style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Nice area,’ Jane commented.
‘Seems well looked after,’ Pete agreed. ‘Here we are.’ He pulled in outside a house, similar to all the others except for the blackened bricks around and above the broken-out front bedroom window and the damaged roof above it, rafters showing like charred ribs through a large gap in the slates.
‘See you in a bit, then, boss.’
‘Yep.’ Pete went to the boot as the other two headed off down the street. He took out a pair of wellington boots and a set of blue overalls. After pulling them on, he left his shoes in the boot, locked the car and went up the drive to the front door of the house; his nostrils filled with the smell of wet charcoal.
The door was open but there were two strands of safety warning tape across it. Pete ducked under them and stepped inside. The place looked like it had been through a tropical storm with no roof on. The walls and ceilings were soaked. Pictures on the walls were knocked off-kilter. The bannister railing at the top of the stairs was blackened and charred. All the doors were open, upstairs and down. The upstairs appeared to be brighter than expected, but that would be the lack of roof and ceiling, he guessed. He could see through to the kitchen at the rear and into the lounge to his left. It was dark in there, the curtains still closed from last night.
‘Hello,’ he called. ‘DS Gayle, Exeter CID.’
‘With you in a sec,’ a male voice came from upstairs.
Pete waited in the narrow hallway. A moment later, a pair of black rubber boots with yellow rings around the tops appeared at the top of the stairs and started down.
The man wearing them was in his mid-forties, Pete guessed, and the sort he could imagine on one of those firemen calendars aimed at women of a certain age and disposition. He smiled and held out his hand.
‘Pete Gayle.’
They shook hands.
‘Steve Patton. Good to meet you.’
‘So, have you got it all sussed?’
‘Hmph. They used a simple but effective delay method. Enough for the arsonist to be out and away before it flared up.’
‘So, deliberate rather than an accident?’
‘Oh yeah. Nobody’s that careless. It was set up to look like an accident, but . . .’ Patton shook his head. ‘It wasn’t.’
And the victim, if the doc’s right, was left sitting there, watching it, Pete thought with a shudder. ‘Which leaves us with the job of finding out who did it,’ he said. ‘Any damage in here?’ He jerked a thumb at the sitting room door.
‘No. Bit of water might have soaked through the ceiling, but that’s all. All the electricals were off in there.’
Pete nodded. ‘Any idea who called it in?’
Patton shook his head. ‘Anonymous. Just came through on the 999, said, “There’s a house fire at this address,” and hung up. We’ve got it on tape, of course, but . . .’ He shrugged.
‘Have you got the number, though?’
‘Dunno. I’ll have to check. I’ll let you know.’
‘OK, cheers.’ Pete shook his hand again and they both stepped out.
The fire investigator handed him a key. ‘Here. You might as well have this. I’ve finished here.’
‘Thanks.’
Pete took out his phone as the man walked away down the drive. He hit a speed-dial number and waited for the connection.
‘Forensics. How can I help?’
‘DS Gayle, Exeter CID. I’ve got a crime scene here that I need you guys to take a look at. Place has been in a fire, so time is of the essence, before the weather damages any evidence the fire crew left. We’ve got the all-clear for entry. Of particular interest is the sitting room, with a view to foreign fingerprints. The top of the TV and its power-button, a plate of food on a side table and perhaps the light switch. Also, wherever someone might have picked up a stack of magazines from in there.’
‘OK. I’ve got all that. I’ll pass it on to the team and they’ll be there as soon as they can. Are you currently on-site?’
‘Yes, but I won’t necessarily be when they arrive. If not, I’ll have an officer stationed here for security.’
‘OK. And the address?’
Pete gave it, then phoned the station.
‘Andy? Pete Gayle. I need a uniform out here to a crime scene. The fire in Whipton.’
When the duty officer had confirmed he would send someone, Pete went back into the living room where he pulled the curtains carefully back and checked for signs of disturbance. There was nothing obvious. A few magazines remained on the coffee table. He glanced through them then checked the DVD collection. The guy seemed to like comedies and action movies. He glanced around the room again, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the abandoned plate of food.
Closing the curtains, he headed upstairs.
The upstairs front room was utterly destroyed and open to the elements. Nothing remained in there but charred wreckage that stank of burning. Pete was searching the room next to it when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He drew it out and checked the screen.
Chambers.
He pressed the button to take the call and lifted it to his ear. ‘Hey, Doc. You got something?’
‘I take it you mean apart from backache and sore fingers?’
‘I was hoping.’
‘The answer is, yes, I have. I’ve just finished with the other relevant body that’s still here and found a single needle mark.’
‘Another overdose?’
‘Not in the sense you’re thinking and we certainly won’t get a measurement now, but I did a vitreous glucose analysis. The vitreous humour, the fluid in the eye, is about the only reliable source for biochemical levels in the minutes and hours leading up to death. The blood begins to degrade almost immediately post-mortem, so normal constituent levels in it wouldn’t be reliable. The result was 0.4. The only way to get that low is with an insulin overdose.’
‘And I’m guessing your victim wasn’t a diabetic?’
‘Exactly.’
Pete let go a long sigh. ‘Best send me the particulars, then, Doc. Victim file and your report.’
‘Will do.’
Pete chose not to tell Chambers of Silverstone’s reluctance to accept his theory without further evidence. There was no point now. ‘What about the other cases you mentioned?’
‘All in the ground or cremated by now, I’m afraid. I’ll check which is which, but we’ll need exhumation orders to pursue
