Hell's Fire

by Chris Simms

  ‘What caused it?’

  ‘Someone shoved flammable material through the letterbox. Newspaper soaked in petrol, judging from the fragments of ash that carried up to the first floor. No sign of matches on the front steps, so most probably lit with a lighter.’

  ‘Just like the fires in the churches.’

  Webster tipped his head up at the night sky. ‘Yup,’ he sighed.

  ‘What if anyone had been upstairs?’ Rick asked.

  Webster looked speculatively at the bedroom windows. ‘They probably would have lost consciousness from the fumes. No smoke alarm, despite all our attempts to educate people.’

  Jon glanced at the fire investigation officer. ‘So it had the potential to be fatal?’

  ‘Yes. The house is old. Those wooden stairs would have gone up in no time, and the smoke alone would have seen to anyone on the first floor.’

  Jon turned to Rick. ‘So first we’ve got someone trying to break in, now we’ve got someone trying to burn it down.’

  ‘Attempted murder?’

  Jon dipped his head to the side, weighing the comment up.

  ‘Depends if the attacker knew Father Waters wasn’t in. It would be hard to prove.’

  ‘Not if he’d read the notice,’ Webster said.

  ‘What notice?’ Jon asked.

  ‘The one the other bloke from the church put up. Here, on the notice board by the front gates. Come to think of it, there was another at the side of the vicarage front door. Probably disappeared in the fire.’

  At the front gates to the churchyard, Jon and Rick read the sheet of paper pinned to the middle of the board.

  ‘This,’ Jon said, pointing to it, ‘gives anyone who’s after

  Waters a very good idea of where to find him.’

  ‘There can’t be that many retreats near Salamanca,’ Rick added.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Jon replied. ‘And I forgot to ring him. Tomorrow, can you get on to this Canon Kelly? See if he speaks Spanish; he may have more luck than I did when I phoned.’

  Webster looked at the pair of them. ‘You reckon the priest could really be in danger?’

  Jon glanced at the vicarage. ‘It’s looking more and more like it.’

  ‘Any idea why?’

  ‘Not a bloody clue,’ Jon sighed. ‘Apart from the fact he’s a priest. Jesus, imagine if something happens over in Spain. What a nightmare of an investigation that would create.’ His eyes moved towards the burnt-out church, then returned to the crime scene caravan. ‘Where’s Waters’ car gone?’

  Webster looked confused. ‘It was there earlier today.’

  Jon called over the officer loitering by the caravan. ‘The blue

  Volvo that was parked there. Do you know where it’s gone?’ He shrugged. ‘No. I remember seeing it this evening.’

  ‘When exactly?’

  ‘Ten o’clock, when I came on shift.’

  ‘So it’s disappeared around the time the fire broke out?’

  ‘When everyone’s attention was on the vicarage,’ said Rick.

  ‘I don’t like this. Someone’s after the priest, and we need to know why,’ Jon replied, turning towards the church. ‘How’s the excavation going?’

  Webster extended a hand. ‘I’ll show you.’

  They walked down the flagstone path leading to the side door. Webster crouched down and flicked a couple of switches on a junction box. Floodlights within the church came to life, bathing the interior walls with their glare. Webster led them through the porch and into the main part of the building.

  Jon found himself staring at the altar, gouges in the stonework now clear to see. On the walls behind, the graffiti had been circled in chalk and each arcane symbol neatly numbered off. His eyes caught on a small wooden square by the wrecked pulpit. Soot-covered cards were still in place, the numbers on them just visible. Forty-seven. Sixty-three. One hundred and twelve. The hymns sung in the last service before the attack took place.

  The floor to the right of the aisle had now been completely cleared of debris, exposing rows of damaged pews, progressively more charred as they approached the seat of the fire itself. Those at the front were completely missing.

  ‘You can see how they ripped up the first couple of rows for firewood,’ Webster said, stopping halfway down the aisle and pointing over a ribbon of tape that barred their way.

  ‘Anything more to indicate exactly what happened?’ Jon asked.

  ‘Some. See where the floor is burned most badly?’

  Jon peered towards the jagged crater at the base of the wall scarred with the V-shaped burn mark. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s where the fire started. The floor has been burned most severely there and for the longest period of time. Now, what’s odd is the lack of pool marks to the right of that, leading back to the window they got in through.’

  ‘Sorry. Pool marks?’

  ‘When you start a fire using a liquid accelerant such as petrol, you’ll be carrying it in a container, usually with a neck or a spout.’ He stepped away from them and mimicked sluicing out liquid from an imaginary container. ‘You throw liquid forwards, over your target. But as you bring the vessel back towards your body, a trail of droplets will lead back to your feet. These trails can let us map out the actual movements of an arsonist within a room.’

