FIRE ON THE FENS a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists

by Joy Ellis

  ‘Was she sedated before this happened? I remember Ronnie was given something in his drink,’ Nikki said.

  ‘I don’t think so. We have nothing to go on really, but there’s no supporting evidence to say that was the case this time,’ Rory said sadly.

  ‘And I have ascertained that a considerable amount of accelerant was used, most likely petrol, as we found the remains of a can at the back of the unit,’ John added. ‘Plus, forensics checked the ashes and debris, and found no sign of a key. That tells us that Clary let her killer in, and he locked the unit behind him when he left — after he lit the fire.’

  Nikki shivered. ‘That poor woman. I just can’t believe anyone could deliberately do such a thing.’

  Rory shook his head. ‘Dear heart, I’ve seen all manner of horrors that so-called human beings are capable of inflicting. This is just one of many.’

  ‘There was burnt evidence of that red coat you mentioned, Nikki,’ John said. ‘So when the witness recognised Melissa’s parka, she was correct. It just wasn’t Melissa that was wearing it.’

  ‘I wonder if the killer was actually after Melissa, or Clary?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘It had to be Clary,’ Nikki said. ‘He lured her there somehow. And she let him in. So she had to know him, surely? Would she allow a stranger inside when she was alone?’

  ‘I doubt it. Unless he watched her unlock the door, then pushed her inside and overpowered her.’ Joseph was staring at what had once been a talented artist. ‘That’s a possibility.’

  ‘We’ll probably never know.’ John looked gaunt. ‘Unless he’s one of those people who’s proud of what they’ve done. In that case he’ll tell you in detail, when you catch him.’

  ‘And if he does, I may not be able to stop myself wrapping my hands around his throat,’ Nikki growled. ‘He’s murdered two quiet, law-abiding people, and he’s done it in a horrific manner. I want to know why!’

  ‘Have you found any sort of connection between them?’ asked John.

  ‘Not yet, but as they say, it’s early days. The team are on it now.’ Nikki walked across the big, sterile room and flopped into a chair. ‘John? Do you think this man really is a beginner who’s learning a trade? Or should we be checking his MO against known arsonists?’

  John gave a tired laugh. ‘I know the MO of every arsonist and fire-setter we’ve ever had in this county. And believe me, this is a new kid on the block.’

  ‘Then in that case, we have no idea where he’ll strike next.’ Joseph rubbed his temple. ‘We need to know why he killed Ronnie and Clary, then perhaps we’ll have a chance to pinpoint other possible targets.’

  Nikki heaved a sigh. ‘And where the hell do we start?’

  ‘We already have,’ Joseph said quietly. ‘The team are trying to find what links the two victims, and it has to be something from their past. We’ll find it, Nikki.’

  She was sure he was right, but would they find it before the next poor soul went up in flames? ‘Can you help us, John? Can you think of something that might tell us what kind of man this is? Apart from a heartless beast, that is.’

  John thought for a moment. ‘He’s not particularly well-organised. Some fire-setters are very methodical. Others use quite sophisticated methods, and even carefully constructed incendiary devices. He’s nowhere near that level yet, but he does seem to understand the principles. He knows what will burn and what may inhibit the fire. But,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t know what makes me think so, I don’t think he’s actually getting a kick from this. In fact, I get the feeling he isn’t your average arsonist.’

  Nikki groaned. ‘Oh hell! Just what I needed to hear! We’ve got an enigma, a one-off. Someone we’ll never get a profile on, because they don’t fit an arsonist’s job description! Bugger!’

  John threw her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. But this could help, although I don’t know how. There was a puddle of fresh vomit in the area just outside the back door. I’m thinking it was our killer.’

  She stared at him. ‘He threw up?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’ John looked across to Rory. ‘And our good pathologist here tells me you can lift DNA from vomit.’

  Rory beamed. ‘And the good pathologist also bagged and tagged it. In a very short time, we’ll have some results for you to play with.’

  ‘Really?’ Nikki brightened. ‘So even if he’s not on file, we’ll have something, should we apprehend a suspect. Cool!’

