Page 5 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

Patsy nodded. “I came past it on my way here,” she said. “I think the fire investigator is there already. Keen or what? Sup up, and let’s go and see what he’s found.””

Now who’s keen?Someone who spent the night in a proper bed, that’s who.

Broken glass crunchedunder his feet, as he and Patsy followed the forensic fire investigator into the burned-out shop. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, and the temperature was climbing. It promised to be another scorching day.

“Stairs are at the back,which is a good job, because the fire was at the front. So, we can get upstairs without the ladder. Something isn’t right, up there.” The fire investigator was English, Jeff Britton, new to the area. He’d already complained about the length of time it had taken to get from Wrexham to Llanfair because of the hilly and winding roads. Charlie had to poke Patsy in the back to stop her explaining that it was in fact an easy and straightforward route. After a year of Patsy, he was starting to understand what she was likely to say next, and there was no way she was going to let that one pass. At least Britton wasn’t complaining about the heat.

Inside, the shop smelled of smoke and damp. Considering the size and intensity of the flames Charlie had seen the night before, there didn’t seem to be much actual fire damage. He’d expected to find a jumble of wood turned to charcoal and ash. There was some of that, as well as burnt remains of the vinyl flooring, along with whatever had formed the ceiling of the main shop. Water dripped relentlessly from somewhere out of sight, and the building creaked, making Charlie look around apprehensively.

“It’s just cooling down and starting to dry. Nothing’s going to fall on our heads,” Britton said.

Charlie wasn’t a hundred percent convinced, but he had to assume the guy knew what he was talking about. He had led them through the shop proper, into a back room that had been tiled, presumably to make a clean space for food preparation. The white tiles were streaked with soot, and the very wallsseemed to be sweating with condensation. The smell of damp was in competition for dominance with the odours left by the fire. A warped and soot-streaked door opened onto the stairs, which were damp, but not obviously fire-damaged.

“Fire door,” Britton said. “They work. Smoke yes, a bit, combustion, no.”

The stairs were covered in a nasty brown carpet that might once have had some substance, but which was now flattened and greasy, as well as wet. They climbed up to the first floor, where another fire door blocked the stairs from the rooms beyond.

Jeff Britton kept climbing. The fire door on the second floor was closed, too. The smell of smoke and damp was still there, but perhaps not as strong. Or perhaps other smells were stronger. When Britton opened the door, the smell got stronger still, and Britton retched.

“It wasn’t so bad before,” he said.

The room beyond the fire door stretched across the back of the building, with a door opposite the stairs presumably leading into another room at the front. The room in front of them was carpeted in blue, the same blue as they had in the police station. A roll of leftover carpet sat in the middle of the floor, along with a single grey filing cabinet and a waste paper basket. Against the far wall, there was an elderly desk, but no chair. Charlie took it all in, as he put his arm out to stop Britton or Patsy moving into the room and contaminating the crime scene. Because it had to be a crime scene.

The prone figure on the floor next to the filing cabinet was already attracting flies. The figure lay face down, arms crumpled underneath, hair matted with something dark, which had spread in a pool beneath his head. Charlie knew it was a him, by the shorts showing hairy legs, and the dark beard, visible through the blood. Though he couldn’t see the face, Charlie had the impression of someone young. Maybe it was the heavily tattooedarm, maybe the Adidas trainers … there was something familiar about the figure.

“Wait downstairs,” Charlie said to Britton, “but don’t go away from the building. Like stay by the back door. Don’t talk toanyone.I mean it. I’m going to have a lot of questions, starting with why you didn’t report this the minute you found it.” He pulled his phone from his pocket to begin making the necessary calls: to the pathologist, to Freya Ravensbourne, to Eddy … but he was pushed aside by Patsy, so hard that he stumbled against the doorframe and dropped the phone.

“Pa …” Charlie started to say, when the scene in front of him came into a sharper focus, as Patsy fell onto the floor next to the dead man with a cry of despair.

It was Unwin.

5

Sunday morning

Patsy was hysterical. Charlie had to drag her physically away from Unwin’s body and hold on to her at the top of the stairs as he called Eddy to come right now, this minute. Then, still holding Patsy, who was sobbing into his shoulder, Charlie rang DI Ravensbourne, insisting she sit down before telling her what they had found.

“He’s definitely dead?” Ravensbourne asked. Then, “Of course he is. My apologies Charlie, I’m being a fool. It’s just the shock. I’m on my way.”

It was the same question anyone would ask, even someone as experienced as Ravensbourne. Because who could believe in the violent death of someone they knew and liked? Charlie’s head swam, and he wanted to sit down until it cleared. He recognised the signs of shock, and the beginnings of sorrow – for Patsy’s loss as much as for Unwin.

Charlie’s next call was to Scenes of Crime, and then the pathologist’s office, hoping the person on duty would be Hector Powell. It was.

“It’s going to get very hot, Dr Powell, and my guess is that he — the deceased — has been here all night,” Charlie said. “It’s acolleague, Josh Unwin. One of the tech guys from HQ.” In other words,Please hurry up.

There was no sign of Eddy, so Charlie put his arm round Patsy, ignoring his own light-headedness, and told her that they needed to go downstairs.

“I want to stay with him,” Patsy said, trying to pull away.

“No. And that’s an order.” The odour of death was going to start as the temperature rose. They were on the top floor of the building, right under the roof. He didn’t want this to be Patsy’s memory of Unwin. He needed information from her, and he needed to get organised. Where the hell was Eddy? “Patsy. Downstairs. This is a crime scene, and we need to get it secured.” She gave in, with obvious reluctance. To be fair, he didn’t want to leave Unwin’s body alone, but he wanted Patsy out of the way more. He set off down the stairs, supporting her, but not giving her any choice about descending.

A pounding on the stairs indicated Eddy’s arrival. He was red-faced and already had sweat marks under his arms.

“Sorry, boss, what’s up? Hey, Pats, what’s the matter?” Eddy’s change of expression indicated that he had caught the faint smell of decomposition. “Oh, shit.”

“It’s Unwin. He’s dead.” Charlie jerked his head upstairs.

“Our Unwin?Patsy’sUnwin?”

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