by Carol Wyer
‘Then why can’t we move past this?’
There are two reasons why Natalie can’t ease back into their old relationship: the first is that she simply can’t forgive the lies and the second is that she no longer loves him. She’s with him purely for the sake of the children. The realisation had come only a few days after Leigh’s return, and try as she might, she can’t find the love she once had for her husband.
‘I’m trying,’ is all she can utter.
‘It’s been two months. Two terrible long months of pretending everything is okay and knowing it isn’t. How much longer before we move past this?’
She hadn’t known how to respond. The afternoon had been pleasant, and for a while they’d enjoyed a familiar intimacy as they wandered along the pathways, yet as soon as they got back in the car, an invisible barrier had been erected once more and they’d avoided each other for the rest of the day.
She put her phone back on the bedside locker and lay flat on her back, eyes wide open. It was thanks to her estranged sister, Frances, she couldn’t absolve her own husband. Frances’s deceit had changed Natalie forever and now she was incapable of forgiving anyone else who lied to her.
The phone buzzed and she picked it up, simultaneously kicking the bedcovers from her. ‘DI Ward,’ she said quietly as she crept towards the en-suite bathroom.
‘Nat, it’s Mike.’
Mike Sullivan was head of Forensics, and if he was calling this early in the morning, it meant bad news.
‘Hey. What’s up?’
‘I’m at the scene of a fire in Armston-on-Trent. West Midlands and Staffordshire fire brigade were called out to it soon after one o’clock. There’s a body inside the house and no one knows who it is. The fire dog hit on an accelerant, most certainly petrol, so we believe it’s arson. I’ve taken samples. The homeowners are claiming they know nothing at all about the body.’
‘Is the body still in situ?’
‘Yes, we haven’t moved it yet. It’s burnt beyond recognition. We don’t know if it’s an adult or a child because bones can shrink when exposed to high temperatures.’
Natalie was aware of the effect of fire on human bodies. She’d witnessed the aftermath of a serious car accident – one in which the victims could only be identified by their teeth.
‘Okay, I’ll get the team together.’
‘You won’t be granted access to the house just yet. I’ve taken photographs and sent them to your email so you can get an idea. The body’s in a room at the rear of the house, in what was used as an entertainment room for watching television, playing video games, that sort of thing.’
‘Where was the fire started?’
‘Looks like it was the front of the house. The fire dog reacted as soon as it came inside. Could have been rags or something posted through the letter box. I’m with the West Midlands FI, Nick Hart. He’s sketching out the diagrams for us now.’ The fire investigator would draw out a footprint of the building, include internal plans, the rooms damaged by fire and body diagrams so the team could begin piecing together how the fire had taken hold and why the victim hadn’t escaped. Mike continued. ‘I’ve taken samples and I’ll arrange to have the body moved for examination. I’m putting Darshan Singh on it.’ Darshan Singh shared the laboratory at Samford with his wife, Naomi. Both were accomplished in their fields, with Naomi a top forensic anthropologist and Darshan a specialist in forensic odontology.
‘And who’s the pathologist on this?’
‘It’ll be Pinkney. Ben Hargreaves is on leave.’
Natalie had known Pinkney Watson for several years, before she’d moved from Manchester to Samford HQ, and liked the fifty-six-year-old man who lived in a Victorian house with his two cats and enjoyed his free time in his campervan called Mabel. Pinkney might be slightly eccentric but his mind was razor-sharp and Natalie found him easy to work with.
‘Is there anyone about? The owner? We need to gather statements from the neighbours and see if there’s any surveillance footage.’
‘Yes, both the homeowners are here. They’re brothers – Gavin and Kirk Lang.’
‘Okay. Text me the address. See you soon.’
She switched on the light above the mirror, and as she brushed her hair and tidied it quickly into an efficient style, she heaved a sigh. It was written on her face – the disappointment and the anxiety. Bloody hell, David. Why couldn’t you have just told me about gambling instead of lying to me! The trip to the reservoir had been a start but there was still a massive void between her and David that, at present, seemed insurmountable. However, now there were more pressing matters and she couldn’t waste energy on David.
