‘Of course not, sir,’ said Saslow, with only the merest hint of a smile.
The drive to Blackdown Manor took just over an hour and a quarter. Two uniforms were on sentry duty. Vogel flashed his warrant card, and he and Saslow were ushered past. Both officers let out an involuntary gasp as Saslow steered their vehicle through the big iron gates and on to the drive. She drove slowly past the fallen tree that had been cleared to one side by USAR, and Vogel was sure she was as transfixed by the sight which lay before them as he was. Neither Vogel nor Saslow had ever seen the house before the fire. But the horror of what had happened was starkly apparent. The building had been almost totally destroyed. The roof was entirely gone. Only a few sections of wall still stood, in ragged defiance, silhouetted against the morning sky. There were no longer any visible flames, but the building was clearly still burning. Smoke continued to drift above the ruins, creating a haze over the entire scene ahead. Several fire appliances were still in action, pouring huge arcs of gushing water onto the remains of the old house. Vogel counted at least five in attendance. And he could see two ambulances standing by. He did not think there was going to be much call for the attentions of any of the medics who had been summoned to the scene. As he had already told Saslow, it was not believed possible for there to be any survivors of the terrible fire which had engulfed the old manor house. But saying it, and seeing it, were two different things. Vogel felt a cold shiver run up and down his spine. His chosen career demanded frequent, and all too close, confrontation with death and destruction. He would never get used to it, not for as long as he lived.
He fleetingly reflected on the other consequences of the fire, in addition to the loss of human life. Vogel loved dogs. He wondered if there had been any dogs in the house, or any other animals, cats perhaps, and whether or not they had managed to escape, or if they too had suffered the unspeakable horror of burning to death. Vogel also had a love of beautiful things. He wondered what treasures might have been lost that night in the old house, which had apparently been in the Fairbrother family for centuries. Almost certainly there would have been irreplaceable antique furniture, fine paintings and other works of art, that had been handed down from generation to generation.
Saslow drove as near as she was allowed to the burned down house. The ambulances, one of the fire appliances, and a smattering of other less immediately identifiable vehicles, effectively blocked the latter part of the driveway. The two officers still had to walk a hundred yards or so over a lawn turned into a bog by the earlier rain and the attentions of the fire service, which had doubtless already pumped thousands of gallons of water onto the house and the area immediately surrounding it.
Vogel picked his way carefully, his feet inadequately clad as usual. Saslow, wearing suitably protective clothing and footwear, of course, was striding ahead. Vogel found himself having to hurry to keep up with her.
The fire, although still burning, seemed to be just about under control. But, close up, the destruction of the old house appeared even more devastating. Glassless windows, in those portions of wall which remained precariously upright, revealed nothing behind, as if the mighty old house were a flimsy film set.
Vogel had been told that a detective constable from Taunton and a local police community support officer were already in attendance, in addition to the uniforms by the gate. He could see no sign of an armed response team, and assumed they had probably left having declared the scene clear.
Vogel looked around for whoever might be the senior fire officer.
‘Where’s your gaffer?’ asked Vogel of the nearest firefighter.
‘That’s him,’ replied the firefighter, pointing towards a tall man, wearing the distinctive white helmet of a Fire and Rescue Service station manager, standing a little apart, staring at the ruins of the old house.
‘Hey, Bob,’ he called out. ‘You’re wanted.’
Bob Parsons turned at once and walked over.
Vogel introduced himself and Saslow.
‘I understand there are at least two dead, is that right?’ Vogel asked.
‘Must be, from what we’ve been told,’ replied Parsons. ‘The woman who called in the fire, and her employer, Sir John Fairbrother. Both trapped in his bedroom, we understand. But we’ve no way of telling for sure, obviously, and won’t for some time.’
He waved an arm at the still burning house.
‘Twenty-four hours at least before even my men will stand a chance of getting in there,’ he continued. ‘There’s also talk of the possibility of armed intruders having been trapped inside. But I expect you know that?’
Vogel nodded his assent.
‘How long after the first call to the emergency services did you guys arrive here?’ asked Vogel.
‘We were here within just over half an hour. We’re based in Wellington, pretty close and we weren’t out on another call. So we came straight away. Only problem was, we couldn’t get our vehicle through because of the fallen tree across the drive. Then, after the second 999 call, we were told to stand down as there might be armed intruders on the premises. In any case, by then there’d been that huge explosion...’
Bob Parsons stopped abruptly, turning away slightly to stare at the remains of the old house again. Vogel prompted him to continue.
‘So what actually happened? What did you see?’
‘Well, when we arrived the house was barely ablaze. We could see smoke, but that was all. We’d been told that Sir John and his nurse were still inside, and, from what we could see, we couldn’t work out why they didn’t just walk out, when they had the chance. We didn’t know at that stage about the possibility of armed intruders, of course. My lads are used to danger, but they’re not trained to face guns. And they’d have told me and headquarters where to go if they’d been asked to. But as it was, well, we decided to go ahead on foot, to at least see if we could get the people we’d been told were inside to safety. We were lugging our portable pump over the tree trunk when the whole shooting match went up. One minute barely any sign of a fire, then this huge explosion and an eruption of flames. Almost certainly a BLEVY. And quite a sight I can tell you—’
‘What’s a BLEVY?’ interrupted Vogel.
‘Boiling Liquid Expanding Vapour Explosion,’ replied Parsons. ‘Goes off like a bloody great bomb. The propane gas tank out the back went up, no longer much doubt about that. We were nearly a quarter of a mile away, but I swear you could feel the force of it in the air.’
Parsons wiped a gloved hand across his face, leaving a broad stroke of soot. Vogel noticed how drawn he looked, and could see the pain in his eyes.
‘There was nothing we could do,’ Parsons continued. ‘Absolutely nothing. If only our path hadn’t been blocked, we may have got there just in time to prevent the explosion. As long as we hadn’t been confronted by any armed intruders, of course. There’s no way of telling now. As it was, we were helpless. We could do nothing for those poor people. Then we were told to stand down, and in any case, after the place blew I don’t think we would have had a hope in hell of getting anyone out. As it was, all we could do was watch.’
‘That must have been tough,’ said Vogel, whose heart went out to the man.
‘It never gets any easier,’ said Parsons.
Then he almost visually shook himself out of his reverie.
‘There’s something else you should know.’
‘Yes?’ enquired Vogel.
‘We can’t be sure, of course.’ Parsons continued, slightly hesitantly. ‘But we do already have reason to suspect this fire may have been started deliberately.’
Vogel pursed his lips together and breathed slowly out in a silent whistle.