  ‘Not if, but when,’ Joseph said. ‘That’s a real something — as long as it is the killer’s.’

  John chipped in. ‘I checked with the fire crews, and no member of the public went round there after the fire started, and none of the firefighters upchucked either.’

  Nikki frowned. ‘So he does the deed, then is sick. How odd. I thought it was supposed to elicit a thrill, sometimes even sexual arousal?’

  ‘Thrill, yes. That’s fairly common in arson. Especially in the juvenile/young adult bracket, and those rarely hurt people. Sexual arousal is rare, and usually those are opportunists who just start small fires with available materials, nothing like this man.’

  ‘If he hates what he’s doing so badly that it makes him sick, why use this way of killing?’ Joseph looked perplexed.

  Nikki narrowed her eyes. ‘Maybe, if we can work that out, it’ll get us on track.’ She had the feeling that this was very important indeed. ‘Time we took it to Laura Archer, I think. Thank you, Rory, thank you, John. We’ll tie up again later.’

  Rory tutted. ‘Always in such a rush! And I so wanted to talk about Second World War costumes!’

  John looked perplexed.

  ‘Take no notice, John,’ Nikki said. ‘He’s clearly not well!’

  * * *

  Laura Archer listened intently to everything Nikki had to say. When she’d finished, Laura was silent.

  After a while, she said, ‘I’m afraid I agree with your investigator, John Carson, about this man. He’s not conforming to any known behaviour patterns, or the classifications I told you about the other day. I’m wondering if it has some other cause, like a religious mania. That would explain his need to use fire, even though it repelled him.’

  Joseph puffed out his cheeks. ‘Phew. As in committing his victims to a fiery demise? Condemning them to the fires of hell? Like a punishment for something?’

  ‘Kind of, although I was thinking more that a lot of beliefs consider fire to be cleansing. It purifies. It purges.’

  Nikki tried to keep up. ‘So was he trying to “save” his victims? Or punish them?’

  Laura continued. ‘The bible is littered with references to baptism with fire. Then there’s the sacrifices, the burnt offerings.’

  ‘And the reference to God’s “fiery law,” where all the chaff is burnt away, leaving only righteousness.’

  Joseph had looked grave as he spoke. Nikki wondered where that had come from. Joseph wasn’t religious, but sometimes he surprised her with his knowledge such matters.

  ‘Exactly, and fire is often considered a powerfully good thing. Think of sending fallen Norse warriors to Valhalla — in a burning burial ship. Or the funeral pyres on the banks of the Ganges. The Hindus believe that burning the deceased in a holy place will allow their souls to be transported straight to heaven.’

  ‘So, we could be looking for a religious zealot?’ Nikki’s heart sank. This complicated things. She liked straightforward — a crime of passion, a violent reaction to a perceived injury. Simple revenge that was in some way understandable. A kicking back, even if it were done illegally. The unhinged mind baffled her.

  She looked from Joseph, in deep thought, to Laura, who was clearly considering possibilities, and was mighty glad she had them both on board.

  ‘There’s one other explanation,’ Laura said softly. ‘Maybe the excitement was so intense that it made him sick.’

  ‘Like an over-excited child?’ Nikki asked, remembering her darling Hannah as a little one. She frequently threw up when she knew they were going to a special tr
eat.

  ‘Yes. Intense excitement or stress can cause the same reaction in susceptible adults. That type of arsonist will almost certainly stay around to watch the whole debacle. He will be in the crowd that gathers. He won’t be able to leave until the inferno — the result of his handiwork — has abated.’ Her expression grew darker. ‘And by then, he will almost certainly be planning his next fire.’

  Nikki put her elbows on the desk, clasped her hands together and rested her chin on them. She sighed. ‘I have to stop him. I don’t want more people dying and more buildings destroyed. Now I’m not sure what I’m looking for.’

  ‘John said he mingled with the crowd after the fire,’ Joseph said. ‘He was looking for someone who might have been the arsonist. He spoke to workers from the estate, and none of them saw a stranger there. John would have spotted an arsonist. He knew exactly what he was looking for. He’s certain the man started the fire, locked the door, was sick, then got away as quickly as possible.’

