Janet looked at the map of the area surrounding the Old Chapel. A large roundabout marked the middle of the estate, perhaps designed as Oldham’s answer to the village green. The main roads met at the roundabout. Off Manorclough Road was the shopping precinct. On the far side of the roundabout two tower blocks stood. Opposite the Old Chapel, slum housing had been cleared in the 1980s and replaced by new-built maisonettes. There were a few larger buildings marked on the map to the north between the canal and Shuttling Way, the dual carriageway they were driving along. Janet looked up and identified the mill, now converted into retail use: paint, furniture, mirrors, fabric and lighting. Further clues as to the area’s past were in the names of the streets, Fullers Yard, Tanners Back Lane, Mill Lane and Spindle Road. Cotton had driven the expansion of the area, cotton too brought workers from Pakistan, India and Bangladesh. Ade, a geography teacher, would be proud of her.
Janet directed Rachel to take the next turning off Shuttling Way and to park at the precinct.
‘I’ll start with Mrs Muhammad,’ Janet said, touching her finger on the map to the houses opposite the chapel. ‘You do the neighbours.’
‘There may be some CCTV at the shops,’ Rachel said.
‘Yes, we’ll go there next. If anyone’s got tapes, we’ll take them,’ Janet said.
‘After that?’
‘See where we’re up to.’
Mrs Muhammad’s small yellow and cream brick house had been embellished with fancy double-glazing, etched diamond patterns on the windows and elaborate wrought-iron gates with oval tips on top of the upright rods, reminiscent of a row of spears, Janet thought. Handy for security though, slip on those and you’d soon know about it.
There was no answer when Janet repeatedly rang the bell, so she tried the mobile number that Mrs Muhammad had left when she reported the fire.
‘Soapy Joe’s,’ a woman answered.
‘I’m looking for Mrs Muhammad,’ Janet said.
‘That’s me.’
Janet explained the reason for her call and was directed to the launderette. ‘Go up to the shops and we’re the next to last unit on the parade,’ Mrs Muhammad said, ‘before the tanning salon.’
There were eight units altogether, two-storey buildings. Two blocks of four with a gap in the middle that led to an alleyway behind. Chippy, newsagent cum off-licence, hairdresser, then an empty unit either side of the cut-through, a pound shop which covered half the pavement in brightly coloured plastic boxes, baskets and bins, Soapy Joe’s and beyond that the tancab.
The launderette was noisy and humid, a bank of washing machines down one side, several in use, dryers at the far end, bench seating and areas to fold clothes. The smell of detergent and fabric conditioner and hot metal.