flats.  Bare wires were dangling from light fittings and wall sockets.  They were all live.  Most of those flats were used as store-rooms for highly-flammable stuff like cladding, insulation and cardboard boxes.

            "It's incredible he got through inspections," he said.

            "We never had any," said Mandy.

            He shook his head.

            "I don't know how people get away with this," he said.  "This place was an accident waiting to happen.  A death-trap.  Unfortunately, that's what it's become.  It'll probably be condemned.  You'll all have to be re-housed."

           

            That evening, I sat alone and tried to make sense of it all.  I'd never been in a situation like this before.  Because of one man's gross, most likely criminal negligence, I could have been killed.  I was probably going to lose my home now, too.  Yet the main thought at the front of my mind wasn't anger or outrage.  If anything, it was sadness.  Not just at the tragic death of Carl, or any of those other things.  Oddly, I felt pity for Graham.  Generally, he'd always been a decent bloke.  He wouldn't have wanted to hurt anyone.  He hadn't done these things wittingly.  As Mandy said, he'd been stupid.  Negligence is so often about ignorance and stupidity.  It isn't always wilful. 

            In spite of everything, I tried to think how Graham must be feeling now.  How does anyone handle the knowledge that their actions - or lack of - had led to someone's death?  How does anyone live with that?  He was most likely going to go to prison for a very long time.  I knew, if it had been me in his place, I couldn't have coped with it.  I knew what I'd end up doing.  I'd be my own judge and jury on that one.  It would be a capital sentence.

            Sitting there, thinking it all through, I started to feel shaky.  There was a horrible knot of anxiety in my stomach.  And that's when another thought popped into my head.  I knew what would make me feel better.

            I put my shoes on and went around the corner to the off-licence.  I was only going to get a can.  But then I decided on a 4-pack.  Something to settle me down properly.  Lynx Super Strength, in the silver cans.  They would do the trick.

            When I got back, I sat down at my computer and cracked open the first can.  I went on Facebook and said a few things about what had happened, and what we were going through.  People came back with expressions of sorrow and sympathy.  Some were angry, too.  A few sent me private messages - telling me to go to the CAB, to take photographs, to write things down. 

            I switched to YouTube and watched some music videos to try to take my mind off it all.  I opened the second can.  I started to feel good at last.  I rang mum to fill her in on events and to let her know I was fine.  I watched some more vids.  I opened the third can.  I went back on Facebook.  Two hours had passed since I'd started, and I was buzzing. I toggled back to YouTube and played some heavy rock.  I opened the fourth can. 

           At some point, I realised I was starving.  I hadn't eaten all day.  I went downstairs to the boiler room to get something out of the freezer...

(to be continued...)