Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I’d fallen asleep wishing for the big freestanding bath tub Taz had mentioned, feeling muscles that had laid dormant, too tired to dream and unsure whether I’d be able to move in the morning, never mind run a mainly uphill course.
It wasn’t morning when my phone cut through the night’s silence, ripping me out of a deep slumber. I fumbled around for it, finding it on top of the duvet near my feet.
“Mia Mac,” I said, my name filled with sleep.
“You need to get down to Roselea.” Wrigley’s voice was not one I wished to hear during the witching hour. “There’s another fire.”
I got out of bed, something making a noise as it fell off. “Where?”
“An outbuilding. Whoever did it locked a kid inside and then rang the fire brigade. Kid’s alive, but only just. Ambulance has got him at hospital already and he’s going straight to ICU for smoke inhalation and burns.
Touch and go.” He said something else, covering the phone so I couldn’t tell what.
“I’m heading to the hospital. You go to the scene.
Call Verity – Lachy and Vinny aren’t available. ”
He ended the call before I could, and I was dressed with brushed hair and brushed teeth and out of the door five minutes after, wondering how I was going to get by on just over three hours sleep.
Taz had left just after eleven, dinner take-out pizza and a free bottle of diet coke. By the end, we both looked like we’d gone grey, the dust coating our hair, the taste of it still in my throat, even though we’d worn masks.
The pen drive was still waiting for me, now hidden in a shoe box at the bottom of my wardrobe because I trusted no one apart from the family that had brought me up.
Driving at this time of the night felt like existing in a different world to the daytime.
Cars were faster and fewer, streetlights and headlights seemed alien, and every area I drove through stiller than usual.
Dawn had started to trickle into the night sky, glimmers of light hinting through clouds.
In the city centre, people would be heading home after a night out, or finishing a shift, a slower type of business, but as I drew closer to the outskirts of Greater Manchester, the sense of desolation increased.
Red brick became grey stone, the skyline filling with hills instead of skyscrapers, and the only people about were early dog walkers, or insomniacs running before the pavements grew busy.
By the time I drove down the track to Roselea, the sky was a pale yellow, a new day had begun, only this particular day would be filled with the brittle stench of smoke.
I pulled up next to a police car and headed straight over to where a uniformed officer was standing, guarding the taped off area, not that there was much chance of being overwhelmed with the press or passers-by angling for a look.
I flashed my ID and headed towards the side of the house, the gate open and a few CSIs walking down it. Wrigley had messaged me to ask for PS Hussein, who’d been on duty when the call came in.
He found me first, clearly looking out for the person who’d possibly take this case off our hands.
“DS McAllister?”
“That’s me. So what happened?” I doubted he had time for niceties and formal introductions.
“Call came in about ten pm, left anonymously and from a phone box near the church, that there was a house on fire. The fire service attended and found a boy, about thirteen, outside a smashed window into an outbuilding. Paramedics were already on their way to the scene and managed to stabilise him. They got the fire quickly under control and that’s where we are now.
” He gestured around him. “The outbuilding had been barricaded from the outside so we’re treating it as attempted murder. ”
“When did you find out about our interest in the property?”
“One of the CSI saw signs of forensics inside the building, and obviously, it’s just been reboarded up. Someone remembered that a team from central were here yesterday and I asked a few questions.” He pushed his hands inside his pockets.
“I was here yesterday,” I said, although it didn’t feel like yesterday since sleep had been scarce. “The evening before I came to have a look at the place because it’s connected to a current case, and figured someone had been around there recently, so I asked forensics to have a look.”
“Well there was definitely someone around there late last night, two someones. Shall I show you where the fire was?”
I followed him through, correct with my guess as to which outbuilding had been affected.
It was the one used to store old gardening equipment, a large brick structure with a thick wooden door and single pane window which had been smashed. A couple of nearby shrubs and a tree had also caught fire, the surrounding earth soaked with the water.
“The house didn’t set alight?” I asked PS Hussein.
“The fire service were here quickly and there was very little wind last night. My guess is that whoever did this didn’t expect the boy to survive because they wouldn’t get here quick enough.
As it was, they were nearby because they’d just attended a false alarm five minutes away.
