Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(47)

Twitter has issued an official statement condemning the violence, and offering the police their full cooperation in tracking down those responsible.

Anyone with any information about Daisy should contact Thames Valley CID incident room on 01865 0966552.

*

‘Mind where you’re treading. The top layer is cooling, but it’s still burning underneath in places.’

It’s 8.05 on Saturday morning, and I’ve already had far too much coffee, which does nothing to help the slightly hallucinogenic feeling induced by what’s left of the Masons’ sitting room. The senior fire officer comes slowly towards me over the cheap acrylic carpet. Most of it has melted into evil-smelling sludge, and there are patches where you can see the concrete underneath. They’re still hosing outside and the exterior walls are running with blackened water, but most of the internal ones are down. Just plasterboard, most of them; they didn’t stand a chance.

‘As it happens,’ I say, indicating my boots, ‘I’ve done this sort of thing before.’

‘So how can I help you, Inspector?’

‘I’m assuming arson is a given?’

‘No question. You can still smell the accelerant upstairs. We’re picking through the glass now – if we’re lucky, we could find some fragments of the bottle it was in.’

‘Any idea how it started – precisely?’

He turns and points up through the gaping hole that was once a staircase. ‘We’re currently working on the theory that someone chucked it in through the upstairs window at the back.’

‘The daughter’s bedroom?’

‘If you say so – to be honest, you couldn’t tell whose it is from the state it’s in.’

‘You think someone could really throw a bottle like that from the towpath? It’s what, thirty feet away, even thirty-five?’

He considers. ‘It could definitely be done, but you’d need to get some height on the throw, so it was either an adult or a pretty hefty kid. That may be why only one shot actually made its target – there’s two or three blackened craters in the back garden where the others must have landed. We’re collecting the glass fragments inside the house and we’ve taken samples on the path, but unless we’re lucky and we get some fingerprints we’re unlikely to be able to identify the culprits. Hundreds of people traipse up and down at the back there, so footprints are worse than useless.’

It’s a blow, even if it’s one I expected. ‘How come the fire spread so fast? I mean, look at this place. There’s nothing left.’

‘I wondered about that too – we only took eight minutes to get here, but it was already completely engulfed. These modern houses look nice but they’ve no guts. One of those big Victorian ones beyond the canal – they’d take a lot more burning.’

‘You said “some of it”.’

‘Well, the accelerant wouldn’t have helped. And all the man-made fibres in here – they’d go up like the Fourth of July. But all the same, I’m surprised it got such a hold in so short a time.’

‘Right,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘Thanks. Let me know if anything else comes up.’

‘Will do.’

Out in the back garden, Challow is squatting down with his case open and a pile of evidence bags in front of him. Some clothes, mostly coats and jackets as far as I can see, a few shoes, what looks like a duffel bag. A lot is black and charred. Some of it is barely recognizable.

‘Is there anything – anything at all?’

He straightens up, his paper suit creaking. ‘Not much, to be honest, and only from downstairs. I might get something from the shoes, but it’ll be touch and go with the amount of fire damage. Upstairs is a write-off. If you were hoping for something from the girl’s bedroom, forget it. She could have bled out up there and I doubt we’d find it now. And you and I both know that room had been scrubbed down to the atoms. We were only ever going to get trace.’

‘I should have pushed harder for that bloody search warrant.’

‘Don’t blame yourself. You did what you could – the Super will have to take the heat on that one.’ He stops. ‘Sorry. Crass choice of words.’

There’s a silence. Challow shakes his head then bends to get a bottle of water out of his case. He takes a swig and pulls a face. ‘Warm.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The fire crew brought down the father’s computer, but I suspect the hard drive’s gone.’

‘Bring it in anyway. I hope we’ll have evidence on the phone, but the PC may have more.’

‘And there is this rather sad item.’

He holds up an evidence bag. Whatever’s in it, it once had fur.

‘Jesus, Alan, what the hell is that – the family rabbit?’

He smiles wryly. ‘The Masons didn’t appear to go in for pets. They no doubt produce far too much mess for the über-tidy Mrs M. No, this fur is definitely of the fake variety.’ He hands it to me. ‘One lion costume, badly torn. I suspect young Leo was rather underwhelmed by the prospect of fancy dress.’

I see him again. Telling me how the boys pick on him because of his name. How they turn it into a weapon to use against him. No wonder the poor little sod didn’t want to dress up as the king of the bloody jungle.