DS Lucy Carmichael couldn’t sleep either. She’d decided to give up trying and gone out for a run instead. The streets were silent so she didn’t need her earbuds and music, and it allowed her the chance to reflect on what was troubling her. She’d spent all day Saturday shopping with Bethany, her partner, and was now lost in thought about the baby that would soon be with them. She’d been very happy for Bethany to fall pregnant and carry the child, but ever since Spud had started moving about, it had all become very real, and now she was unsure if she’d make the best parent. She’d had no role models of her own, having drifted from one foster home to another and having been the child from hell.
Lucy knew having children changed so much. Her colleague, PC Ian Jarvis, had struggled to find a work–life balance and it had cost him. His girlfriend, Scarlett, sick of the long hours and fearful of the danger he was putting himself in, had upped and left, taking their baby with her. It had been different before baby Ruby had come along but becoming a mother changed Scarlett’s attitude towards Ian and his job. Motherhood might also change Bethany. Maybe she too would become more demanding once Spud appeared. Her phone rang, interrupting her gloomy thoughts, and with a sense of relief she answered it. DS Murray Anderson was on the line.
‘I knew you’d be awake.’
‘How could you be sure?’
‘You’re an early riser. Always have been. Let me guess… you’re running.’
She smiled. Murray had known her for most of her life and was like the brother she never had. He knew her better than she knew herself at times. She slowed down to take the call.
‘Yeah, but I haven’t gone far. I’m only at the kids’ playground. What’s up?’
‘Natalie wants us to meet her in Armston-on-Trent. Firefighters have uncovered an unidentified body in the debris of a burnt house.’
‘Okay. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Linnet Lane, number ten.’
‘Have you rung Ian?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I’ll call him and arrange to pick him up. It’s on my way,’ she said.
‘Okay. See you there.’
Lucy raced back to the house, scribbled a message on a Post-it note for Bethany, stuck it to the bathroom door where she’d be sure to see it, and belted off. Part of her was glad to be occupied with an investigation. It took away thoughts of children and self-doubts. She grabbed her car keys and headed back out into the morning with one last thought: would this all become more difficult once the baby was born?
The house in Linnet Lane was a sorry sight. Once a grand Victorian mansion identical to the others in the street, it had a pillared ‘coach and horses entrance’ and low-rising steps up to double doors. The imposing doors led to an entrance vestibule with floor-to-ceiling arch windows that must have once been impressively grand. It was all now a blackened mess. Natalie tore her gaze away from the neighbouring house with its shuttered bay windows and imagined that this shell of a house in front of her had once looked equally splendid. She ducked under the cordon and approached the building, halting by the gates where Mike Sullivan was talking to a man in his forties with dark hair, dark eyes, a scar across his left cheek and a clipboard in his hand.
‘Hi, Natalie.’ Mike looked like he’d not slept for a month. She knew how he felt. ‘This is the West Midlands fire investigator, Nick Hart.�
�
‘Hi. DI Natalie Ward. What a mess!’
Nick spoke in a light Brummie accent that sounded almost musical to Natalie’s ears. ‘Yes, it’s that all right. By all accounts, the fire took hold quickly. They can start small but depending on the furnishings and so on, they can go wild. Did Mike tell you we found evidence an accelerant was used?’
‘Yes, he did. Could somebody have thrown something through a letter box – a petrol-soaked rag perhaps?’
‘That’s one theory although we’ve been discussing it since and there’s also a possibility the entrance doors were unlocked.’
‘And there’s another door into the house beyond those front doors?’ she asked.
‘That’s right. Those doors lead to a large vestibule and another door which goes into the house. I’ll make sure you get a layout and sketch of it all,’ Nick replied.
Mike spoke up. ‘We’re removing the body shortly and then I’ll head back to Samford.’