  ‘And that brings us back to someone who has to use fire in order to kill for some as yet unknown reason,’ Nikki concluded.

  Laura nodded. ‘Looks that way. If it helps, I’ll look out some historical case studies that show a similar pattern. There might be a clue as to why he needs to use fire.’

  ‘I’d be grateful, Laura. In my book, this makes him all the more dangerous. Fanatics, extremists and the barking mad, excuse the terminology, all make me very nervous indeed.’

  ‘You’d be a fool not to feel that way,’ said Joseph solemnly.

  ‘Okay, well, until we know more, nothing for it but to help the others look into Clary’s past,’ Nikki smiled at Laura, ‘and wait for your thoughts on why our man is using fire as a lethal weapon.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Yvonne stared at the computer screen, looking at tattoo designs featuring fire. She’d never have imagined there could be so many. Flames, fireballs, volcanoes, burning trees, fire demons and dragons, phoenixes, Molotov cocktails and firefighters. Some covered huge areas of the body and were more like monster graphic designs, and others were smaller and more symbolic, but there were none that looked like those on the Black brothers’ wrists.

  It looked as though her next stop would be the local tattoo parlours, but first she wanted to delve a little deeper into the Luciferian faith, if you could call it that.

  There was a considerable amount of information about it. Yvonne was surprised to read that alternative religions were rather in vogue, especially those centring on Satan. She scrolled through article after article, coming to the conclusion that Luciferians were probably the best of the bunch. She read one in depth, a paper on the similarities and differences between Luciferians and satanists. It was almost word for word what the Blacks had told her. Yvonne frowned. Had they just quoted chunks of the research at her? Once again, she didn’t know whether she was being strung along by a couple of sharp conmen, or given an honest introduction to what they truly believed. Giles had tried, fleetingly, to recruit her, offering a lucrative future. But recruit her into what? A religion? Or a shady business venture?

  Yvonne chuckled to herself. Surely even Giles Black wouldn’t try to rope a police officer into the fold? The smile faded when she recalled those police officers who’d been happy to take back-handers or join certain underground groups. She thought of the Masons. They certainly looked after their own. Perhaps it wasn’t quite so strange after all.

  She decided it was time to hit the tattoo parlours. Her first stop would be the Inksmith Studio in Godolphin Alley. It was run by a rather exotic woman called Phoebe and known to be the cleanest and most upmarket in the area. If Phoebe couldn’t help her, then her task would be more difficult.

  Phoebe took a few minutes out from her latest creation, a rather splendid wolf’s head surrounded by stars, to take a look at Yvonne’s sketch.

  ‘It’s not a standard, that’s for sure. And it’s not one of ours.’ She handed it back to Yvonne. ‘Try Alvie, down in Rock Lane. There’s something about it that makes me think of his style.’

  Yvonne walked down the one way street that led to Rock Lane. It was cobbled and hard on the feet, even with her tough shoes. Alvie’s place was distinctly more backstreet, frankly pretty seedy, but Phoebe had called Alvie “a master of inking the skin.”

  She glanced at some of the designs on show in the rather grimy window, wondering why people felt the need to decorate themselves in this way. You got fed up with wallpaper, so you changed it. You’d had enough of one particular picture on your wall, so you put another up, but you couldn’t do that with your body. People changed. Tastes changed. Lovers changed. But that tat you got for a dare when you were legless one night was forever, unless you fancied paying for laser surgery.

  She pushed open the door and went in.

  A young man and a middle-aged woman looked up. She was glad to be wearing her uniform. At least they wouldn’t believe she was coming in for a bit of skin art before she got too wrinkly.

  ‘Is Alvie around?’

  ‘He’s out back. He won’t be long.’ The lad gave her a friendly grin. ‘He’s just finishing a bit of work on my mate.’

  Well, I really hope he’s pleased with it, thought Yvonne, because there’s no going back if he hates it. She took a seat, wondering privately if the rather ordinary woman was there for a bit of decoration for herself, or also waiting for someone. Yvonne looked around. It was much cleaner inside, and there was an up-to-date hygiene certificate on the wall. Could she imagine Tom and Giles Black coming here? Another question with no answer. If you wanted a discreet tattoo, you had to go somewhere, and maybe a parlour down a quiet alley was better than the one close to the busy high street.

