Page 56 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

The first place Charlie reached was a terraced house. Grubby and yellowing net curtains hung in the front window, water stained the rendering like rust, and the house name hung crookedly from its screws. It looked like thebeforein a property renovation show. Charlie hammered at the door, but it was obvious no one was inside or had been for a long time.

Next on his list was an office on the other side of the main road and down an alley between the town hall and the supermarket car park. He hopped as fast as he could, cryingoweach time his injured leg took any weight. He would take it easy as soon as he knew Megan was safe. Thanks to the gloom and persistent rain, no one was around to hear.

He’d seen the door to the office on his visits to the supermarket but always assumed that it was a back entrance to the town hall, or one of its neighbours. Now he could see that this was an extension tacked on to another building (which one wasn’t obvious) at some time in the last century. The door was marked DLNG, which meant nothing in either Welsh or English.

Charlie lifted his hand to try the door and smelled petrol, faint but definite. He lowered his hand. He’d found the rightplace, and if Corrine was in there, intent on starting another fire, he didn’t have long.

The rain changed from steady back to downpour. Memory told him that the office, or whatever it was, had no windows, but he hobbled up and down on each side to double check. It was only a single storey, so the inhabitants must have relied on skylights. He briefly contemplated climbing onto the roof, going so far as to look around for bins to give him a starting foothold. But Charlie was no Ethan Hawke or Jack Reacher, able to swing down through a hole in the roof, ready to knock out the bad guys with a single blow. He was a country policeman and an injured one at that. He would have to be enough as he was, crutches and all. He stepped up to the door, and began to turn the handle, as slowly and quietly as he could. It was unlocked.

Water from Charlie’s hair ran down under his collar and onto his neck. His cuffs were soaked already, and his trousers stuck to his legs like cling film. The chances of the bandage not being wet had reduced to zero. Charlie hoped the rain would conceal the noise of the door opening. He pulled the door towards him, stepping awkwardly on his bad leg, biting back a curse.

As the door opened, a cloud of warm, petrol-scented air rolled out. In front of him was a short corridor, lit as he had expected via a skylight, though it did little to lift the gloom. To his right, an open door showed a small kitchen, and to the left, two closed doors with the symbols for male and female toilets. Ahead of him was a partially opened door. Though it came the sound of heavy breathing, and yellow light from electric bulbs. He needed to get in there before Corrine noticed the draught.

A gust of wind threatened to tear the door from Charlie’s hand. He quickly moved inside, glad of the muffling effects of the carpet, and then pulled the door closed behind him, holding the wet handle so that there was no click. The heavy breathing went on, more distinct now that the weather was safely outside.Only then did he let a breath of his own go. Quietly. He listened. Nothing. He crept towards the door until he could see through the gap.

The tableau before him could have been straight from the West End stage. Illuminated by a single lamp immediately above them, Corrine stood over the prone body of Megan Mills. She wore her estate agent outfit of a neat suit and heels, but her hair had lost both its shape and its gloss, and her face was wet with rain and sweat.

Blood lay in a pool around Megan’s head. Charlie couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. But if she was still alive, it wasn’t going to be for long, unless he acted. Corrine had a disposable pink plastic cigarette lighter in her left hand, thumb poised to flick it into flame. Her other hand held a green plastic container. Petrol vapour filled the air. The room was empty, although there must have been some form of heating because it was warm.

“Stop!” Charlie shouted, throwing the door open. “Police!”

Corrine’s reaction was to fling the petrol container at Charlie, and to lift the lighter above her head. The container hit the floor, and petrol splashed onto Charlie’s legs and onto the floor around his feet. The vapour smell choked him, and he coughed.

“Corrine, stop this!” he spluttered, coughing again, the petrol felt greasy on his wet skin. “The room is full of fumes. If you click that lighter, we both die.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” Corrine waved the lighter, lamplight glinting on the shiny plastic.

“I think you do care. I think you want people to know what you’ve done.”

Corrine laughed — a wild, bitter laugh, that made her eyes bulge, and her lips look black with strain. “No one gives a shit. If they did, those so-called dating sites would be closed down. Men pretend to be interested, say they want a serious relationshipwhen all they want is to get their dicks wet and move onto the next one.”

“Josh Unwin wasn’t like that, though.” Charlie couldn’t help himself.

“Yes, he was. They are all like that.”

“He was non-monogamous. That’s different.”

“No. It. Isn’t.” And Corrine waved the lighter again.

“People care enough to join your group, exposing the predators.”

She leaned towards Charlie. As she spoke, spittle flew from her lips. “And do you know what happens? Those men invent women’s identities and join, too. Or thepick megirlstell them. Predators is right.” The intensity of her gaze was frightening. “Do you know how many women agree to unsafe sex, and get pregnant?I’ll look after you, he says when he wants sex. Once there’s a baby on the way, he disappears and reappears on another dating site. Or the ones who turn into stalkers when a woman says she’s not interested? Men who borrow money and spend it on other women. I sayborrow, but they never give it back. Men who keep weapons and threaten to use them. Day in, day out and nobody cares, because those sitesmake money.”

“Corrine, if you stop this now, you’ll get heard. Your day in court. The press will hear what you have to say. Other women will come forward with their stories. People will understand. Some of those men will go to jail.”

Day in court? Charlie sounded as if he’d taken a leaf from Jeff Britton’s playbook.

“I killed two people. That’s what will get noticed. Not the reason they had to die. What do a few more matter?”

“We all matter, Corrine. You matter, Megan matters, I matter. It’s not too late to stop this.” He wasn’t foolish enough to mention Unwin or Josh Pettifor, though they had mattered too.

Charlie began to move very slowly towards Corrine, trying to look as unthreatening as he could.

Which was when Patsy launched herself through the open door with a scream, hitting Corrine in the stomach, knocking them both on top of Megan’s body. Megan gasped.

44

Wednesday late afternoon

---