Playing with Fire Read Free Page B

night?”
    â€œI don’t know. It’s likely, though. Like I said, he hardly ever went out.”
    â€œSeen any strangers hanging about?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAny threats made?”
    â€œOnly by British Waterways.”
    â€œCome again?”
    Mark gave Banks a defiant look. “You must have worked out that we’re not your typical middle-class folk.” He gestured to the burned boats. “Those were clapped-out hulks, hadn’t been anywhere in years, just sitting there, rotting away. Nobody knows who owns them, so we just moved in.” Mark glanced at the barge again. Tears came to his eyes and he gave his head a little shake.
    Banks allowed him a moment to collect himself before continuing. “Are you saying you’re squatters?”
    Mark wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “That’s right. And British Waterways have been trying to get rid of us for weeks.”
    â€œWas Tom squatting, too?”
    â€œDunno. I suppose so.”
    â€œWas there any electricity on the boats?”
    â€œThat’s a laugh.”
    â€œWhat did you do for heat and light?”
    â€œCandles. And we had an old woodstove for heat. It was in pretty bad shape, but I managed to get it working.”
    â€œWhat about Tom?”
    â€œSame, I suppose. They were both the same kind of barge, anyway, even if he had done his up a bit, slap of paint here and there.”
    Banks looked back at the burned-out barges. An accident with the stove was certainly one possible explanation of the fire. Or Tom might have been using a dangerous heating fuel—paraffin, diesel or Coleman fuel, for example. But all that was mere speculation until Geoff Hamilton and the pathologist had done their jobs. Patience, Banks told himself.
    Were there any motives immediately apparent? Mark and Tina had had a row, and maybe he had lashed out and run off after starting the fire. Certainly possible, if his alibi was false. Banks turned to PC Smythe. “Constable, would you putthe cuffs back on and take Mark here up to headquarters. Turn him over to the custody officer.”
    Mark jerked his eyes toward Banks, scared. “You can’t do that.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, we can. For twenty-four hours, at least. You’re still a suspect and you’ve got no fixed abode. Look at it this way,” he added. “You’ll be well treated, warm and well fed. And if everything you’ve told me is true, then you’ve nothing to be afraid of. Do you have a criminal record?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNever got caught, eh?” Banks turned to Smythe. “See that his hands and clothing are checked for any signs of accelerant. Just mention it to the custody officer. He’ll know what to do.”
    â€œBut you can’t believe I did this!” Mark protested. “What about Tina? I love her. I would never hurt her.”
    â€œIt’s routine,” said Banks. “For purposes of elimination. This way we find out you’re innocent, so we don’t have to waste our time and yours asking pointless questions.” Or we find out you’re guilty, Banks thought, which is another kettle of fish entirely.
    â€œCome on, lad.”
    Mark hung his head and Smythe put the handcuffs on again, took his arm and led him to the patrol car. Banks sighed. It had already been a long night and he had a feeling it was going to be an even longer day as he saw Geoff Hamilton walking along the canal bank toward him.
    Â 
    Mist clung to the blackened ruins of the two barges as Banks, crime scene photographer Peter Darby, SOCO Terry Bradford, and FIO Geoff Hamilton climbed into their protective clothing, having been given the green light to inspect the scene by the station officer, who was officially in charge. Annie stood watching them, wrapped tightly in her greatcoat.
    â€œThis isn’t too difficult or dangerous a scene,” Hamilton said. “There’s no ceiling