Scared to Live (17 page)

Downie smiled, a man who enjoyed the small details of his job. 'Old houses are the worst. A lot of them are like bonfires waiting for the first match. Wooden floors, wooden beams and window frames. With a bit of breeze blowing through, you can get a fire going that's hot enough to melt the fillings in your teeth. Of course, it isn't actually the wood that burns but the gases released from it by heat. The solid material disintegrates, and you're left with a pile of ashes.' 'But the victims died upstairs,' said Fry. 'Smoke inhalation.' 'Oh, yes. Absolutely lethal. If you get a lungful of smoke from a house fire, you're in trouble.' 'I can't understand why the victims never even made it to the stairs.' 'Look, it goes like this . . .' Downie demonstrated by closing his eyes and clutching his throat. 'You've taken a breath and you can't open your eyes because as soon as you do they water. You take another breath and the irritants hit the back of your throat. You retch and take an even deeper breath - it's a natural, involuntary reaction. It fills your lungs with toxic fumes. That disorientates you, makes you dizzy, and puts you down on the floor. While you're incapacitated, the toxicity takes over.' To Fry's amazement, he lay down on the floor and demonstrated what it was like to be dead. She'd never seen anybody look less dead in her life. But if there had been a weapon handy, she might have felt tempted to help him achieve authenticity. Then he opened his eyes and looked up. 'We used to say you had seven minutes to get out of a burning building. Now, with all the materials we've put inside them, it's more like three minutes.' 'And that's why we advise people to install smoke alarms.' 'Ah, yes. The smoke alarm. Pity about that.' 'It was functioning, wasn't it?' 'After a fashion.' 'Mr Mullen says he tested it regularly.'

'No doubt he did. But, like most people, all he was doing was pressing the button. That proves the sound works, and the batteries aren't dead. It doesn't tell you whether the detector is functioning.' 'What are you saying?' 'I took a look at the smoke alarm earlier. And I'd say your Mr Mullen never bothered reading the manufacturer's instructions. He should have vacuumed around the detector regularly to prevent the build-up of dust. Apart from battery failure, there's nothing worse than accumulated debris for interfering with an alarm. This one hadn't been cleaned for a long time. There was even a thin layer of cement and plaster particles, so I'm guessing the family had building work done in the kitchen at some time.' 'Yes, they had new units put in about six months ago, and an extractor fan installed.' 'There you go, then. Cement and plaster, with a couple of layers of dust. It was almost as if they'd built a wall inside the detector. I'm sorry for the chap, and all that. But facts are facts.' 'What about where the fire started?' 'Now, that's interesting,' said Downie. 'The point of origin would normally be near the area of greatest damage. But there are three items of furniture in this room with differing upholstery. The nature of the upholstery makes a big difference.' 'Do you mean polyurethane foam?' 'Well, all three items contain polyurethane foam padding. It's the covering that matters. Anyway, it appears to me that the initial fire was started by applying flame to a quantity of papers adjacent to this chair here, right among these toys.' 'But the other chair seems to have suffered most damage. That, and the settee.' 'It's rather deceptive at first glance, isn't it? You see, the chair this side of the room is upholstered with a thick cotton weave. It was probably a nice piece of furniture.' Downie moved across

the room. 'The settee, on the other hand, was padded with polyurethane foam and covered in a partly synthetic fabric mixture, probably poly-cotton. Now the third item of furniture. This, I'm afraid, is a cheaply upholstered armchair, with a wholly thermoplastic cover over polyurethane foam, without any inter-lining.' 'So the quality of the furniture varied. Perhaps the Mullens should have gone to Ikea and bought a complete suite. But they probably couldn't afford it.' Downie didn't seem to hear her. 'You see, despite the fire having been lit directly adjacent to it, the cotton-weave chair sustained less damage than the other two items. The natural fibre cover charred and pyrolized, but the weave didn't fall away, so it provided some retardation of heat release. However, the cheaply constructed armchair was completely consumed, and the synthetically upholstered settee was also severely damaged. Both would have been ignited by radiated heat. The thermoplastic material melts and falls away to expose the underlying foam to the fire. Not so good.' 'I think I see,' said Fry, surprised to realize that she actually did. 'Excellent,' said Downie. 'Well, that's my theory for now. I'll examine remaining fabric from the three items and test their burning characteristics. But the carpet is probably going to be most helpful to us. Carpet absorbs accelerant well, and retains residue longer.' Petty had moved into the sitting room and was concentrating her attention on a heavily damaged area of carpet. 'Is this where the accelerant was used?' 'We think so. It's one of the sites identified by the dog.' Petty was photographing the burn pattern before she began to cut into the carpet. She rolled up a sample with the foam backing on the inside and eased it vertically into a container. Fry left the house to look outside. Someone was bound to have left their fingerprints somewhere in the house, in an area

