Page 2 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

Charlie propped his door open, leaving the fan running. In the outer office, Patsy was thrusting her phone at Eddy, saying, “See, even the Government says I’m right …” Her blonde hair was tied into a bun, and she was wearing the lightest possible version of the police uniform, which was still too much clothing for the weather.

“Guys,” Charlie said, “It’s going to be too hot whatever you do. So, do me a favour and stop arguing. We may have a problem.”

Patsy blushed and shoved her phone in the pocket of her trousers. Eddy just blushed. Or he might have been too hot. Charlie told them what Freya Ravensbourne had said and showed them the link.

“I’m going to the holiday park to talk to the owners. While I’m there, have a think about how this might potentially affect us.”

Patsy’s face showed disbelief. “In Llanfair? Like the Home Office even knows we exist.”

“That’s not the point. What matters is that there are idiots out there who will believe it or at least use it as an excuse to throw a few traffic cones through shop windows.”

“Sad, but true,” Eddy said, and then Patsy nodded slowly.

“On it,” she said. “Lists of who might throw the cones and which shop windows might get broken. Though really, bricks might be more likely to break shop windows. Cones would just bounce off.”

2

Saturday morning/afternoon

Charlie was glad of the air conditioning in the car, though it was only just starting to get properly cool by the time he arrived at Llanfair Holiday Park. He left it running for a last minute before switching the engine off, even though the visitors’ parking area was still shaded by tall trees. A sparkle of blue water, and high-pitched children’s voices, indicated the park’s swimming pool was busy, and in the reception office Charlie could see an ice cream freezer and a fridge with cold drinks. He forced himself out of the car and across the few yards of too-bright sunshine to the door. Inside, a fan was blowing, and a middle-aged woman wearing a lightweight pink and purple floral frock looked up from behind a high desk.

“Detective Sergeant Charlie Rees,” he said, showing his identification. “I’m here to talk to the owners of the park.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, “because Alun Evans is on his way, and one of you had better have a bloody good explanation.”

She picked a tablet off the desk and showed it to him. The headline read: “Welsh MP Alun Evans saysImmigrant Plan For Llanfair Not Acceptable”

Charlie’s heart sank.

The heat continued to build,with hard blue skies and bright sun dividing the area outside the office into light and dark where there was any shade. Charlie spent the rest of the morning at the holiday park, trying to reassure park owner Jennifer Gladden (she of the pink and purple dress), and Alun Evans MP. After the first ten minutes, he concluded that the MP had the patience of a saint, and that you didn’t have to be very smart to run a holiday park.

“In the unlikely event of anyone threatening the park or any of its residents, Clwyd Police will take the necessary action,” Charlie said repeatedly, with no idea what the necessary action might be or how three of them could provide it. They were interrupted four or five times, by holidaymakers carrying phones and tablets with variations on theMigrants to get Luxury Accommodationstory. Each time the combination of MP, park owner and policeman sent them away, even if they weren’t happy. Charlie heard comments about refugees that he could have managed without.

He tried to tell himself that the holiday park residents were being targeted and deliberately frightened, but by the time he left, he felt dirty from the invective and casual bigotry. His head ached, and the tree he had parked beneath no longer provided any shade for his car. The steering wheel was almost too hot to touch. A look at the weather app on his phone showed that it was only going to get hotter.

The MP had agreed to release a statement denying the rumours of holiday park housing for refugees anywhere in the area. Charlie had promised to ask for a similar statement from the police press office. Jennifer Gladden had already replied to dozens of social media posts saying the holiday park would beremaining as a holiday park and that no one would be evicted. The truth was no defence against deliberate misinformation, but what else could they do?

Pub gardens on the road back to Llanfair were jumbles of tables shaded by bright umbrellas, their customers in shorts and sundresses with long drinks. No doubt every beer garden in the town was doing a similar trade. Charlie sighed. Saturday night. People drinking all day. Hot weather. There would be trouble of the shouting, arguing, fighting, refusing-to-go-home variety. It was likely that a few windows would be broken, and some bottles smashed in the road. Most Saturday nights, a couple of special constables were enough to keep the peace, but in the circumstances, he, Eddy and Patsy, would have to join them. It would be a late night filled with tedious and predictable exchanges with drunks. He would not be sitting in his own garden watching the barbecue. Tom and the girls would have to manage without him, which they would probably be happy about. Charlie sighed again.

The afternoon got hotter.The police station, designed to retain heat in a cold climate, was like a sauna. Patsy and Eddy had produced a contingency plan for potential public disorder caused by the online haters, but they were all too hot and enervated to discuss it for more than five minutes. Charlie sent them both home, so they could rest before the night’s work. He considered going for a siesta himself but decided not to until he’d spoken to DI Ravensbourne. He called, and she answered on the first ring.

“Charlie. How’s the holiday park situation?”

He told her about meeting the MP, and the interruptions from residents. “Lots of anti-immigrant sentiment, boss, but these are people on holiday with their kids, not far-rightextremists. To be honest, I’m more worried about trouble from Saturday night drunks. The pubs have been packed all day. I’ll join the patrols tonight and I’ve asked Eddy to help.”

There was a small silence.

“Ah. About that … the cyber traffic has shifted to the coast, and the powers-that-be want all hands on deck.“

“You’re pinching my specials.” The special constables were volunteer officers, well trained, and called on regularly.

“I’m pinching your specials. Sorry.” Ravensbourne didn’t sound particularly sorry. “I’d pinch Eddy and Patsy as well, except for the online rubbish about Llanfair. So, I insisted you kept them.”

Charlie thanked her, though he didn’t feel particularly thankful. Fair play, Ravensbourne probably had gone to bat for Llanfair to keep Patsy and Eddy, even though the little town was far less likely to attract trouble than the coastal resorts.

When the call ended, Charlie dialled again.

“Unwin,” he said. “Talk to me about this holiday park stuff.”

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