Liar Liar

10

The imposing Victorian house was now a ruin. The windows had blown out – dirty smears of soot stained the brickwork – and the whole place looked lifeless, haunted and defiled. A family home had become a horrific curiosity, scores of local residents, well-wishers and journalists having turned out to drink in the devastation. Helen Grace struggled to rid herself of the thought that a family had gone to bed here tonight, happy and relaxed, and had woken up to this.

The Fire and Rescue Service had secured the site and a local Fire Investigation Officer was on her way. The house was still too dangerous to enter, so Helen had to content herself with a tour of the perimeter of the building, accompanied by DS Sanderson. Sanderson’s predecessor, DI Lloyd Fortune, had moved on a few months back, allowing Helen the opportunity to promote her accomplished and loyal DC Sanderson was now her second-in-command and Helen was glad of her company.

‘We’re looking for signs of an intruder. Anything unusual or suspicious that might explain what happened here.’

The two women walked in silence, the gutted house casting a long shadow over them, affecting their spirits. The ground was frozen tonight, so there would be little chance of finding any useful footprints or tracks. And if a third party had been responsible for tonight’s blaze, they had obviously been careful. There was no obvious detritus left behind, nothing that could give them a sense of how the fire started.

But there was something that was intriguing. The back garden could be accessed via a passage adjacent to the house, the gate to which was unlocked. Someone could have entered the garden unseen from the street. Furthermore, the glass in one of the panes of the back door had been broken. It hadn’t cracked or blown out like the other windows, perhaps because the fire damage was less severe at the very back of the house. No, this window looked like it had been deliberately broken. More tellingly, the splintered glass from this fracture lay inside the house, suggesting the person responsible was standing outside the house when they struck the glass. The resultant hole would have been big enough for someone to put their hand through and turn the key in the lock on the other side. Donning latex gloves, Helen tested the door and was not surprised to find it unlocked.

‘I’ll get SOC on to this straight away,’ Sanderson piped up, following Helen’s train of thought, pulling her radio from her jacket.

As Sanderson liaised with her colleagues, Helen returned to the front of the house. The crowd had grown considerably in size. Despite the late hour, there appeared to be a few hundred people gawping now. Helen gestured to DC Edwards, who hurried over.

‘Round up a few plain-clothes officers and do a couple of circuits of the crowd. Use your cameras and get whatever footage you can. We’re looking for any suspicious activity, anyone recording the scene on cameras or phones. Also I want to know if you see anyone masturbating -’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Anyone masturbating or displaying any overt interest in the fire site. Got it?’

DC Edwards hurried off to find his colleagues. Helen watched him go, momentarily amused by his discomfort. But the request was a serious one. Arson was one of those rare crimes where the perpetrator could return to the scene of the crime to enjoy their handiwork. Helen wondered to herself if the person responsible for this awful crime was looking at her right now.

A sound made her turn – DI Sanderson was approaching, her face drained and sombre.

‘We just took a call from South Hants Hospital,’ she said quickly. ‘Karen Simms died just before two a.m. this morning. Cardiac arrest and multiple organ failure.’

‘Is anybody down there?’

‘DC Brooks is on site.’

‘Get in touch. Tell her to stick close to Thomas Simms and offer him whatever support she can.’

Sanderson hurried off, pulling her mobile from her pocket. Helen watched her go, a rising feeling of dread creeping over her. This was no longer a nasty case of arson.

This was now a murder enquiry.