mean it is right. What we need to do now is map out the timeline of events. For instance, how and when did the fire start?’
Ruth held up the pellet Jim had given her. ‘This might be the answer to that particular question. We found an empty petrol can up here. If the floor was doused with petrol, a gun blast in a downward direction could have ignited it.’
‘That makes sense, assuming the house wasn’t already on fire when Stephen Baxley shot his son. Of course, all this is dependent on whether that human pot-roast down there is actually who we think it is.’
A fireman appeared at the front door and shouted upstairs, ‘You shouldn’t be up there. It’s not safe.’
‘OK, mate, we’ll be down in a second.’ Jim turned to Amy. ‘Make sure no one goes near that safe. I don’t want any of those firemen being tempted into pocketing that cash.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m heading over to the Northern General to find out what the situation is with the Baxley kids.’
‘Scott Greenwood’s already there. Last I heard, Mark and Charlotte were both in surgery. I’m sure Scott would’ve been in contact if the situation had changed. Besides, the DCI’s expecting you to coordinate things here until he arrives.’
Jim rubbed his head again. The throbbing in his temples was strengthening, as was the urge to get outside, get away from this house of death, and above all get away from the weight of responsibility. He cleared his throat, which was raw from breathing soot. ‘I’ve seen all I need to see here for now. And I’m sure you and the other detectives on site can handle things.’
‘OK, but I’m telling you, the DCI won’t be happy.’
It was on the tip of Jim’s tongue to say, Fuck Garrett , but he held the words back. He motioned for Ruth and Amy to go ahead of him. As they made their way cautiously downstairs, the fireman asked, ‘How much longer before my men can get to work on securing the joists?’
‘Not much longer,’ answered Ruth. ‘We’re about ready to move the bodies.’
‘I’ll talk to you later, Ruth,’ said Jim, heading out the front door. With a glance at Amy, he added, ‘Call me as soon as that background check comes in, or if there are any other developments.’
Amy raised her eyebrows in reply, as if to say, Surely that goes without saying.
As he returned to his car, Jim found himself supressing an urge to break into a run. He ducked into the driver’s seat and reached for his cigarettes. He sucked in a lungful of smoke, coughed that out and sucked in another little ration of nerve-calming nicotine. Christ, look at you , he thought, catching a glimpse of his bleary-eyes as he reversed the car. You’re so far over the fucking hill that you’re rolling down the other side.
5
Angel lay in bed studying the handgun. ‘GLOCK 17 AUSTRIA’ was engraved on its barrel. She took aim at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, wondering if the number on the barrel corresponded to how many bullets the gun took. If it did, that meant there were fifteen bullets left in the magazine – assuming, of course, that Ryan Castle hadn’t fired any rounds. ‘Ryan Castle.’ She said the name slowly, savouring the feel of it on her tongue. The bastard’s face had been all over the evening news, which she and Deano had watched whilst crunching dry toast – coming down the other side of a heroin high always left them unable to stomach anything more substantial.
Deano hadn’t been best pleased. Castle’s BMW had been caught on CCTV cruising past an industrial unit south of the Transporter Bridge. That meant coppers would be sniffing around the area, talking to the girls and generally fucking up business. He’d soon brightened up when Angel gave him three hundred quid of what she’d stolen from Castle, plus the rest of the previous night’s take. He’d gone off to see his supplier and stock up on Mexican brown, telling her he didn’t want her to work the
Ruth held up the pellet Jim had given her. ‘This might be the answer to that particular question. We found an empty petrol can up here. If the floor was doused with petrol, a gun blast in a downward direction could have ignited it.’
‘That makes sense, assuming the house wasn’t already on fire when Stephen Baxley shot his son. Of course, all this is dependent on whether that human pot-roast down there is actually who we think it is.’
A fireman appeared at the front door and shouted upstairs, ‘You shouldn’t be up there. It’s not safe.’
‘OK, mate, we’ll be down in a second.’ Jim turned to Amy. ‘Make sure no one goes near that safe. I don’t want any of those firemen being tempted into pocketing that cash.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m heading over to the Northern General to find out what the situation is with the Baxley kids.’
‘Scott Greenwood’s already there. Last I heard, Mark and Charlotte were both in surgery. I’m sure Scott would’ve been in contact if the situation had changed. Besides, the DCI’s expecting you to coordinate things here until he arrives.’
Jim rubbed his head again. The throbbing in his temples was strengthening, as was the urge to get outside, get away from this house of death, and above all get away from the weight of responsibility. He cleared his throat, which was raw from breathing soot. ‘I’ve seen all I need to see here for now. And I’m sure you and the other detectives on site can handle things.’
‘OK, but I’m telling you, the DCI won’t be happy.’
It was on the tip of Jim’s tongue to say, Fuck Garrett , but he held the words back. He motioned for Ruth and Amy to go ahead of him. As they made their way cautiously downstairs, the fireman asked, ‘How much longer before my men can get to work on securing the joists?’
‘Not much longer,’ answered Ruth. ‘We’re about ready to move the bodies.’
‘I’ll talk to you later, Ruth,’ said Jim, heading out the front door. With a glance at Amy, he added, ‘Call me as soon as that background check comes in, or if there are any other developments.’
Amy raised her eyebrows in reply, as if to say, Surely that goes without saying.
As he returned to his car, Jim found himself supressing an urge to break into a run. He ducked into the driver’s seat and reached for his cigarettes. He sucked in a lungful of smoke, coughed that out and sucked in another little ration of nerve-calming nicotine. Christ, look at you , he thought, catching a glimpse of his bleary-eyes as he reversed the car. You’re so far over the fucking hill that you’re rolling down the other side.
5
Angel lay in bed studying the handgun. ‘GLOCK 17 AUSTRIA’ was engraved on its barrel. She took aim at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, wondering if the number on the barrel corresponded to how many bullets the gun took. If it did, that meant there were fifteen bullets left in the magazine – assuming, of course, that Ryan Castle hadn’t fired any rounds. ‘Ryan Castle.’ She said the name slowly, savouring the feel of it on her tongue. The bastard’s face had been all over the evening news, which she and Deano had watched whilst crunching dry toast – coming down the other side of a heroin high always left them unable to stomach anything more substantial.
Deano hadn’t been best pleased. Castle’s BMW had been caught on CCTV cruising past an industrial unit south of the Transporter Bridge. That meant coppers would be sniffing around the area, talking to the girls and generally fucking up business. He’d soon brightened up when Angel gave him three hundred quid of what she’d stolen from Castle, plus the rest of the previous night’s take. He’d gone off to see his supplier and stock up on Mexican brown, telling her he didn’t want her to work the
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