Nick nodded. ‘And I’ll finish documenting the scene and send notes and sketches across to Mike later today. I spoke to the homeowners and it seems the body was in what they refer to as an entertainment room. It contained three large round sofa chairs and a widescreen television and gaming equipment. Nothing else. The body was found in the middle of the room and we suspect the victim was on one of the chairs and didn’t move or try to escape.’
‘Unconscious?’ Natalie asked.
‘Possibly, or they’d inhaled carbon monoxide while asleep… or were already dead. The pathologist will hopefully be able to confirm that.’
Natalie screwed up her face in concentration. Who was this mysterious person and how had they got in? She thanked Nick, who headed off to continue his work, leaving her with Mike. ‘Where are the owners?’ she asked.
‘They’re in the Vintage Tea Room at the end of the street.’
‘It’s open at this time of the day?’
‘They’re friends with the owner, Daisy Goldsmith. She opened up for them.’
‘Oh, okay. I’ll go and talk to them. Ah, there’s Murray,’ she added as he pulled up in his Jeep Renegade.
‘And I need Darshan to start work on identifying the body. I’ll be in touch later today.’
‘Isn’t it your day to have Thea?’ Thea was Mike’s daughter, who had just turned five. He only got to see her every other weekend, and Natalie knew any time with her was precious to him. His marriage might have failed but he still adored his little girl.
‘Yeah. Bastard, isn’t it?’
‘Can’t you swap for another day?’
‘Let’s just say Nicole and I are in negotiations regarding that subject.’ He pulled a face and lumbered away.
Murray waited for her to cross the road and then greeted her. ‘Lucy’s on her way with Ian. They shouldn’t be too long.’
‘I’m not sure how much we’ll get out of people at this time of the morning but we need to make a start. The homeowners are in the tea room at the end of the street so we’ll begin by talking to them.’ Murray’s phone interrupted them. It was Lucy.
‘Murray, Ian’s not answering the door or his phone.’
‘Have you tried Scarlett?’
‘Yes, and she bit my head off for waking her and Ruby. He’s not there.’
Murray relayed the information to Natalie, who shrugged and said, ‘We’ll try him later.’
‘Natalie says leave it for now. We’ll be in the Vintage Tea Room on Linnet Lane.’
‘Roger that.’
Natalie strode up the hill, past the houses with their drawn curtains and sleeping occupants. Each house seemed to be fitted with security cameras that might have captured the person or persons responsible for the attack, but the street itself didn’t have any CCTV. She hoped that somebody inside one of the mansions had spotted the arsonist.
Natalie peered through the window of the quaint tea shop, with its net curtains that hung halfway down the window and empty china cake stands waiting to be filled. Inside was bright and cheerful with a dresser containing a variety of ceramic teapots and ten square wooden tables. The brothers were the only customers, both standing in front of a counter, talking to a woman in her late twenties. They looked up as the doorbell sounded and Natalie and Murray entered the shop. They flashed IDs and introduced themselves to the men.
Gavin and Kirk Lang looked nothing alike. Gavin was a good five inches taller with thick, quiffed hair, combed over to one side, and deliberate facial stubble; his brother was squat, bull-necked and sported a high, tapered fade cut with a messy top of wavy dark hair and a soul patch beard which was sculpted into a neat rectangle the size of a postage stamp directly under his lower lip.
Kirk nodded towards a table. ‘Mind if we sit down? It’s been a long night,’ he said.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Any chance of a black coffee, Daisy, love? Make it strong.’
The woman threw him a warm smile. ‘Sure. I’ll bring it over. You want anything, officers?’
‘No, we’re fine, thanks.’ Natalie walked to the nearest table, pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Murray took the seat next to her and withdrew his notepad and pencil.
A coffee machine hissed and bubbled in the background as Gavin, last to join them, wandered across and sat down beside his brother, his eyes fully focused on Natalie.
‘I’d like you to run back over a few things you’ll have already discussed with the fire investigator. As you know, a body was found.’ Natalie glanced at both men as she spoke.