  It wasn’t long before a door opened and a short, stocky lad came out with the tattooist. Yvonne stared at the young man and wondered if there was much skin left to tattoo. The boy was one big illustration! Yvonne turned to his friend and said, ‘A bit of work! You were kidding, weren’t you?’

  ‘He’s addicted.’

  Yvonne scratched her head. ‘You mean that, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, maybe it’s called an obsession, I dunno. I just know he spends all his wages on them.’

  ‘But not you?’ Yvonne looked at the boy’s clear, unmarked skin.

  ‘No fear! Don’t like pain! And me mum would kill me.’

  ‘Clever woman your mum. Stay as you are, lad. One day you’ll be glad you did.’

  After the young men had left, she showed Alvie her design.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s one of mine.’ Alvie had long dark hair scraped back into a tight ponytail and a close-clipped dark beard. He looked rather devilish himself, and that was without the gothic tattoos on his own arms.

  ‘Can you tell me what it signifies, please?’

  ‘It’s a private design, Officer. She gave me a drawing, and I made a transfer up for her.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Yep. It was a woman came to me first, and then several others came for identical tats.’

  ‘And the meaning?’

  ‘No idea. They wouldn’t tell me, and believe me, I did ask.’

  ‘Can you tell its origins? You know, like some are Celtic or some are Maori.’

  Alvie stared at the picture. ‘No, it has no traditional origin that I know of. Sorry, Officer, can’t tell you any more I’m afraid.’

  Yvonne left, no more enlightened than when she went in, except for the fact that a woman had ordered them. Corinne? Surely not Olivia? She was sick, wasn’t she? Or maybe it wasn’t a Black at all.

  She walked back to the main road, still wondering what was going on in the Black House.

  * * *

  At around three p.m., Nikki’s phone rang. ‘Mum! I was just thinking about you. Has Wendy decided whether to join you at Monks Lantern?’

  ‘That’s why I’m ringing, Nikki. Yes, she thinks it’s a great idea. As do I. The more I consider it, the happier I feel. Knowing that you and Joseph feel the same makes it all the bett
er.’

  ‘Fantastic news! I can’t wait to tell Joseph.’

  ‘It’s strange, you know.’ Eve sounded serious now. ‘She feels as I do, about being unsettled and jumpy. And I’ve never heard Wendy admit to something like that before. She has nerves of steel. We saw some terrible things while in the military — and we’ve both seen friends and colleagues die, sometimes right in front of us. We talked about it last night, and came to the conclusion that neither of us wanted to admit, not even to ourselves, that we were badly affected by losing Jenny and Anne. More than we expected.’

  ‘Have you heard from your other old friends, Lou and Rene, Mum? Do they feel the same?’

  ‘We’re having a get-together here at Monks Lantern at the weekend. They’d love to see you again, if you can get free, even just for a little while.’

  ‘We’ll make it, one way or another. I’d love to see them again myself. You have a great group of buddies there.’

  ‘I’m just sad we’re so depleted. You would have loved Jenny. Anne too, but Jenny was a force of nature. I miss her, Nikki, and I always will.’ She sighed. ‘And yes, we all feel edgy, even stoic Lou and gung-ho Rene.’

  Nikki didn’t like to say, but they were all getting to an age when things often did start to worry people more. However, these were no ordinary women. Each one had served their country in a high-level role, and they all had a barrel-load of courage. It was odd that every one of them felt so uneasy. ‘It’ll be good for you all to get together again. You can talk it through, and maybe come up with some constructive ideas about how to overcome it.’

  ‘And maybe we can bounce it off you and Joseph?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Absolutely — arsonist permitting,’ Nikki said grimly.

  ‘There was another fire, wasn’t there? I heard about it on the radio,’ said Eve. ‘Same man?’

  ‘We think so — well, no, we are certain about it.’

  ‘Stay safe, sweetheart. No heroics — promise?’