‘What on earth have you got there?’ asked Dylan as he approached the men. Peter Reginald Stonestreet was cradling a baby rabbit in the palm of one hand and stroking it with his other.
‘Abandoned we think,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘I couldn’t leave it to die now could I?’ Dylan closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. Such an act of kindness to small animals was not unusual for Peter and Dylan should have known that by now.
‘I think we may have seen more of the warren near the bottom of the drive’ said Dylan.
Peter looked hopeful only to have his hopes quickly dashed.
‘Road kill,’ said Dylan.
Fire officer Bill Dixon introduced himself to Dylan and Jon.
‘We need to know everything you can tell us, from the thread to the needle,’ Dylan said to both men.
Inspector Stonestreet related concisely the circumstances and facts of the incident as he had found them. Dylan trusted him implicitly to give him a full and detailed account. Many years after Dylan had ceased to have the older man as his mentor, he found himself at a scene thinking how Peter Reginald Stonestreet would tackle the job himself.
‘Emergency services responded to a call from a passing motorist of a large fire at Merton Manor, the exact times are recorded but it was around lunchtime. The fire crew and ourselves were on the scene in less than fifteen minutes.’
Bill Dixon carried on. ‘We’ve tried our best to limit foot traffic and cordon off the scene whilst extinguishing the fire. The house was well ablaze when we arrived. Initially we responded with two tenders believing that to be sufficient to deal with such a fire, but I very quickly realised we needed another. The partly thatched roof caused a vast amount of acrid smoke and fierce flames. It appeared there had also been an explosion, hence the gas services presence. Eventually, once the fire was under control we managed to get a team inside with breathing apparatus. Quite quickly we came across two bodies in upstairs rooms.’
‘Are the bodies still in situ?’ asked Dylan.
‘They are. The staircase in the house, however, isn’t. Well, not so as it’s fit for purpose. Access to the upper floor is only possible by ladder. It’s pretty unstable in places so great care will be required by anyone going up there.’ Bill’s eyes sought the upper floor window frames. The glass in some of the windows, as you can see, has been blown out.’ Shards of glass lay scattered about them amongst the gravel, water and other debris.
‘Paramedic’s attend?’
‘Yes, but there was nothing they could do,’ said Bill. ‘Names and contact details have been taken for you to get statements.’
Dylan was thoughtful.
‘It’s not going to be easy to recover the remains of the bodies Dylan,’ said Peter.
Dylan gave a lop sided smile. ‘I was just thinking the same.’
‘Well, there’s just a bit of damping down to do. Then our job’s done here,’ he said. ‘I’ve been told that the team have done a full search and there are no more bodies on site, but it’s pretty obvious to us that the fire wasn’t accidental.’
‘Why’s that?’ said Dylan.
‘A brief look around the manor by my officers has shown up a number of things for you to be aware of. Number one, in the kitchen all the gas rings on the stove were turned on. Now they either knew it was an older stove and had no flame safety device fitted, or they just got lucky. Two, there are two seats of fire in the upper floor, one in each of the bedrooms where the remains of the bodies were found. Although they are burnt beyond visual recognition, what is clearly visible are bullet holes in the skulls. On your colleagues’ instructions once that had been ascertained, we came out of the premises to await your arrival. I can show you, from the fire investigations approach my findings and those of my colleague Wesley Crutcher when we go back inside together, if that helps?’
‘That would be great, once our crime scene investigators and the exhibits team arrive. We’ll need to get suited up and then we can go inside together. I may require a forensic fire expert. But, it could be sometime before I can get them on site,’ Dylan turned to Inspector Stonestreet. ‘What do we know about the people who lived here, anything?’
‘The Isaac Art Emporium, they own it. It’s been in the family for donkey’s years. It was in need of modernisation until fairly recently when it was left to Jake Isaac in his father’s will, and Jake, who is quite a bit older than his wife Leah, had it renovated into a modern family home. Quiet couple by all accounts, he’s seldom seen other than going to and fro to work in the upper floors of the Art Emporium in town. They aren’t ever seen on the social scene; he doesn’t give interviews - appears that they prefer to keep their family life private. Mrs Leah Isaac again, keeps herself very much to herself, although the people we have spoken to say she’s friendly enough. Apparently Detective Constable Rupert Charles paid them a visit a month ago. I’m making enquiries into what for. This certainly has all the makings of robbery gone wrong, doesn’t it?’
Dylan knew Peter was probably right in his judgement, but he didn’t respond. He needed to make up his own mind once he had seen the inside of the crime scene, held all the information the professional experts at his disposal told him, and took heed of his instincts.
The additional officers requested to present themselves at the site were now beginning to arrive. As the SIO, Dylan’s first job was to ensure that everyone knew what they were doing. He needed an officer to take charge of gathering evidence outside the property, such as the dead rabbits, and to look at what the tyre tracks could reveal. Dylan was more than aware that blood or fur from a dead animal may easily be found in the wheel arch of any subsequent connected vehicle found. These samples would be what were termed controlled samples. This was no time to be sensitive. The animals were dead and they could ultimately help put the offenders before the courts. Soil samples needed to be collected, as did the paint Dylan had spotted on the stone gate pillars at the entrance. Video footage from the fire-engines on their approach would need to be retrieved as well as tyre tread marks of emergency vehicles that were had been present; for elimination purposes.