” We kept a good distance from the wrecked building, CSI doing their thing alongside someone from the fire service who I didn’t recognise.
“We could’ve been looking at another murder.”
“We still could. It’s touch and go with the boy. We’ve managed to identify him: Cade Cauldwell, thirteen, from Hadfield, lives with his grandma. She reported him missing at eleven pm and a local group were out looking for him. She’s in bits.” His face showed that he was too.
“What’s the prognosis?”
“Next twenty-four hours are critical. He managed to get the window open and then must’ve gotten higher up, hanging his head outside.
At some point, he’d fallen and then lost consciousness, or vice versa.
He was in the second room in the building, which kept him further away from where the fire started.
” I could see the sergeant’s jaw clenching.
The firefighter I didn’t recognise headed towards us. “Tim Norwood, I’m a fire investigation officer, so you’ll both have a report from me in due course. Is it DS McAllister?”
I nodded, feeling strangely relieved it wasn’t Ste.
“The fire starter’s used white spirit to start it, the place stinks of it, and that’s also the reason for all the smoke.
It was bad when we got here; the smoke was worse than the fire.
It’s not helped the victim’s lungs, but white spirit’s a slower burner and would’ve taken its time getting to him. ” Tim Norwood paused for breath.
“Where did the fire start?” I asked.
“Right at the door, so there was no way to get out of it. It was definitely intentional, unless the perp didn’t know that there was anyone inside.
The only window is about ten centimetres high and a metre and a half long, no way for even a kid to fit though.
” He sniffed loudly. “It bleeding stinks.”
I couldn’t smell much, which made me wonder whether the dust storm we’d created in the bathroom had damaged my nose. Or maybe Tim Norwood had a very sensitive sense of smell.
“Have forensics found anything?” I asked PS Hussein.
“The boy’s bike and rucksack were in there.
He’d gone home after school and had tea, then his gran had agreed he could go back out as she had friends round and they tended to fuss over him, which he didn’t like.
She said, when she reported him missing, that he liked to explore abandoned buildings and take videos of them, which he edited.
Apparently he was good at it, although she warned him about trespassing.
” The sergeant checked his watch. “I’m going to head back to the station and get this written up.
My boss is Inspector Mahmood. He’s waiting to find out if this is being transferred over to you. ”
“I imagine it will be. It’s too much of a coincidence. There was evidence of two different people having recently been in the house when forensics were in yesterday.” What was the betting that Cade wore a size seven?
A familiar face appeared, one that looked like it’d experienced more sleep than me.
“Morning,” I smiled at Verity, introducing her to PS Hussein. She would take over here now, working with CSI and checking around the garden area.
“I’m glad you didn’t add ‘good’ in front of that. I was looking forward to going to town.” She sniffed. “It stinks.”
“Of smoke?”
“No, a chemical smell.” She acted like a bloodhound again.
“That’s white spirit,” Tim Norwood said, clearly pleased. He went through exactly what he’d told me and I didn’t need to hear it twice.
“Has anyone sent forensics down to the phone box that was used?” I doubted we’d get any prints; any one with half a brain would’ve made sure to wear gloves, or wipe it down, but sometimes people with half a brain were rare, so we could be in luck.
I didn’t think our fire starter would make that mistake though. Petrol, paraffin, white spirit. It was easy to set a fire, easy to get hold of all of those.
“Tim, was there any sign of any accelerant inside the outhouse?” I asked, suddenly curious.
I could feel his enthusiasm spilling over. “No, completely clear. The old mower in there had been drained. It’s where it would’ve been stored though; there were a couple of old petrol cans for the lawn mower.”
“No sign of any white spirit inside?”
“None whatsoever. But there are other places it could’ve been stored.
This place is full of hidden spaces. There’s an old shed at the end of the garden; that’s worth checking.
” He pointed past the glasshouses. “It’s through the hedges at the bottom, you’ll see a bit of a path, just push your way through them, and a bit further on there’s some overgrown raised beds and a shed.
I haven’t been in it but I wanted to check that everything was okay down there.
A fire in that area could spread easily onto the moorland and that could be a problem this time of year. ”