‘I learned one thing on the Internet last night,’ Ben said, nodding towards Dave. ‘He’s more Bryan Ferry than Elvis. Only without the looks.’
‘Cheeky sod.’
‘I’m surprised you’ve heard of either,’ Pete said.
‘He hadn’t till yesterday,’ Dick said. ‘Poor uneducated boy.’
‘And he’s got you and Dave to teach him? God help the lad.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, we need bodies out to Jerry Tyler’s place, to canvass the area and check on friends, family, colleagues – all the usual stuff. The fire guys have given us permission to go in, but we’ll need wellies, apparently. It’s structurally sound, but a major mess. Dave, I need you to check the records. See what we’ve got for known associates, family and so on. You find anything, let me know and then go and see what they have to say. Take Dick or Jill with you, as appropriate. Ben, you can come with us,’ he said to the spiky-haired young PC as he stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
*
‘So, Doc Chambers reckons some sort of drug overdose, then?’ Jane asked as they went briskly down the station stairs.
‘The lack of soot in the lungs and no abnormalities in the brain or heart told him something was up. The guy wasn’t bound, but something stopped him getting out of that chair. Then he found a needle mark in the shoulder, up here.’ Pete tapped the muscle between his neck and shoulder. ‘Unusual place to inject – yourself or someone else. And there were no other needle marks on the body. He’s asked for a rush-job on the analysis, but it’ll be later today, at least, before the results come back.’
They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right, towards the back of the building.
‘And how does it get to be part of a series?’ she asked. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it.’
‘First anyone has. It reminded the doc of several others recently. Different MOs, if any at all but, taken together, they add up to a spike in deaths of these types of victims over the past few months. He’s got another one in the mortuary at the moment, so he’s going back and rechecking, see if he can find anything.’
Pete reached the back door, hit the security lock button and pushed through.
‘So, for now, we’ve just got the one,’ Jane said as they crossed the car park behind the station.
‘That’s right. And, whatever we think of the victim, he’s still a victim.’
‘Don’t look at me, boss. I’m with you. We can’t leave a killer out there to do it again, no matter who he’s targeting.’
Pete pressed the remote and his car bleeped, indicators flashing as the locks clunked open. ‘I might have to quote you on that. There’s going to be some who need convincing. Including DCI Silverstone.’
Driving out onto Heavitree Road, Pete turned left towards the edge of the city. A mile or so up the road, he turned left again into an estate of 1940s and 50s housing, the overall impression one of tidy and neat functionality.
‘So, what’s the aim here, boss?’ Ben asked from the back seat.
Pete glanced in the mirror. The baby-faced PC was sitting forward keenly, leaning on the back of Jane’s seat. ‘Time of death is around six forty-five to seven last night. We need to find out who reported it and if any of the neighbours saw or heard anything out of the ordinary around that time or just before and what they know of our victim. If they saw him coming and going, or anyone else coming and going from his house – friends, family, girlfriend, whatever. Build up a picture that might lead us to who did this to him.’
Pete turned at another junction. Tidy gardens with low brick walls, cars parked on drives rather than on the road, a grass verge between the road and the footpath, dotted here and there with small ornamental cherry trees.
‘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