Page 11 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

Charlie was torn between the need to get back to Llanfair, and the need to take care of someone in distress. Neighbour, he decided. He let himself out of the house and walked round next door, warrant card in hand, but before he could knock, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman in shorts, clogs and the kind of smock seen on gardening programmes. For sure, people could look trustworthy and still be villains, but this was someone who would help, he thought, and he was right. She promised to call in on Dylan as soon as she’d done a bit of ‘tidying up’ and took his card ‘just in case’. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

The roads on his way back were busy with Sunday drivers but the air-conditioning worked. The journey gave Charlie time to think. How had Unwin sustained relationships with two people, maybe more, when he, Charlie, was struggling with one.

“It’s arson and murder,”Ravensbourne said. She was sitting in one of the few shady spots in Llanfair — on a bench under an oak tree in the art college grounds. All the other shady spots were occupied by people sprawled out on thegrass. Charlie was careful not to look for Tom. Ravensbourne smelled of recent cigarette smoking, for which he couldn’t blame her. She probably needed to replace the odour of damp and decomposition with something less upsetting. The mortuary van had left leaving the pathologist, Hector Powell, standing beside the burned building looking thoughtful. Charlie wanted to talk to Hector, but Ravensbourne would have the essentials.

“What did Dr Powell say?” Charlie asked.

“Blunt force trauma to the cranial something or other,” Ravensbourne said. “In other words, someone hit Unwin over the head with a hammer. We know it was a hammer because it was next to his body, covered in blood, poor bastard. Charlie, we have to get the fucker who did this. I know Unwin had some odd habits, but this?”

“Odd habits, boss?”

“This business of multiple girlfriends and boyfriends. I’m sure it’s all with consent … I dunno, I struggle with it to be honest … or maybe I’m just curious.”

“His mother said that he and Patsy were planning to get married, and Patsy said they were planning to move in together,” Charlie said. “And Unwin’s boyfriend had nothing but good things to say about him. His sister, though, seemed to have a problem with jealousy. She certainly didn’t like Patsy; all but accused her of the killing. If it was Patsy’s body we’d found, I’d have a closer look at her – except she’s seventeen and weighs about eight stone wringing wet. And according to Unwin’s dad, she worshipped her brother, and her parents give her an alibi for last night.”

Ravensbourne leaned back on the bench. It wasn’t a comfortable bench, but Charlie couldn’t imagine holding the conversation sitting on the grass. He shuffled about, wishing he had a cushion.

“Tell me about the boyfriend,” Ravensbourne said.

Charlie described Dylan. “He says that Unwin was with him all afternoon, but I don’t know when he left. I couldn’t push it. He was telling me to go. Really distressed. I found a neighbour to keep an eye on him. I’ll go back later and find out.”

“So, what was Unwin doing here? In an empty shop?”

Charlie shrugged. He’d been asking himself the same question. “You asked Patsy?”

Ravensbourne looked at him. Of course she had asked Patsy. She would have found out what time Unwin left Dylan, too. Ravensbourne would have insisted, regardless of Dylan’s tears.

“Who’s with Patsy now?”

“One of her friends. A funny-looking girl with a T-shirt proclaiming that she’s a witch. But she came when Patsy rang, and I left her making herbal tea and providing tissues. In answer to your question, Patsy has no idea what Unwin was doing in Llanfair. She thought he was staying the night with Dylan.”

Charlie thought about that for a moment. Finding out why Unwin was in the empty shop must be one of the keys to his murder. “And you said arson?” he asked. “I did think there was a smell of petrol, but I forgot about it, in the light of what else we found.”

“Petrol and lots of it. One of those plastic containers you can fill up at a petrol station. The fire investigator thinks it was thrown through the window with the lid off, and then something like a burning rag, or a lit cigarette, thrown after it. And apparently, no one saw a thing.” Ravensbourne’s tone was dismissive of the idea that the arson had gone unseen. She fumbled about in her pockets, producing cigarettes and lighter. “Filthy habit. I should quit. I will. As soon as we find out who killed Unwin. OK, working hypothesis. Whoever killed Unwin set the shop on fire with the hope of concealing the body.”

“Or maybe,” Charlie said, “with the opposite aim. Because without the fire, we wouldn’t have found the body. Or we would have, but not so quickly.”

Ravensbourne gave him one of her patented pats on the arm, the kind that left bruises.

“It’s one or the other, or possibly something else altogether. None of which helps us understand what the hell happened last night.”

“What I want to know,” Charlie said, “is when the fire investigator found Unwin’s body. Because he was odd about the whole thing. And the other thing I want to know about is that graffiti. Because that’s odd, too. I spoke to Unwin yesterday. He said the nutters would head to Liverpool or Manchester to cause trouble. So, why were they here?”

9

Sunday lunchtime

Ravensbourne wanted to see what the crime scene investigators came up with as they trawled through the building looking for possible evidence. Charlie was sent to find Eddy, to see if anything useful had come from his interview with Jeff Britton.

At the police station, Eddy was sitting in the break room, with the door propped open to the gloomy — and hopefully cooler — corridor. He had a bag of doughnuts from the supermarket, and for a miracle, hadn’t yet eaten them all. Charlie grabbed the bag and helped himself, even though the heat was making the icing too soft and sticky, coating his fingers and lips as he ate. Which didn’t stop him eating another.

“What did he say?” Charlie asked when he’d sucked all the sugar from his fingers and run a glass of tap water to drink. He wanted coffee, but he couldn’t bear the thought of adding to the heat in the room.

“Britton? The fire investigator?” Eddy sighed. “He never showed up. I walked back into town in case he’d got lost, despite saying he knew where the station is, but there was no sign of the guy. And we never took a number for him, because he was supposed to be following me here.”

“So did he know there was a body?” Charlie asked, though rhetorically. “He didn’t tell me that there was a dead man on the top floor, but if he’d been all the way through the building, he must have seen it.”

Eddy nodded. “Exactly. Hemusthave. Maybe that’s what he didn’t want to tell us. But he’s a fire investigator. It can’t have been the first time he’s seen a body.”

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