The Wire in the Blood. Val McDermid

end of the fire.

      Carol hung back as Pendlebury gave brief and noncommittal answers for the benefit of local radio and press. Once they realized they would get nothing much out of the fire chief at that stage, they dispersed. If any of them paid attention to the blonde in the trench coat, they probably assumed she was another reporter. Only the crime reporters had met Carol so far, and it was too early for this to have graduated from a news headline into a crime story. As soon as the night-shift news reporters called in that the factory fire was not only fatal but also suspected arson, the jackals on the crime beat would have their morning assignments on a plate. One or two of them might even be turfed out of bed as unceremoniously as she had been.

      Pendlebury greeted Carol with a grim smile. ‘The smell of hell,’ he said.

      ‘Unmistakably.’

      ‘Thanks for turning out.’

      ‘Thanks for tipping me off. Otherwise I’d have known nothing about it till I got into the office and read the overnights. And then I’d have missed the joys of a fresh crime scene,’ she said wryly.

      ‘Well, after our little chat the other day, I knew this one would be right up your street.’

      ‘You think it’s our serial arsonist?’

      ‘I wouldn’t have phoned you at home at half past three in the morning if I hadn’t been pretty sure,’ he said.

      ‘So what have we got?’

      ‘Want to have a look?’

      ‘In a minute. First, I’d appreciate a verbal briefing while I’m in a position to concentrate on what you’re saying rather than on what my stomach’s doing.’

      Pendlebury looked slightly surprised, as if he expected her to take such horrors in her stride. ‘Right,’ he said, sounding disconcerted. ‘We got the call just after two, from one of your patrol cars, actually. They’d been cruising and saw the flames. We had two units here within seven minutes, but the place was well ablaze. Another three tenders were here inside the half-hour, but there was no way we were going to save the building.’

      ‘And the body?’

      ‘As soon as they had the fire damped down at this end of the warehouse – which took about half an hour – the officers became aware of the smell. That was when they called me out. I’m on permanent stand-by for all fatal fires. Your lads called in CID, and I called you.’

      ‘So where is the body?’

      Pendlebury pointed to one side of the building. ‘As far as we can tell, it was in the corner of the loading bay. There seems to have been a kind of alcove at one end. Looking at the ash, there was probably a load of cardboard stashed at the front of it. We’ve not been able to get in yet, it’s still too hot and too chancy in terms of walls coming down, but from what we can see and what we can smell, I’d say the body’s behind or underneath all that wet ash down the back of that recess.’

      ‘There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s definitely a body in there?’ Carol was grasping at straws, and she knew it.

      ‘There’s only one thing that smells like roast human, and that’s roast human,’ Pendlebury said bluntly. ‘Besides, I think you can just about see the outline of the body. Come on, I’ll show you.’

      A couple of minutes later, Carol stood by Pendlebury’s side at what he claimed was a safe distance from the smoking ruin. It felt uncomfortably warm to her, but she had learned when to trust the expertise of others during her years in the force. To have hung back would have been insulting. As Pendlebury pointed out the contours of the blackened form the fire and water had left at the end of the loading bay, she found herself irresistibly forming the same conclusion as the fire chief.

      ‘When can the scene-of-crime people start work?’ she asked dully.

      Pendlebury pulled a face. ‘Later this morning?’

      She nodded. ‘I’ll make sure the team’s on stand-by.’ She turned away. ‘This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen,’ she said, half to herself.

      ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later. Law of averages,’ Pendlebury said lightly, falling into step with her as she walked back towards her car.

      ‘We should have been all over this arsonist ages ago,’ Carol said, angrily searching through her pockets for a tissue to wipe the wet ash from her trainers. ‘It’s sloppy policing. He should have been nabbed by now. It’s our fault that he’s still on the loose to kill people.’

      ‘You’re not being fair on yourself,’ Pendlebury protested. ‘You’ve only been here five minutes, and you picked up on it right away. You mustn’t blame yourself.’

      Carol looked up from her attempts at cleaning her shoes and scowled. ‘I’m not blaming myself, though maybe we could have put a bit more effort into the case. I’m saying that somewhere along the line the police on this patch have let down the people they’re supposed to serve. And maybe you should have been a bit more forceful about making the point to my predecessor that you thought you had a firebug.’

      Pendlebury looked shocked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been criticized to his face by a member of another emergency service. ‘I think you’re a bit out of order, Chief Inspector,’ he said, made pompous by his outrage.

      ‘I’m sorry you feel like that,’ Carol said stiffly, standing up and straightening her shoulders. ‘But if we’re going to have a productive working relationship, there’s no room for cosiness at the expense of honesty. I expect you to tell me if we’re not keeping our end of the deal. And when I see things I don’t like, I’ll call them. I don’t want to fall out with you about this. I want to catch this guy. But we’re not going to make any progress if we all stand around saying it can’t be helped that some poor bastard is lying there dead.’

      For a moment, they glared at each other, Pendlebury uncertain how to deal with her fiery determination. Then he spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken no for an answer.’

      Carol smiled and thrust out her hand. ‘Let’s both try and get it right from now on, OK?’

      They shook on it. ‘Deal,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you later, when the forensics team have been all over it.’

      As she drove off, Carol had room for only one thought. She had a serial arsonist who had now become a killer on her patch. Catching him was the only show in town. By the time the forensics team had something positive to tell her, she intended to have a draft profile. By the time the inquest opened, she meant to have a suspect in custody. If John Brandon had thought she was driven when they’d worked together in Bradfield, he was in for a surprise. Carol Jordan was out to prove a lot of points to a lot of people. And if she felt discouraged along the way, the stink that clung to her nostrils would be impetus enough to get her moving again.

      Shaz turned over and looked at the clock. Twenty minutes to seven. Only ten minutes since she’d looked at it last. She wasn’t going to fall asleep again, not now. If she was honest, she thought as she got out of bed and made for the bathroom, she probably wasn’t going to sleep properly until Chris had delivered on her promise.

      Asking the favour had been less awkward than she’d expected, Shaz reflected as she sat on the loo and leaned over to turn on the bath taps. Time seemed to have smoothed the rough edges of her relationship with Detective Sergeant Devine until it was back where it had been before misunderstandings and false moves had abraded it to a series of painful snags.

      From the start of Shaz’s career in the Met, Chris Devine had represented everything Shaz aspired to. There had been only two women in CID at the station where Shaz was based in West London, and Chris was the higher ranking. It was obvious why. She was a good cop with one of the best arrest records in the division. Rock solid in a crisis, hard working, imaginative and incorruptible, she also demonstrably possessed a brain and a sense of humour. Even more importantly, she could be one of the lads without