Some by Fire Read Free

found. A big ginger cat jumped up to inspect my handiwork and sniffed the open tin. The cut was deep and really needed stitching. I put a dressing on it and told him to hold it there with his thumb across his palm. No blood came through so I covered the lot with a bandage.
    ‘It’s Sparky, isn’t it?’ I said as I tied it off.
    ‘No, Sarge,’ he replied. ‘My name’s Dave Sparkington. I don’t like being called Sparky.’
    ‘Fair enough.’ I pulled the ends tight, saying: ‘That should do it. Keep that on for as long as possible, or until a proper doctor sees it. Have you had a tetanus booster?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Yesterday.’
    With some, you just can’t help them.
    The fireman in the breathing apparatus never made it into the attic bedroom. He was nearly at the top of the ladder when the window exploded outwards and a ball of flame blossomed from it, rolling up over the roof. He hesitated, took a few more rungs and called for the water. Two more in breathing gear went in the front door, carrying powerful searchlights, and others came running up the street unreeling canvas hoses, having connected them to the mains hydrant. You could tell they’d done it before.
    An hour later they brought the first body out and I sent for assistance.
    The house was a smoking, sodden shell when the duty undertaker’s van left for the last time. ‘That’s it,’ the assistant divisional fire chief told me. ‘There’s no one left inside.’
    ‘Three adults and five children?’ I said.
    ‘That’s what I made it.’
    ‘Jesus.’
    ‘Multiple occupancy,’ he explained. ‘Only one means of egress. These places are death-traps.’
    ‘The neighbours say it was some sort of hostel.’
    ‘That fits.’
    ‘Any thoughts on the cause?’
    He pulled the strap from under his chin and rotated his helmet forward and off. There was a white line of clean skin between his face and his hairline. He rubbed a hand across his head, unsticking his hair from his scalp. ‘It almost certainly started at the foot of the stairs, just behind the door. An accelerant was used, probably petrol. You were first on the scene, weren’t you? Did you smell anything?’
    I shook my head. ‘Only smoke.’
    The yellow stuff’s from the furniture filling,’ he told me. ‘You were lucky, Sergeant. It’s deadly.’
    PC Sparkington had gone back to the station, so I’d have to ask him later if he’d smelt petrol. ‘Was…’ I began. ‘Did you…did you find any of the bodies down where the fire started?’
    He’d put his hat back on. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘You’re wondering if one of the kids was up early, playing with matches.’
    ‘Something like that.’
    He smiled at me like a benevolent uncle. ‘They were all upstairs. I’ve got the details.’
    ‘So it looks…deliberate. Arson?’
    ‘I’m afraid so.’
    ‘But…who’d want to do something like that?’
    ‘That, I’m pleased to say, is your province, not mine.’
    ‘Right,’ I mumbled, adding: ‘We’d appreciate your thoughts in writing, as soon as poss.’
    ‘You’ll have them, Sergeant.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    The DCI arrived, closely followed by the SOCO and the forensic boffins from Weatherfield. I was centre of attention until I’d told them what I knew, and then they closed ranks and left me out of it. I’d always wanted a big crime, and they took it away from me. Ah well, I thought, if that’s how it goes I’ll just have to join them.
     
    Melissa Youngman had been the star pupil at the East Yorkshire grammar school she’d attended. Her parents were a trifle disappointed that she hadn’t made it to Oxbridge, but assured their friends and neighbours that it was because Essex University had more modern facilities for the study of Melissa’s chosen subject – palaeontology. It was also much nearer – the only Oxbridge Daddy could find on the map was in Dorset, on the south coast.
    Mr and Mrs Youngman decided to invest their life savings in property.