‘I want to make it absolutely clear that we don’t know anything about that,’ said Gavin quickly. ‘We left the house at the same time, eight thirty, and I alarmed the place and locked the doors like I always do. We’ve no idea how anybody could have got in.’
‘You alarmed the house?’
‘I’m fairly certain I did.’
‘Did you, or didn’t you?’
‘I’m sure I did. Some things you do automatically, don’t you? Yes, I put the alarm on. I always do.’
Natalie gave a brief nod. If he was telling the truth, then whoever had broken in had disabled the alarm. Added to that, Mike and the FI had told her they believed the entrance doors weren’t locked. Somebody had managed to unlock the doors and turn off the alarm, and had been inside when the fire took hold. Was it the arsonist?
‘Does anyone have a spare house key? A cleaner perhaps?’
Kirk sat in silence while his brother did the talking. He rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn.
‘We use a cleaning agency – Top to Bottom. They have a set of keys.’
‘Can you give us their details, please?’
‘Sure.’ Gavin brought up the information on his mobile and slid it across to Murray, who noted the name and numbers.
‘Which days do they work for you?’
‘Monday and Friday.’
‘Does anyone else have a key?’
‘Daisy.’ He indicated the woman who was placing cups on a tray. She looked up at the sound of her name and cleared her throat, ready to speak, but he continued.
‘She’s my girlfriend,’ he added by way of explanation.
Natalie directed her next question to Daisy. ‘Did you go to the house last night?’
‘No. I stayed here all night.’
‘Where is the key?’ Natalie asked.
‘On the key ring with the shop key. I usually keep them behind the counter.’ Daisy glanced at Gavin but he didn’t respond in any way.
Natalie continued, ‘I see. Do you run the place on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you prepare everything here, behind the counter? You don’t have a separate kitchen?’
‘No. There’s only this room and the customer toilet over there.’ She nodded in the direction of a door.
‘And you’re always here?’
‘I never leave the shop when we’re open. I sit behind the counter if it’s quiet. Or if I go upstairs, I always lock the front door and put up the “back in fiv
e minutes” sign.’
Natalie had at least determined it wasn’t likely that anyone might have taken the key, even for a brief time, to make a copy of it. She waited while Daisy brought the coffees across and placed them on the table then said, ‘Do you live here?’
‘Yeah. In the flat upstairs.’
‘And you didn’t hear or see anything unusual last night or in the early hours of the morning?’
Daisy dropped her gaze. ‘I’d been rushed off my feet all day so I had a long soak in the bath, turned in about ten thirty and fell asleep until the commotion woke me up.’
It struck Natalie that Daisy was sliding the now empty tray between her hands nervously and was sure the woman was withholding something. ‘What happened then?’
‘I looked out of the window and saw blue flashing lights heading up the street. I pulled on some clothes and ran in that direction.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Daisy repeated.
Natalie recognised the delaying tactic. Often people would repeat a question to buy them time. ‘Yes.’
‘Because the fire engines were going towards Kirk and Gavin’s house. I had to check out what was happening.’
‘But the fire engines might have been attending a fire or an accident elsewhere.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I saw the sky lit up and people running down the road. That’s what made me follow them. As I got closer, I could smell smoke and people were standing on the street and I saw it was Kirk and Gavin’s house on fire. I rang the club and spoke to Kirk.’
‘What’s the name of your nightclub?’ Natalie asked Gavin, whose eyes were trained coolly on Daisy. The young woman didn’t look at him.
‘Extravaganza. It’s near the railway station, next to the old cinema.’
The nightclub was only about ten minutes away by car. Murray made a note of the name but didn’t interrupt Natalie, who’d turned her attention to Kirk.
‘And Kirk, what did you do after that phone call?’
Kirk leant forward, removed a slim packet of sugar from a ceramic pot on the table and slowly ripped it open. He tipped the contents into his cup before replying. ‘I told Gavin the place was on fire and he belted off to see what damage had been caused.’
