Page 43 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

Charlie said that he was, and that he had a burn on his leg. He didn’t mention his ribs. There was nothing to be gained from proving they were damaged.

“Let me have a look.” She directed Charlie to a small room behind the nurses’ station. Judging from the coats and lunchboxes on most of the chairs, it was the nearest thing to a break room. He limped in and sat down. Hobbling round the hospital in search of Ravensbourne hadn’t done him any good. He rolled up his trouser leg and revealed the bandage, which was looking a bit damp.

The nurse tutted as she removed the bandage. “Did you get any antibiotics?”

Charlie produced the painkillers. “Just these.”

She tutted some more.

“Fair play,” Charlie said, “I did promise to come here as soon as I could, and here I am.”

“Well, you’re bloody lucky there’s no sign of an infection, and even luckier that I can prescribe. I’m on loan from minor injuries. Stay there.”

Charlie sat with his leg up, thinking about all the things he should be doing, until the nurse returned carrying a tray with cotton wool, bandages and tape, plus some stainless steel implements he didn’t want to look at. She cleaned and re-bandaged his leg. The implements were for holding cotton wool, he was pleased to discover, though he didn’t want to look at the nasty mess of his burned skin. He told himself that if he didn’t look, it wouldn’t hurt. Wrong. Next up, a needle and syringe.

“Are you allergic to penicillin?” she asked, and when he shook his head, she told him to roll his sleeve up. “This is a big dose to get you started, and I’ve got some tablets for you to take from tomorrow morning. If it gets infected, it could kill you. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Charlie felt the needle go into the muscle in his upper arm and couldn’t help a small squeak. Then he saidthank youandthank youagain when she gave him the antibiotic pills, and once more for the drink of water to take another painkiller. It did all feel more comfortable, but even as she advised him to go home to bed, he could see that she knew he wouldn’t. As he hopped on his crutches away down the corridor, he could hear the tutting behind him. He just hoped the painkillers would start working again soon.

Dictatinginto his mobile phone as he sat in the back of the taxi to Llanfair was obviously possible-–Mal Kent could probably do it without embarrassment—but Charlie wasn’t sure he could.So he rang Eddy, back at the police station, and let him write everything down.

“Get on to Hector Powell and find out when he’s doing the PM, then either you or Will ring the other two Joshes if you haven’t already. If anything sets an alarm bell ringing, we’ll go and see them. Make an appointment for me to meet whoever is in charge at Mo’s Autoparts, and another with Pettifor’s ex. Someone should talk to his parents, too. It almost certainly is him, but no confirmation yet, so be gentle. Main priority is finding Jeff Burton, aka Britton. Ravensbourne suggests asking the Chief Super for help, so I’m going to ring him next.”

He got all this out without stopping.

“Sarge, wait,” Eddy said. “Stay where you are. Like, at the hospital. Dr Powell rang just after you left. He says if you go to the mortuary now, he’ll do the PM. A sort of while-u-wait job.”

Charlie leaned over into the front and asked the taxi driver to take him back the way they’d just come.

“Whatever you say, mate,” the driver said and swerved into the first side street, jerking Charlie’s ribs against his seat belt.

Jeez, that hurts.

“You couldn’t have sent me a text?” he asked when he had his breath back.

“Erm, I did, and it’s shown as delivered,” Eddy said. “Hey, did you see Ravensbourne’s fella? What’s he like?”

“Gotta ring the big boss,” Charlie said and ended the call. Because while he was annoyed that Eddy apparently knew that the DI had a boyfriend and he hadn’t, he was damned if he was going to gossip about the guy.

“Sir, DI Ravensbourne suggested I ask for your help,” he said when he got past Mal Kent’s secretary to the man himself.

“Did she? From her hospital bed?”

“She seems to be doing well,” Charlie said. “It’s this Jeff Burton, the fake fire officer,” he continued. “We don’t have theresources to find him, even with Will’s help. We know his real name, and that he’s probably in touch with whoever’s behind a lot of the social media stuff, but he’s disappeared. Could be somewhere near Llanfair — I think he probably did the graffiti.”

There was a silence from the other end. Then a sigh. “Leave it to me. Sorry, Charlie. Unwin would have nailed him down in a heartbeat. Just brought it back.”

It brought it back to Charlie, too. He’d investigated other murders, and they were all awful. Unwin had been a colleague rather than a friend, but this was personal. Someone had been ripped out of his life, and out of the life of too many others. That had to be why Patsy was wandering the streets of Llanfair in the middle of the night. Nothing made any sense. When Tom had been shot, half of Charlie had carried on operating as a detective, while the other half could think of nothing but his injured lover — and that half was agony. Now he had to go and see the remains of another victim, watch as Hector Powell poked and prodded, and then he would get to go and ruin more lives withI’m sorry to have to tell you but your son, brother, husband, father is dead …Sometimes his job was shit.

He directed the cab driver to the nearest entrance to the mortuary on automatic pilot. Before he hobbled in, he sent a message to Tom:Love you xxx.

Hector Powell wasin his office, typing notes from scribbles on paper. There was no sign of his wife, or of any of the other mortuary assistants. Hector held up a finger to indicate that he needed a moment, finished his sentence and stood up.

“I’ve actually already done what I can,” he said. “I want to show you what I’ve found, and I’ve got dental X-rays and I’ve taken DNA.” He produced a box of gloves from his desk drawer and pulled out a pair, then led the way into the mortuary. Therewas a lump underneath a sheet on one of the trolleys. It didn’t look human-shaped. The space was otherwise empty but for the stainless-steel table on which post mortems were carried out. It was echoey and smelled of disinfectant and something less attractive. There was a low hum in the background. Refrigerated storage, Charlie thought, and as always, decided not to think about what was behind the stainless-steel door at the back of the room.

“Some things you don’t need to see, and one thing you do,” Hector said, walking over to the trolley and pulling back the sheet. Charlie looked, and bile rose in his throat. He gagged, and Hector covered the awful thing, and strode to Charlie’s side.

“Just tell me,” Charlie said.

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