Page 35 of Twisted Lies
There were other places she wanted to go, but it wasn’t even eight o’clock. One person she knew who would already be hard at it was their top forensic tech.
‘What’s a shame?’ Bryant asked, driving down the central road.
‘The decline.’
She remembered tagging along with Keith, her foster father from the age of ten to thirteen, as he drove around such places, searching for parts for his motorcycle restoration projects. He’d drive over two hundred miles for an authentic air filter instead of using the many copies he could have sourced locally.
‘But you can’t even see it?’ she’d queried as they’d headed north.
‘But I’ll know,’ he said. ‘If it’s not an original part, I’ll know that the bike hasn’t been properly restored to its former glory. I’ll have settled for less because it’s easier. Does that make sense?’
It had made sense and it had stayed with her. As had many of their conversations. It had only been three years that she’d been in the care of Keith and Erica, but they had been the best three years of her life and had changed her for ever. There were still days when she wondered how different her life would have been had they not been killed in a motorway crash just after her thirteenth birthday.
She had always accompanied her foster father on his journeys, watched his eyes light up as he foraged through piles of metal at scrapyards, and she’d inherited that same excitement as though she was his natural child. She’d loved being with him in busy, industrious places, with the sound of machinery and vehicles in her ears. The places had been alive with activity of people working, producing and manufacturing. Every unit had been a different kind of business. Different sandwich vans had littered the roads, offering a quick meal to the workers. Those areas had been alive.
But now, as they passed one empty unit after another, it felt like an animal just waiting to die.
She pushed the thoughts away as Bryant pulled up between Mitch’s van and a vehicle she didn’t recognise.
‘Hey, Inspector,’ Mitch said, hearing her approach.
The area had been filled with three oversize tarpaulin sheets. The contents of each bin were in the process of being emptied onto its own sheet by techies using hand shovels and scoops. Kim noted that each shovelful of debris was being placed next to the one that had been scooped out before it.
Mitch and the owner of the car she didn’t recognise stood at the mound of ash nearest the door.
‘Please meet Nigel Adams, Fire Investigation Officer.’
He didn’t extend his hand but simply nodded in her direction.
‘Did you see our victim?’ Kim asked.
‘I did,’ he said. ‘And it’s safe to say that your man knew exactly what he was doing to prolong the suffering and pain,’ he said, leaning down to the pile of ash. He used his pen to poke into the pile. ‘See here.’
Kim looked closer at a piece of cardboard around four inches square.
‘The ash is being removed in layers, like a timeline if you will. The presence of intact material demonstrates that your killer never let the fire go out. He was constantly topping it back up to maintain a permanent wall of heat.’
‘And that’s the fuel he used?’ Kim asked. She’d expected more than just cardboard.
‘Looks that way. He didn’t need anything more elaborate to achieve a temperature of 120 degrees, which is easy enough with cardboard and paper and would have inflicted the damage it did.’
‘Ignition?’ Kim asked hopefully as Nigel stood up.
‘Matches,’ he answered. ‘A dog team is on the way to check for accelerants, but there’s nothing obviously detectable.’
Kim moved away from the area as Nigel continued to poke at the ashes with the tip of the pen.
‘You know, I can’t imagine the kind of person you’re dealing with here,’ Mitch said, coming to stand beside her. ‘To cause this amount of suffering to someone can only mean our victim did something heinous like murder a room full of kids or old ladies.’
Kim shook her head. ‘Not even close that we can find.’
‘Then he is one sick puppy, but bloody clever.’
Yes, Kim was beginning to suspect as much, but Mitch continued to put her thoughts into words.
‘To have transported everything here undetected and to take so much time over the torture smacks of skill, patience and solid confidence. As yet, we’ve found nothing to help you identify him. So not only did he take his time with the act itself, but he took the time to clear up after himself. To have left nothing at all behind means his exit was measured, leisurely and controlled. He was in no hurry.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Kim said as a thought occurred to her.