  ‘I like it,’ Jon grinned. ‘You’re a crafty bunch of bastards, aren’t you?’

  Webster inclined his head. ‘We do our best. Now, in the attacks so far, the arsonist has left a trail of droplets that lead back to the window. The trail has then ignited during the fire, after the arsonist has escaped back out through the window. OK?’

  Jon and Rick nodded.

  ‘Look to the right of the point of origin. You’d expect to see where splashes of petrol caused burn damage to the top layer of the wooden floor. Effectively scorching a puddle shape.’

  The area was peppered with jagged black marks, including the area directly below the window.

  ‘Burning debris has created a lot of the damage you can see. What’s missing are the distinctive pool marks I’d been expecting.’

  Jon nodded in agreement. ‘So what do you conclude?’ Webster pointed at the left-hand side of the aisle. Though the roof tiles and timbers had been removed, a thick layer of ash still filled the gaps between the surviving pews. ‘Until we examine what’s under that lot, nothing at this stage. Could just have been a more careful person’s turn to splash the petrol.’

  ‘Surely it’s a definite change in MO,’ Rick said.

  ‘Plus the car jack was left behind,’ Jon added. ‘Something must have happened to break their routine.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Webster replied. ‘We’ll work on clearing the rest of the floor, then I’ll get a hydrocarbon dog to check it over.’ He clocked their puzzled expressions. ‘A sniffer dog, trained to identify the location of accelerants.’

  ‘Great,’ Jon replied as they retreated up the aisle. ‘In the meantime, I’ll get another couple of uniforms posted. Let me know if you discover anything more.’

  Webster laid a hand on the stone arch of the inner porch.

  ‘Oh, there’ll be more to come all right. Every building has a tale to tell. It’s just a question of teasing it out of her. Isn’t that right old girl?’

  The sound of his palm slapping on the cold surface echoed within the silent walls.

  Valerie Evans checked the table again. The tarot cards were on one side, a jug of water and two glasses on the other. Her Persian cat jumped up on to the guest’s chair.

  ‘Greymalkin, you naughty imp! That’s for our visitor, not you.’ As she lifted the animal up, the doorbell went and she glanced at the clock. Bang on time. That’s a relief, she thought, not accustomed to giving readings at such a late hour. Keep it to thirty minutes, she told herself, and you can be tucked up asleep by eleven-thirty.

  The head of her visitor was visible through the glass of her front door window. She turned the Yale lock and opened up.

  ‘Come in, come
in. Everything’s ready through here.’

  She turned and began to walk back down the hallway but fingers closed on the back of her neck. Before she could react, she was thrown violently against the passage wall, her head slamming into an ornate mirror. The glass shattered and she felt shards of it pierce the side of her face. The grip on her neck didn’t loosen as she was yanked backwards.

  Her cat flew from her arms, twisting in the air and landing on all four feet. It looked up to see its owner being dragged screaming across the floor. It tried to dart one way, but a flailing leg obstructed its escape. Cutting across to the other side of the passage, it shot out the front door and into the night.

  Chapter 18

  Leaves crackled slightly as the beast’s paws connected with the forest floor. It was now so close he could hear the air blasting from its muzzle. Jon stumbled onwards through the dense tree trunks, another part of his brain fighting desperately to end the dream.

  Come on, come on, wake up. Do not look back, just fucking wake up. The animal was now right behind. Stop this! Stop this! The sound of its footsteps abruptly ended as it sprang off the ground. He knew its jaws would be open wide, yellow eyes fixed on the vertebrae of his neck.

  His strangled groan finally brought him out of it. The pillow. His bedside table, mobile phone next to the alarm clock. He waited for his breathing to slow, then turned over. Alice’s hair brushed against his face. She was facing away from him and he hooked an arm over her waist. Beyond her, the faintest of glows showed at the edge of their curtains. Not time to get up quite yet. He let his hand rest there, drawing comfort from her warmth.

  The top she wore in bed had ridden upwards in the night, exposing her midriff. He traced his fingers over it, feeling the small grooves in her skin as he reached the waistband of her knickers. Stretch marks. The consequence of carrying Holly around for nine months.

  They were similar, in his mind, to the scars he carried from a lifetime of playing rugby. Marks to be proud of, signs of having put your body on the line to achieve something special. He smiled. Alice would have something to say if he compared injuries from a game she couldn’t see the point of to the trauma of motherhood itself. You haven’t a bloody clue, he could hear her say. He brushed his fingers back upwards, moving towards her breasts.

  She stirred, turning her head to press a cheek against his nose.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, pushing her buttocks back against him. ‘Someone’s feeling perky.’

  He found her ear lobe with his lips. Knowing the effect it had on her, he began to run his lower teeth gently along its edge. As Alice’s hand slid over his thigh a cough sounded from the nursery.

