23
It was a maxim with Foxey — our revered father, gentlemen — 'Always suspect everybody.'
The first Hen Mallin knew of it was at six thirty, when she stepped out of the shower. She could never hear the phone when the water was going. Didn't want to. She grabbed a towel and her mobile. I don't need this, she thought.
'Another?. . Vicars Close? That's. . Oh God. And is she. .? I'll be there shortly.'
Grim-faced as she drove from Bognor, she tried to get a grip on what had happened and what it meant. A third death by fire in Chichester. Another of the writers' circle murdered, and by night, the victim at home, in bed, at her most vulnerable. This would panic the rest of them. And give the press a field day. Proof positive that a serial killer was at work. She could hear the questions already. Why hadn't the police given twenty-four-hour protection to the members of the circle? How many more fatal fires would have to take place before the arsonist was caught?
Pick a number, she thought from the depths of her despair.
Fire engines, two of them, were drawn up in Canon Lane, on the south side of the cathedral, the closest they could get to the fire. A mass of pipes snaked up the narrow lane that fronted the terrace. There was barely room to put her feet down. But at least Vicars Close was cordoned off at each end, barring the gawpers.
Wisps of smoke still rose from the smashed windows of the burnt-out, saturated house. The fire had been contained in the one dwelling. The rest of the nicely maintained row appeared to have escaped, even the adjacent houses. White fronts and cared-for gardens made the contrast more poignant.
Hen lit a cigar and took a fortifying drag.
Stella Gregson was standing in a bed of purple irises in the trampled remains of the garden. 'Seems to have happened around four thirty this morning, guv, just like the others.'
'Witnesses — or is that too much to hope?'
'None so far. Uniform are knocking on doors.'
'Who reported it?'
'A shop window-cleaner, name of Meredith. He saw the smoke from South Street and came to investigate. That was just before six. The fire had ripped through the place by that time.'
Hen stepped over some of the hoses to speak to the senior fire officer. 'Any conclusions yet?'
'It was started at the front, I can tell you that.'
'Like the others. Petrol through the letterbox?'
He hedged a little. 'The investigation team hasn't been through yet.'
'But you have.'
'All I can give you is a personal observation.'
'Like I said, petrol through the letterbox?'
He smiled in a way that confirmed it.
'You took the decision to remove the dead woman?'
'We had to. The floor was starting to go. It's a wonder we contained it to the one house. These old buildings had solid walls. Fifteenth century.'
'Is there much left of her?'
'It's not pretty, but she isn't ash, like the last one.'
'Just the one victim?'
'Please God, yes. That's all we found. She lived alone, according to the neighbours.'
'That's our information, too.'
He scratched his unshaven face. 'Do you think the point of this was to kill? Who'd want to-'
'Thanks,' Hen cut him off. Speculation had its purpose, but not now. 'Appreciate your help.'
She returned to Stella. 'Not much we can do here until it cools off, Stell. We've got to move fast on this. I want to know where each member of the circle spent the last twelve hours. See if anyone spoke to Jessie late yesterday, in person or by phone. Look for signs of guilt, examine their hands, ask to see their shoes, clothes, vehicles, garages, outbuildings. Check for fuel, evidence of it, the smell of it.'
'We'll need warrants for all that, guv.'
'Sod that. They owe us their cooperation. If they refuse, we know who to focus on, and they'll be aware of that. Get the team working on it pronto, will you, before the press start badgering them.'
'The entire circle?'
'The whole boiling lot of them. Even the ones we think are in the clear. This is an inside job, Stell. We've met the killer, so we're ahead of the game. We don't know why the bugger is doing this, but we've got to nick him before he does another.'
'Him, guv? You said 'him'.'
'I take it back. Him or her. While you attend to that, I'm calling a press conference. They'll be screaming for a statement and they can have one, so at least I'll know they're sitting in front of me while you guys are doing the business.'
She was right about the media interest. She called the conference for ten thirty and it was standing room only. Some of the nationals — papers, TV and radio — were represented. From this point on, the pressure would be intense.
She was good at this and she handled their probing without once losing her grip. The questions were predictable, fishing for the quote that she refused to give, the admission that she was at a loss. On the contrary, she told them, a number of promising leads were being followed up.
Then she did four television interviews. As if that wasn't enough, she was summoned immediately after by the assistant chief constable and asked — in a roundabout way — if she was up to it. This time she did snap back. She told him she knew what was being hinted at and, no, she didn't need the Regional Crime Squad muscling in, and what was more she took it as insulting that it was even being considered. Her clear-up rate was second to none in West Sussex and she looked to her superiors for support in the shape of a generous overtime budget.
He huffed and muttered things about headquarters, and Hen came out knowing she was on limited time, but she knew that already.
She drove to the mortuary for a look at the body, a necessary duty, however distasteful. Fire is a great concealer. The possibility always had to be kept open that injuries had been inflicted first.
Just before the sheet was drawn back she reminded herself that the likely cause of Jessie Warmington- Smith's death was smoke inhalation. She would not have felt the flames. Horrific as the flesh injuries were, they were postmortem burns.
Standing beside the body she reflected on the irony that the killer is never forced to view his victim on a mortuary slab, as the investigator must. You would need to be callous indeed not to be affected by the spectacle of the fire-damaged corpse in those clinical surroundings. The nearest a murdering arsonist comes to the consequence of his crime is a glance at the photographs in court.
She saw enough to confirm Jessie's identity, then went in search of fresh air and a smoke.
In theory it was lunchtime, but she wouldn't be able to face food for a long while. She called the team to the incident room for a briefing and began by sharing the sparse information she had. The fire fitted the pattern of the others. It had started in the front hallway, by the door. There were no signs of a break-in, so concealing a theft wasn't the reason for the fire, as is sometimes the case. The victim had died in bed, probably from smoke inhalation. The fire chief was suggesting a likely time of origin between four and five in the morning. No witnesses had yet been traced, for all the door-to-door enquiries.
'So run it past me,' she told her team. 'What did you discover?'
Silence. No one wanted to go first.
Then Stella said, 'Do you want a summary from me, guv? There are ten surviving members of the circle and we've talked to nine of them this morning. The odd one out is Bob Naylor, and he left home early for work. He's a Parcel Force driver and he's on a long-haul job to Bristol. We've made contact and I'm seeing him tonight. Of the
