Page 36 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

“Simple,” the driver said, and within a few minutes, the van was dangling in the air with a scenes of crimes officer looking (apprehensively) upwards to find, wipe clean, and photographthe number. Then it was out from underneath and Charlie had what he needed.

The other thing he needed was to sit down, ideally somewhere cool, so he could calmly chase up a name and address for the owner of the van — who might very well be their victim. Instead, he was standing in the sun, crutches bringing up blisters on his hands, listening to the uniformed officer by the gate trying to placate the car parts workers and the press. He called Will Wayward in technical services at HQ.

“I know it’s not exactly your job, but we’re stretched to breaking point, and I need the name and address for this vehicle,” he said.

Charlie heard Will rattling the computer keys, and then,

“Mr Joshua Cameron Pettifor, Thirteen Harvard Close, Colwyn Bay.”

“Thanks, Will. Could you email the information to the Chief Super?”

“No problem,” Will answered, and Charlie thought, no, it probably wasn’t. Will was that kind of person. Unwin had been that kind of person, too. The thought that someone had killed his colleague was a miserable ache.

Suddenly there was a yell from the back of theMo’s Autopartsbuilding. Charlie hobbled towards the noise. The camper van was now settled and strapped on to the recovery vehicle. The driver and the two scenes of crimes investigators were looking at a pile of debris with horror.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

“Itwasa cage holding gasses for air-conditioning systems. If the fire had lasted another thirty seconds, the whole lot would have gone up like a rocket. You think the camper van is a mess now? It would have been pulverised.”

27

Tuesday morning

Despite the painkillers, Charlie’s leg ached, and his chest hurt. He was already too damn hot, and all he was doing was — nothing. Watching the SOCOs poke around among the rubble, listening to the grumblings from the gate and waiting for Kent to call him back. In the meantime, no one was co-ordinating anything. They were just reacting, and it wasn’t working. Charlie’s head was awash with things he should be checking up on, scheduling, writing down … he wanted his whiteboard and to get off his feet. None of the promised reinforcements had arrived, so he called Tom. There would be a fuss, but needs must.

“Could you do me a favour,” Charlie asked, “and not get angry?”

Which was probably entirely the wrong thing to say, because it put Tom on instant alert. But then, he was going to ask Tom to drive him a distance that he could have easily walked in fifteen minutes.

“Could you meet me by the entrance of the Llanfair Trading Estate and drive me to the police station? And could you bring me a clean set of work clothes?”

“Ten minutes,” was all Tom said and ended the call.

Charlie made his way slowly and painfully to the gate. The reporters jumped to attention when they saw him, yelling questions and getting as close as they could with their cameras. He supposed his obvious injuries were the most interesting thing to happen since the departure of the mortuary van. TheMo’s Autopartsworkers were now sitting on the grass verge, staring at their phones. They looked up hopefully. Charlie rested his bottom on the nearest wall. The uniformed officer came over and asked if Charlie was OK.

“No. But there’s nothing else I can do here. I’m getting a lift to the station. I’ve asked for reinforcements, and they should arrive soon. I hope.”

The uniform leaned closer, so the journalists couldn’t overhear. “Any word on the boss?”

“The DI? Awake and talking, according to the Chief Super,” Charlie said.

“I’ve been driving her about for a few years now,” the uniform said. “Funny woman, but damn good at the job.”

“I like her, too,” Charlie said. “Do you know which of the autoparts crew is in charge?”

The uniform shook his head. “That woman with the tight T-shirt had the keys, because the manager had the day off. I’m pretty sure they’ve called him though. Someone called Mitchell. Surprised he wasn’t here last night when it all went up.”

Charlie was surprised, too. In his experience, a fire alarm would automatically call the manager to the site. Something else to add to his list.

Tom’s car drew up, alerting the journalists again.

“Don’t sayanything,” Charlie said. Something in his tone must have been convincing. Either that or Tom caught sight of the cameras. Neither of them had any love for the boys and girls of the fourth estate. He got into the car with some difficulty,throwing the crutches in before him, and Tom drove away from the gate, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m OK,” Charlie said.

“You’re obviously not. You look like death warmed up. On crutches.”

Death warmed upwas entirely the wrong phrase, but Charlie wasn’t going to share the image of the burned man with Tom. They didn’t both need to have nightmares. “Well, not completely OK, but mostly,” he said.

“I’m taking you home,” Tom said. “Don’t argue.”

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