undamaged by the fire. The trouble was, it might well be a firefighter or a police officer. Not to mention members of the household and their various friends and relations. The footwear impressions were going to be useless, too. The layer of mud wasn't deep enough, and the lab would never get a match, or identify a pattern. She watched Downie carefully placing his evidence samples and control samples separately in his van. And she saw that he'd completed the most important items of all - the chain of custody forms. Then she spotted Wayne Abbott standing in the road near one of the Scientific Support vehicles and walked across to him. 'Is there any particular reason we got Liz Petty?' she asked him. Abbott turned in surprise, and she saw that he had a mobile phone pressed to his ear. 'Hang on a minute,' he said, and held the phone away to free both ears. 'What was that?' 'I wondered how we came to get Liz Petty,' said Fry. He stared at her, reflecting her hostility like a mirror. 'Liz attended an inter-service fire investigation course at Ripley not so long ago. She was the obvious choice for this job. Why?' 'Oh, no reason.' 'She was up to her neck in volume crime, dealing with burglaries on the Southwoods Estate,' said Abbott. 'But we gave this priority for you. What's the problem?' 'Nothing.' Abbott turned his back and resumed his phone call. 'Sorry . . . No, it was just someone wasting my time.'

14

Hitchens was waiting for Cooper and Murfin in the garden of Bain House. 'The chiefs are talking about bringing in the NCOF,' he said. Murfin looked puzzled. 'The National Crime and Operations Faculty,' Cooper told him quietly. 'That must be at Bramshill - Acronym City.' 'Yes.' 'If Mr Kessen puts in a request, their regional officer will provide us with assistance. In fact, the NCOF can turn out a full team. Their own SIO, psychologist, forensic scientist, pathologist ' 'With respect, sir, we don't need all that.' Hitchens looked at Cooper and smiled. 'That's what I think, too. But let's prove that we don't need it, shall we?' 'I don't think it will be much use to us, sir,' said Cooper as he followed the DI into the house, 'but I've asked for footage from the Matlock Bath webcam for Saturday afternoon. They were very helpful. They're sending me a QuickTime movie file.' 'OK, Ben. Well done. We have to try everything.' DCI Kessen was sitting in an armchair in the sitting room of Bain House, looking thoughtfully at the white and grey walls.

'How do you think the victim would have spent her time, all alone in this house?' 'Well, there are two TVs,' said Hitchens. 'One in the sitting room, another in the kitchen. Also a couple of radios, including a digital on the bedside table. When we turned it on, it was pre-tuned to BBC 7.' 'Sorry, I haven't gone digital yet. You'll have to enlighten me.' 'Re-runs of old BBC comedy shows and dramas. You know, Hancock's Half Hour and Round the Home.' 'OK.' 'There's a decent stereo system, too. Nothing special - but women don't care much about the technical details, do they? She obviously used it, because it was plugged in and switched on, just left on standby. And there was a CD in the slot - an Abba compilation.' 'Why am I getting the impression of someone living on nostalgia?' 'She certainly seems to have surrounded herself with sound. Or noise, at any rate.' 'I think I'd be the same if I lived on my own. I'd need to drown out the silence somehow,' said Murfin. 'There's quite a collection of CDs in the racks. She had some DVDs, too. Sleepless in Seattle. I still haven't seen that.' 'She must have bought those things from somewhere.' 'Mail order, probably. They're small enough items to go into the letter box. Unlike the package of books that Bernie Wilding tried to deliver.' 'You know, there's something strange about this house,' said Cooper tentatively. 'What do you mean?' 'It doesn't feel lived in.' 'Rose Shepherd lived here.' 'Hardly. She just seems to have existed.' Kessen nodded at him 'What's your impression, Cooper?' 'Well, you can still detect traces of the family who lived

here before her. On the other hand, Miss Shepherd has hardly left her imprint on the house at all. It's almost as if she'd never been here.' He looked out of the window at the garden. At least the armed officers deployed on Monday had been withdrawn, and the scene looked more peaceful again. Then he saw a tortoiseshell cat sitting under a tree, watching the house. When a SOCO walked across the lawn, the cat crouched cautiously, but didn't move away. 'Who searched the kitchen?' said Cooper. 'Did they find any cat food in the cupboards?' Hitchens laughed. 'I don't think so. There was some fish in the fridge, though. Fresh salmon.' 'That makes sense.' 'Why, Ben?' 'I think I've spotted Rose Shepherd's means of not being alone.'

WITNESS APPEAL AFTER FOXLOW SHOOTING Detectives are appealing for witnesses after the murder of a woman in Foxlow on Sunday. Miss Rose Shepherd, sixty-one, was killed by two shots from a high-powered rifle, fired from a field behind her house in Pinfold Lane during the early hours of the morning. Miss Shepherd had lived in the village for the past ten months, and police have yet to establish a motive for her killing. Meanwhile, officers are keen to talk to witnesses who might have seen anyone suspicious in the area during the last few days. They would particularly like to trace the owner of a blue Vauxhall Astra saloon which was seen in Foxlow around the time of the murder. The driver of the car is described as a white male, aged around thirty-five years old, about five feet ten inches tall and of medium build. He was wearing a black Parker style coat with the hood up.