‘Bill,’ Dylan said. ‘Before I forget. Have you or any of your staff taken any photographs?’
‘Yes, it’s routine for training purposes. Is there a problem?’
‘No, but I need them - all of them. I’ve got to have the originals and any copies for future disclosure to the defence teams, along with any notes, logs etcetera that the brigade may have, and that also includes the recordings of the emergency call reporting the fire.’
Bill’s shoulders dropped. ‘Of course.’
‘I know it’s a ball ache. But it’s an absolute necessity otherwise any future court case could be thrown out if we don’t comply with disclosure.’
‘I know I understand,’ he said. ‘I’ll ensure everything is collated and passed to your exhibits officer.’
Dylan continued to listen intently to what he was being told by the Inspector and the fire officer. Jon took notes in his pocket book. Reticent of Jon’s character he didn’t interrupt, or waste time voicing any opinion but methodically noted details to share with his colleagues at a later time in the debrief.
‘Please pass on my thanks to the team for their gallant efforts,’ said Dylan to the fire officer. Turning to Jon, Dylan instructed him to take charge of the outer cordon of the crime scene, with respect to the evidence gathering. The update on the radio announced the arrival of on duty Crime Scene Investigator Supervisor Sarah Jarvis and Mark Hamilton in the next convoy of emergency service vehicles. All were being directed to the rendezvous point.
Jarv threw Dylan a package as he walked towards her. He caught it in both hands and immediately tore it open with the ease of someone who had done the act a hundred times before.
‘DI Jack Dylan,’ she said to Mark Hamilton. ‘Dylan, Mark Hamilton, Crime Scene Investigator latest edition to our team.’
‘Pleased to meet you Mark,’ said Dylan offering his hand to the
six foot, athletic looking man. Mark was clean shaven with a pale complexion and blue eyes. He bent down to put a leg into his coverall. His head was shaven and showed a cut to the top.
‘That looks nasty,’ said Dylan, observing the wound.
Mark put his hand directly to his head and laughed. ‘Worse than it looks sir. At forty-six I should know better than to still be playing footie for my local, on a Saturday afternoon.’
Jarv cocked her head at her colleague. ‘You’ll get on you two,’ said Jarv. ‘He’s as OCD about orderliness as you are, sir.’
‘Nothing wrong with that Jarv,’ said Dylan who was now suited and booted apart from the gloves, which he took from a paper tissue sized box, offered to him by her.
Detective Sergeant Jon Summers, satisfied he had organised the necessary actions to be carried out by others on the outer cordon, joined them at the CSI van and also put on his protective gear.
Dylan took his mobile out of his pocket and telephoned the office to ensure the local intelligence officers had started researching the Isaac family, reinforcing as he did so its urgency. ‘We need an exhibits officer,’ he said in what was almost a whisper, and at the same time as he finished putting on his gloves he saw Detective Constable Andy Wormald talking to PC Shelagh MacPhee. ‘Andy, you’re exhibits on this one,’ he shouted. ‘Get booted and suited, quick as you can mate.’ Andy Wormald raised his hand in acknowledgement.
The small team including the fire fighter Bill Dixon walked as quickly as their protective coveralls would allow back into the mutilated shell of the manor house. A solemn look upon their faces. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air and words were not spoken as their senses began to heighten and adrenaline pumped through their veins.
Astonishingly the exterior front door and door frame were still intact. The door was unlocked.
Amid echoes and periods of eerie silence Dylan could hear the slight burring of the Crime Scene Investigation camera recording. Still photographs, he was well aware, were being taken at the same time.
The kitchen, Dylan was told could be accessed directly through the hallway door but there was an entrance nearer to the right of the front door, situated at the bottom of the staircase. This route would take them to the kitchen via the dining area.
Everywhere Dylan looked there were charred remains. The walls were blackened from smoke which was only broken up in a few places by blobs of melted wall lights. Part-burnt picture frames hung in a haphazard fashion. The subject of the images too damaged to tell what they had once portrayed. Bits of material draped from the furniture of which most were now just a frame, a shell. He could still feel the heat inside the building and the smell of the smouldering, damp wood was prominent.
In the kitchen, the large stove oven was the next area of attention. Although there had been an explosion and intense heat, the mangled shell revealed the melted gas hob switches were all indeed switched on, as he had been advised previously. There were no visible utensils on top of the cooker.
‘Classic deliberate act, don’t you agree?’ said Dylan to a group of nodding heads.
The team were led to the ladders that the fire brigade had put in place to give them access to the upper floor.
Bill Dixon led the way. At the base of the ladder he turned to those that followed. ‘Be careful. Follow me, and keep as close to the walls as possible and we should be okay.’ The fire officer’s face was semi-concealed by the lack of light in the hallway. He put his foot on the first rung of the ladder. He carried with him a large Dragon lamp that illuminated their way into a dark chasm.
