Heatwave, Oliver Davies [pdf ebook reader .txt] 📗

The fire team, much to my relief, had managed to contain and tamp down the fire by the time I was off the phone. I looked up at the smoking remains of the house which had already been dilapidated but now looked war-torn with the burnt, blackened rip down its flank.

“Let’s go talk to one of the firefighters,” I said to Stephen, who gave a nod.

We moved forward, looking for a firefighter who wasn’t in the middle of something and might tell us what they knew. But the team was all occupied, and I was reluctant to get in their way, so we waited on the side as they moved purposefully around, efficiently doing their job.

The crowd of onlookers had started to drift away once the fire was out, though many remained to gawk at the damage and the commotion. I kept an eye on a journalist who’d turned up, presumably someone from a local paper. For the last few minutes, they’d been trying to get up close to the house so that they could get a good picture of it, and I left them to it since they didn’t seem to be bothering the firefighters too much.

But a moment later, they’d darted forwards and pestered one of the fire team for a comment, even after they’d been repeatedly rebuffed.

“Let’s go have a word,” Stephen said, who’d been watching what had been going on, too.

We headed over, and the journalist faltered when she saw us, only to brighten again, turning the microphone on Stephen and me.

“What do you think the cause-?”

“No comment from us,” I said firmly. “Put that away and leave the firefighters be, alright?”

She looked put out. “C’mon, give us a hint, detective. Should people be worried about their own houses? This time of the year-”

“Alright, let’s go,” Stephen said, gently guiding her away from the irritated-looking firefighter. “You want a comment, you can call the fire department later.”

“Thanks for the hand,” the firefighter said, giving me a nod.

“No problem. Though I’m afraid I’ve got questions too, but only when you’re done, of course.” I gestured vaguely towards the charred house.

“Give me five, and I’ll be with you,” he said with an easy-going smile and stepped away.

Stephen returned after a minute, and we waited for the firefighter to return to give us some answers, if he had any, that was.

“The journo didn’t give you any trouble?”

“Nope, not after she realised she wasn’t getting anything.”

“Good.”

I patted my pockets for my handkerchief and rubbed it across my forehead, my curly hair limp and damp in the heat. Stephen had a water bottle on his belt and passed it over to me. The water was metallic and warm, but I drank it gratefully, thinking longingly of Sam’s lemonade sitting at home in the fridge.

“Sorry about the wait,” the firefighter said, coming back ten minutes later. The team was beginning to pack up now, and the majority of the crowd had moved on. “I’m guessing you want to know how it started?”

“That would be our first question, aye,” I agreed with a smile.

The firefighter pulled off his helmet and ran a hand over his short-shorn hair, which was speckled through with grey.

“Well, by the looks of things, it was fuel splashed up the wall on the right side. Definitely set on purpose, that’s for sure.”

“It was lit on just the one side?” I asked.

“Yeah. Given time, it would’ve burned to the other end, but it was certainly set on the right.”

“Did you notice anything else?” I asked. “Anything that could help us?”

“Afraid not.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Probably teenagers messing around, I’d guess.”

The teenagers part I agreed with, but I wasn’t sure that this was them just messing around. As part of the bigger pattern, there seemed to be an intent behind it all that went beyond rebellious acting out.

“Thanks for telling us. D’you mind if we have a scout around? We’ll stay outside the house, obviously.”

The firefighter turned to look at the building for a moment before giving a slow nod.

“I’d say it’s structurally sound at the moment. Don’t go too near, though, and no poking around.” He gave us a smile to show that he was joking, and I smiled back.

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

He left us to it, and Stephen and I headed closer, moving over the long grass the fire hoses had wetted down. The stench of smoke was strong here, and I coughed, putting my nose in my elbow as we went closer to the right side, where the fire had originated. It had also burned most fiercely there, I could see, and I scanned the area, looking for discarded matches or a disposable lighter.

I didn’t spot either of those, but Stephen gave a holler, and I looked up to find that he’d moved away into the back of the overgrown garden, behind the burnt house.

“What’ve you found?” I asked as I came over.

“Fuel can. We might get prints off it.”

“Good job,” I said as I saw what he was looking at; a cheap, discarded jerry can. The case was big enough now that we could ask forensics to look it over for us, in case there was some bit of evidence that we couldn’t see.

Stephen left to go back to the car to fetch a large enough evidence bag, plus the fingerprints kit to try on the jerry can’s handle. I wasn’t confident that we’d get much off the flaky paint, but it was worth a shot.

Whilst he was doing that, I moved around the house, checking out the left side once I’d spent several minutes scouring the source of the fire. This side of the house looked relatively untouched, except by time and neglect. The grass was long and dry here since the fire had never reached this side, and the ash that had drifted down was caught in it, sticking to my damp shoes and trousers.

As I looked it over, I caught the strong smell of fuel and frowned. My first thought was