‘When the fire brigade got here they sent a couple of men with breathing apparatus into the house. The body was in the lounge. They dragged him out but he was already dead.’
‘I thought the sprinklers were supposed to stop this sort of fire,’ said Frost.
‘They’d been put out of action, Inspector. The water supply was turned of at the mains.’
Gilmore thought it was about time he reminded everyone that this was his case. ‘Radio through to Control,’ he snapped. ‘Tell all patrols that anyone out and about at this time of the morning, on foot or in a car, is a suspect and is to be detained for questioning.’
‘And advise all hospitals, chemists and doctors that we want to know immediately about anyone requesting treatment for burns,’ added Frost.
A car horn sounded and Dr Maltby’s Vauxhall crept into the side road. Maltby, wrapped up against the cold in a thick overcoat, climbed out and surveyed the smouldering wreck age of the once beautiful house. He spotted Frost and made his way across, stepping with exaggerated care over the hose-pipes.
‘He’s drunk again,’ hissed Gilmore.
‘Then arrest him,’ snapped Frost. ‘We need the extra work. Over here, doc!’
The doctor lurched over. ‘Terrible business, Jack.’ He nodded at the sheeted shape. ‘The husband?’
‘All that’s left of him, doc. He fell face first in some four star. What I want to know is, did he fall or was he pushed?’
Maltby pulled the sheet completely away from the body and arranged it over the wet grass so he could kneel down. He shook his head testily. ‘He’s too badly burnt. You’ll need a proper post-mortem.’ He lifted the head slightly, his fingers exploring the skull. ‘Hello…’ Carefully he moved the head so he could examine it more easily. ‘The back of the skull’s caved in.’
‘Where?’ asked Frost, squatting down beside the doctor. His nicotine-stained fingers probed. Yes, he could feel the pulpy fracture where the skull gave way under pressure. He wiped his hand on his mac and straightened up. ‘Damn, damn and double damn!’
‘Could it have happened when he fell?’ asked Gilmore.
Frost shook his head. ‘He fell face down, son… straight into the burning petrol.’
Maltby nodded his agreement. ‘I’d say he was struck from behind
… a heavy blow from a blunt instrument. If the blow didn’t kill him outright, then the fire finished him off.’
Frost’s shoulders sagged wearily. ‘It’s murder whichever way you look at it, doc.’ He shook water from the plastic sheeting and jerked it back over the body. ‘Where’s the poor sod’s wife?’
‘Ada’s looking after her,’ said Maltby. He turned to watch the firemen. The Old Mill was now a skeleton of blackened, smoking timbers which had to be continually dampened down as a malevolent wind kept fanning sparks into flames. ‘Get the bastard, Jack,’ he said, as he stumbled back to his car.
‘I’ll try,’ called Frost. He turned to Gilmore. ‘Come on, son. Let’s go and have a word with Old Mother Rigid Nipples.’
Gilmore exploded. He had had just about enough of Frost’s callous crudeness for one day. ‘Haven’t you got any bloody feeling? A man’s dead. His wife is a widow. Must everything be a cheap joke?’
Frost accepted the rebuke with a half-hearted shrug. ‘I see so many rotten things, son. If I dwelt on them, I’d probably go and chuck myself under a bus, which might make Mullett happy, but wouldn’t do the victim any good… so I joke. It makes the job a bit more tolerable… sorry if it upsets you, though.’
A concerned-looking Ada, a thick mouse-grey dressing gown over flannelette pyjamas, a man’s cap covering her curlers, led them through to the bedroom where Jill Compton, all respectable in one of Ada’s passion-killing high-necked winceyette nightdresses, lay with eyes closed, on Ada’s iron-framed single bed. Frost thought it was the most erotic sight he had ever seen and wished he wouldn’t keep thinking dirty thoughts at inopportune moments. Jill’s eyes fluttered, then opened wide in startled anxiety as Frost gently called her name She sat up Where s Mark? Is he all right?