It was bad enough climbing up the ladders for Dylan. At the best of times he didn’t have a head for heights, but in the ill-fitting coveralls and cloth boots the short journey was treacherous and very slow work. Climbing back down would be just as difficult, if not worse, he feared the nearer the top he got.
The fire officer had been in the scene before so it was sensible for him to lead the team into what he believed had been the main bedroom. On entering the room, the smell changed dramatically. Dylan’s tongue instinctively rolled to the roof of his mouth as if to block his gullet. The sickly, sweet odour was a ‘lingers in-your-nose-forever’ smell that was never to be forgotten. He’d smelt burning flesh before on occasions. It could be likened to beef fat cooking in a frying pan - but this was not a pleasant odour.
Jon looked across at Dylan. ‘I used to wonder why burning human flesh smelt so different. Then I researched it. Processed meat from animals is relatively free of blood and other fluids. Human flesh still has all those things floating around in it, and that makes the smell much worse.’
‘So strong that you can almost taste it,’ said Bill.’
Mark gagged. ‘Always makes me feel nauseous,’ he said. ‘Can’t eat for hours afterwards. The sensation it gives you, stays in your head.’
‘You’ll get used to it Mark,’ said Jarv hovering closely over the blackened burnt shell of a body with her camera. The charred remains lay sprawled out on what was clearly once a bed. Visible on the skull was a hole to the rear.
In the second bedroom was another burnt body. There was less flesh on this skeleton but like the first a bullet wound could be seen on the skull.
‘These are your two seats of fire,’ said Bill. ‘And we know some kind of accelerant was used. I suggest what happened is that these two were killed upstairs first, the fire was started to try and conceal their deaths as murder, and on leaving the scene the perpetrator turned on the gas downstairs which led to the gas explosion to further guarantee there was as little evidence as possible left for you guys to find, in order to trace them.’
‘That seems like a reasonable assumption to me,’ said Dylan. ‘Could you liaise with our forensic officer who is experienced in arson investigations? I’ll let you know when we have an ETA.’
‘Sure,’ said Bill. ‘This one’s a first for me; I’ve been to a lot of fatal fires over the years but never any where the occupants have been shot as well.’
‘Executed, these two were executed. For now, we have to presume that the badly burnt bodies are the owners of the house and we’ll have to prove their identities. Which by the looks of it may be down to the examination of their teeth as we don’t seem to have much more than burnt skeletal remains.’
Satisfied there were no other bodies upstairs, the police team gingerly stepped down the ladder back to the ground floor. Bill slid down the ladder with ease, showing his years of experience with the fire brigade. Dylan took a step at a time, just pleased to reach the bottom rung without any mishap.
Outside the house, the smell of the smoke filled the cool air.
‘That smell. Always reminds me of bonfire night,’ said Andy.
‘Bonfire night reminds me of a burned tongue, from hot booze,’ said Jarv, sticking her tongue out slightly whilst firmly holding it between her teeth.
‘Squeezing hot dog mustard down my jeans,’ said Mark.
‘Toffee apples.’ Jarv licked her lips.
‘The Robert Catesby failed gun powder plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament,’ said Jon.
‘Robert Catesby?’ said Jarv.
‘Yes, it was his idea; he led the group.’
‘Guy Fawkes was in charge of guarding the thirty-six barrels of gunpowder in the cellars of the Houses of Parliament,’ said Dylan.
‘Well, you learn something new every day,’ said Jarv with the toss of her head.
Dylan strolled around, a little away from the others. Questions chasing each other around in his head. He answered them in order of priority. He needed time to gather the large amount of information that he had taken on board and to think about the way forward. The priorities were clear enough to him. Arranging and ensuring that a careful and thorough search of the building was paramount. He was well aware that there may be a weapon inside, hidden amidst the burnt timbers and pile upon pile of debris. He considered what specialists were available to him to assist Would the forensic specialist in arson be a
ble to tell him anything more than the firefighters already had? He was well aware, depending on the experience of the person called upon, that their knowledge would be paramount to helping him identify the accelerant sooner rather than later.
The recovery of the two bodies was causing him to feel anxious. They needed to recover the spent bullets and the casings if they were on site. He wondered if the Isaac family were firearm’s licence holders? A check back at the station would quickly give him that answer. His immediate job was to establish the second incident room and then speak to Connie Seabourne at Headquarters press office. This was going to be a high profile investigation and the media would be all over it like a rash. He could see the headline now, ‘Couple Executed Before Mansion Destroyed by Fire’. His mind was buzzing. He knew a few minutes with his mind focused on something else would allow it to settle. Strolling yet further away from the others gave him a moment of privacy he sought to gather his thoughts.
Dylan held his mobile phone in the palm of his hand. He was about to dial when the quickness of a squirrel running up a tree a few feet away from him, grabbed his attention. He stopped and looked about him, Inspector Stonestreet had clearly seen the rodent too. Their eyes met across the debris and they smiled at each other. The Inspector saw how tired Dylan looked and knew only too well the pressure he was under. ‘Peter, have we arranged to get flasks and doggy bags out here for the troops? I need to top up my caffeine level and something to eat wouldn’t go amiss.’
When The Killing Starts: A DI Jack Dylan novel Page 7