Anyone with information is asked to contact Edendale CID, or call the Crimestoppers line in confidence.

'A Parker style coat?' said Murfin when he saw the press release. 'Will that be from the same people who make pens?' 'Oh God,' said Cooper. 'That's embarrassing.' 'They mean "parka", don't they? Even I know that.' Murfin folded the press release up and tried to create wings so that he could throw it across the CID room. 'It's not reading enough that does it, you know,' said Cooper. 'People hear "Parker" and "parka" on the TV and they sound like the same word.' 'Now, we'll have a load of old biddies going round looking for coats that say Parker on the label. I don't think "parka" is even a brand name, is it?' 'No, it's an Inuit word. It means a coat made from a fur pelt.' 'Well, I can see you read books all right, Ben. No one else I know would have that sort of information at their fingertips.' 'I might even find a use for it one day.' 'Our local pub has a quiz on Tuesday nights. Fancy going in for it some time? You can win a keg of beer.' 'I don't think so, Gavin. Thanks.' 'Oh, I forgot. You've got better things to do in the evenings these days. Not allowed in the pub with your mates any more?' 'You've got it all wrong.' To change the subject, Cooper asked Murfin if he'd heard about the fire service dog and its identification of accelerant at the house in Darwin Street. 'Now, me - I'm not a big fan of dogs,' said Murfin. 'Cats need less work to look after. And they don't crap on your lawn just because you haven't mowed it for a few weeks, like.' 'Working dogs are different,' said Cooper. 'I've seen that fire service dog in action at previous incidents. She has a great time when she's working. Absolutely loves it.'

'Well, I have to admit, the bitch did a good job at Darwin Street.' Cooper caught a movement from the corner of his eye, and saw Diane Fry frozen in the doorway. She was staring at Murfin, and Cooper suddenly realized that she'd heard only the very last part of their conversation. 'Hi, Diane,' he said. 'We were just talking about the accelerant detection dog.' Fry unfroze slowly. 'Oh, yes. That bitch.' She moved forward into the room, waving a copy of the press release. 'Have you seen this?' she said. 'It's ridiculous.' 'Yes, we know,' said Murfin. 'We spotted it straight away.' 'Somebody should speak to Media Relations. This sort of thing makes us look stupid. I mean, what use is an appeal for information when they leave our phone number off?' Murfin looked at the press release again. 'Oh,' he said. 'So they did.' 'The DI says we have a meeting tomorrow to review progress.' 'Another review? We never seem to do anything else.' 'It's better than wasting time and effort rushing off in the wrong direction,' said Fry. 'Regular reviews ensure the most effective use of resources.' Cooper glanced at her. She was sounding more like a manager every day. 'Progress? What progress?' said Murfin. Fry flushed. 'All right. That's enough.' 'Diane, before you go,' said Cooper. 'How obsessed would you say the Ridgeways were with exterminating squirrels?' 'Oh, very.' 'Obsessed enough to drive around the village at night shooting them out of the trees in other people's gardens?' 'Like Rose Shepherd's garden, for example?' 'Well, she has grey squirrels. If Mr and Mrs Ridgeway had

taken a peek over her garden fence, they might have seen she was encouraging them and even feeding them, so decided to do something about it.' 'Without speaking to her about it?' 'Does that seem to fit their character?' 'Oh, yes. I can believe they'd opt for direct action. In fact, I think Mr Ridgeway probably blasts everything in sight that doesn't fit his criteria for being allowed to survive. You're thinking Rose Shepherd went to her bedroom window at the wrong moment and got hit by a stray shot?' 'Something like that.' 'In fact, there'd have to be three stray shots, wouldn't there?' 'True.' 'And - I'm sorry, Ben - but Mr Ridgeway only has an air rifle.' 'So he says.' Fry gave it some thought. 'I didn't like either of the Ridgeways - as you probably gathered.' 'You don't always make a secret of your opinion.' 'And it's true that they sounded as though they were already offering some kind of justification. When they talked about alien invasions, they didn't just mean squirrels.' 'Can I hear a "but" coming?' 'Well, I think they're probably all mouth. The really dangerous ones act on their beliefs - they don't talk about them to any police officer who happens to come calling.' 'I see.' 'And, unfortunately, we don't have any evidence to justify searching their house for an automatic weapon.' 'Ah, that is true. We could ask them to let us do it voluntarily, though.' 'Tell you what, why don't you suggest your idea to the DI yourself, Ben? I'm only a supernumerary on the Shepherd enquiry. I've got other fish to catch.'