Frost groaned inwardly. He hadn’t realized she hadn’t been told. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid, Mrs Compton.’
She stared at him, then at Gilmore, her eyes pleading to be told that what she feared, what she dreaded, wasn’t so. ‘No… no.. please…’ And her head shook, rejecting what she knew they would tell her.
Frost knew of no way to deaden the hurt other than killing hope quickly. ‘Your husband is dead, Mrs Compton. The firemen got him out, but it was too late.’
At first she looked angry, as if her refusal to accept what they were telling her would make it untrue. Then her body shook as she buried her face in her hands, tears streaming between her fingers. ‘No …’
Ada pushed forward to comfort her. ‘You’d better, go now,’ she ordered the two detectives.
‘No,’ said Frost, firmly. ‘She’s the only witness. The only person who can help us.’
Ada stood her ground, chin jutting defiantly, one arm protectively around her charge. ‘I’ve told you to go. This is neither the time nor the place.’
But, sniffing back her tears and biting hard on her lower lip, Jill spoke quietly. ‘It’s all right. I want to help. What do you want to know?’
Signalling Gilmore to get out his notebook, Frost dragged a wicker-seated chair to the side of the bed. ‘Tell us what happened.’
The detective sergeant gave a sharp cough and glared angrily. ‘This is my case,’ he reminded the inspector.
‘Sorry son,’ said Frost mildly, moving his chair back a little.
Gilmore gave the woman a sympathetic smile. ‘Tell us what happened, Mrs Compton.’
She fumbled under the pillow for a handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes, then, twisting the tiny scrap of cloth in her hands, related the course of events. ‘We went to bed just before midnight. I woke up suddenly. Mark was using the phone by the bed. He was calling the police. He had heard someone prowling about outside.’
‘Did you see who it was?’ asked Gilmore.
‘Not clearly. We looked out of the window and could see a shadow of someone moving about. Mark was angry. He grabbed a heavy torch and said he was going to teach who ever it was a lesson.’
‘He was going to use the torch as a weapon?’
She nodded. ‘I imagine so.’
‘You didn’t go downstairs with him?’
‘No. He insisted I stayed in the bedroom with the door locked. I waited. Suddenly I heard shouting and crashing, as if there was a fight. Then it went quiet. I waited, hoping Mark would come back I called him. No answer. Then I smelt burning so I unlocked the bedroom door. Thick black smoke. I could hardly see. I had to feel my way down the stairs. When I opened the lounge door, flames and smoke roared out. I could see Mark, face down on the floor. But the heat was intense. I couldn’t get to him.’
She paused, her face drawn and pained as she relived the moment. Frost started to say something, but Gilmore brusquely signalled him to be quiet.
‘I saw the lounge window was open, so I tried to get out into the garden through the back door. But the smoke was so thick. I was choking. When I found the bolts, they wouldn’t undo. I struggled and finally got them undone…’ She looked at her broken nails, then hid her hands under the bedclothes. ‘… but I must have passed out. That’s all I remember. There was a fireman… and then there was Ada.’ The effort of talking had exhausted her. Her eyes closed and her head dropped back on the pillow. ‘That’s all I remember,’ she repeated in a whisper.
‘The firemen found you collapsed just outside the back door,’ Gilmore told her. ‘Did you see anything more of the person who broke in?’
Eyes still closed, she shook her head. ‘No.’ Her body trembled with the reaction and she tried to sit up. ‘If only I could have got to Mark. He was so close. But the flames…’
Gilmore patted her arm. ‘There was nothing you have done, Mrs Compton. He was already dead when first saw him.’
She raised her face to the sergeant. ‘I pleaded with him to wait for the police. If only he had stayed with me…’ And then she threw back her head and howled in anguish, her sobs racking her body.
With a belligerent stride Ada pushed in front of Gilmore. ‘No more. She’s had enough.
Gilmore replaced the chair up against the forget-me-not patterned wallpaper. ‘Thanks for your help, Mrs Compton. And I really am most sorry.’
