‘Paramedics arrived and found the body here and only then did they notice the flames up above, so it doesn’t look like he jumped to escape the flames, because it seems they came after the jump.’
‘Suicide?’
The local detective shrugged. ‘Could be.’
‘But you’re not convinced.’
Rik scratched his head and screwed up his facial features. ‘Mm, could be. But why is she dead? Did he kill her after some domestic or other, or some suicide pact, or what? Did he set the place on fire, then jump?. . Dunno. Some things don’t add up, Henry.’
Henry patted him on the shoulder in a terribly patronizing manner and smiled in a fatherly way. ‘Let’s go and have a chat with the fire people.’
‘Home Office pathologist is up there, too. Professor Baines. . I thought it wise to get him in early.’
Henry smiled at the prospect of bumping into Baines.
They were each given a new (stolen) pay-as-you-go mobile phone just in case they needed it for the job. They would be disposed of later, along with their clothing.
Ray switched his on and waited for it to register, then keyed in a number, but disguised his own number by putting ‘141’ in front of it first. He put the phone to his ear and eyed Marty and Crazy as he waited for the connection. They were alone in the house now, the Supplier having left a few minutes before. They were drinking water from plastic bottles.
‘Me,’ Ray said when the call was answered. He listened intently for a few seconds, said ‘Thanks’ and ended the call. ‘It’s on,’ he said to his two companions.
Crazy stayed outwardly calm. Ray knew that inwardly he would also be calm, because despite his nickname, Crazy loved action, thrived on it.
Marty twitched nervously, making Ray wonder — and not for the first time — whether or not to ditch Marty from the big scheme of things and promote Crazy into his place. He knew it would mean killing Marty if he did that, but such was the way of the world.
‘Your call now.’ Ray nodded to Crazy.
Crazy tapped a number into his mobile, had a short conversation then announced, ‘Be here in ten minutes.’
Henry and Rik Dean met the chief fire officer at the front door of the fourth-floor flat. His name was Grant, a large, gruff man who did not really like the police but did not allow this to detract from his professionalism. Henry knew Grant of old, they had once put a serial arsonist away for twelve years by working closely together.
Grant had been inspecting the scene of the fire. He had been a firefighter for as long as Henry had been a cop and he knew what he was talking about, so Henry listened carefully as they walked into the flat.
‘The fire was very much contained in the living area due to the living-room door being closed,’ Grant explained. ‘Closing doors is a simple but effective way of holding back a fire.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ Henry said.
Grant gave him a stern look which cracked into a little smile.
The living room was a blackened, burned, charred mess. Everything had been touched by flames. The walls were black, the TV had melted where it stood and the furniture was completely destroyed with the exception of any metal parts, such as springs.
Henry stood on the threshold, not wanting to enter and disturb evidence. He let his eyes wander. At first glance he could not distinguish a body. He looked harder and saw the outline of what had once been a living, breathing human being among the charred debris of what had once been the settee.
He gasped. Though death was his trade, it never failed to touch him somewhere inside. He could be as cold and clinical as anyone while dealing with it, but he was unable to ever quite detach himself from the thought that he was dealing with something that had once been alive.
A firefighter was still dousing down the mess which smouldered with the possibility of re-ignition. This was okay and necessary, but it didn’t half destroy evidence. Henry winced at the thought.
‘Had a good look,’ Grant, was saying. ‘It was an extremely hot fire because of the foam in the settee, which was also the seat of the fire. Until everything has been doused down, I can’t say for sure, but I’ll lay my career on it being a discarded cigarette underneath the settee. Caught hold of the rubbish underneath, then whoosh!’ Grant’s hands explained his words with an explosive gesture. ‘They don’t put this sort of filling in furniture these days. It was a very old piece, to say the least — and she was lying on it, poor bugger.’
‘Why didn’t she get off, try to escape?’ Henry asked.
‘Drink? Drugs? Who the fuck knows?’ said Grant. ‘Post-mortem’ll tell you that, no doubt.’
‘Would you say the fire was accidental or deliberate?’ Rik Dean asked Grant.
There was no hesitation in Grant’s response. ‘Accidental. You don’t start a deliberate fire by discarding a cigarette and hoping it’ll burn a house down.’
Henry turned up his nose doubtfully. That was unless you were a very tricky person, he thought to himself.
‘Still doesn’t add up,’ said Rik. ‘Why did JJ go out of the window?’
‘Do we know for sure he went out of this window?’ Henry put in. ‘At the moment it’s only an assumption.’
‘Yeah. . but. .’ Rik protested.
‘I know, I know.’ Henry raised his hands. ‘This is his girlfriend’s flat and it’s more than odds on he did go from here, but it’s not a racing certainty as yet, not until we get our house-to-house teams to knock on every door in this building.’
Rik accepted this. ‘I’ll get a couple of guys on to that now.’
‘Good idea.’
‘And I’ll go and clean up,’ said Grant.
They left Henry standing alone by the door of the living room. He was still amazed by the devastation that fire could bring in such a short time. It was still an assumption that the body on the settee belonged to Carrie Dancing, but he was pretty certain that subsequent examination would reveal that to be the case. Henry liked to deal with facts as opposed to supposition whenever possible. He knew that assumptions did have to be made, particularly in the early stages of an investigation into a suspicious death. The trouble was that assumptions tended to have fangs which had a nasty habit of biting you where the sun don’t shine.
He sniffed. He could smell charred flesh. It turned his stomach, making him feel queasy. It was one of those aromas that once inhaled never purged.
Suddenly he was whacked between the shoulder blades. He staggered a couple of steps from the unexpected blow and spun to face his unknown adversary, ready to fight.
‘Jesus!’ he said, fists raised defensively.
It was just as well he did not lash out, otherwise he would have punched a Home Office pathologist into next week.
‘Henry, you slimy old twat.’ Professor Baines beamed. ‘Back in plain clothes? I knew that uniform business would not last.’ He was referring to Henry’s recent short but sharp time as a uniformed inspector.
‘Yeah, I’m on the SIO team now,’ said Henry, trying to rub his back from the friendly, but hard blow delivered by Baines.
‘Oh, that’s handy.’
‘Why?’ Henry asked suspiciously.
‘Well, not being one to jump to conclusions. . but I’m pretty sure this female was dead before the fire cremated her.’
The van arrived on time and drew up in the alley at the back of the terraced house. The driver stayed behind the wheel. He did not sound the horn, just waited with the engine ticking over smoothly. He was not being paid to do anything else.
The three men left the house quietly, walked smartly across the back yard, through the gate and climbed quickly into the back of the van. Ray banged the side of the van and the driver let out the clutch gently and drove away.
A couple of minutes later another vehicle arrived at the back of the house. The man driving it parked in the alley, let himself into the house and collected the three bags of clothes which had been left in the front bedroom. He carried them to the car and threw them into the boot.