  They froze, ears straining for any more sounds. Please let her be asleep, Jon thought.

  The next cough was followed by a whimper.

  No, no, no. He visualised the tickle in his daughter’s throat. A spidery shaped speck that he hated with all his might.

  Another cough, this one turning into a cry. Bollocks, she’s awake.

  They heard the bars of her cot rattle as she struggled inside it, her cry getting ever louder. Alice sighed and the welcome pressure of her hand on his thigh disappeared as she got out of bed. ‘Unlucky.’

  Seconds later she reappeared with Holly in her arms. Jon flicked the duvet back for them, glancing at his daughter’s little face. Dried snot was crusted above her lip. ‘Thanks for that Holly, you little monster.’

  ‘Gah,’ she replied and he couldn’t help but grin.

  Alice placed her between them and sat back against the headboard.

  ‘So have you got your head round what Ellie said yet?’

  He took a deep breath, held it, then spoke as he exhaled. ‘Do we have to discuss this in front of Holly?’

  ‘Why not? She can’t understand anything.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel right, that’s all. What are you up to today?’ His wife was silent for a second. Please, just drop it, Jon thought.

  ‘Taking Holly over to the Sunshine nursery. They’re holding an open day.’

  Jon stared at the ceiling. ‘So you’re signing her up.’

  His daughter’s face appeared inches from his and she tried to stick a finger in his eye.

  ‘Yes. It’s a lovely place. The kids from Saint Thomas’ school have helped paint all these beautiful murals on the walls. It’s so bright and cheerful.’

  ‘What kind of murals?’ Jon replied, eyelids tightly shut as a little finger tried to poke between them.

  ‘You know, the usual stuff. Noah’s ark and all the animals going in. Jonah and the whale. Baby Jesus in the manger.’

  ‘Religious stuff then. To get started on them nice and early.’

  ‘Jon, it’s all very innocent. There’s no harm in it.’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied lightly. ‘I bet they haven’t got pictures of the seven-headed beast, or the devil trying to tempt Jesus out in the desert. What about firestorms engulfing Sodom and Gomorrah? They’ll spring the nasty stuff on them later, will they?’

  ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous. It’s a toddlers’ play area for God’s sake.’

  He pressed his jaws together. What could you do? If it was the best place, the religious stuff was the price you had to pay.

  ‘I’d better grab a shower.’

  He wandered through to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Waiting for the hot water to come through, he regarded his reflection in the full length mirror. His penis hung limp – shrivelled and disappointed. Not my fault, mate, he thought. Blame it on the little baby girl in there.

  When he got downstairs they were in the kitchen, Holly in her high chair watching Alice as she stacked up plates from the dishwasher. Punch sidled over and Jon cupped his dog’s head in his hands, rubbing a forefinger behind each ear. ‘Hello boy.’ He let the animal go, then grabbed a box of muesli and sat down.

  ‘Just found a text from Ellie. She must have sent it late last night.’

  He kept his eyes on the bowl before him. ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘She was popping over later this morning, but now she’s meeting up with Skye.’

  Jon started tipping cereal into his bowl. The whole situation was becoming a serious worry. Something was obviously going on at the Psychic Academy and Magick – the tutor in the canal was proof of that. ‘What are they up to?’

  ‘She said they’re going to scout for herbs and flowers for this Beltane ceremony. They don’t actually pick them until nightfall, because that’s when their potency is at its strongest.’

  ‘Did she mention where?’

  Alice gave a nod. ‘Alderley Edge.’

  ‘Should have guessed,’ Jon replied. ‘It’s a favourite haunt for weirdos.’

  ‘I thought it was a mega-bucks place to live?’

  ‘Not the village, the Edge itself. It’s a sandstone escarpment surrounded by woods. You’ve never been?’

  ‘No. But now you mention it, I remember something in the paper about loads of people gathering there each Halloween.’

  ‘There was a scandal back in the Seventies, I think. The papers got hold of some photos of a witches’ coven meeting at the top. It’s meant to be a mythical area. There’s a stone circle and a waterfall called The Wizard’s Well. There’s even a legend about King Arthur and his knights hiding in a cave beneath the hill, ready to ride out on to the plains of Cheshire to save England in its hour of need.’

  ‘And witches use it on Halloween?’

  ‘Not any more, they don’t. More popular with pissed-up teenagers apparently, though it sounds like the witches still creep back there when it’s less busy. Did Ellie say where this ceremony is happening?’

  ‘No. But if they’re looking for herbs up there, it would make sense that’s where it’ll be.’

  Jon toyed with his spoon. ‘I think this Skye is bad news.’

  ‘Just because she’s a bit different,’ Alice tutted.

  ‘Ali, I’ve met her.’

  ‘When?’
>
  ‘As part of this investigation. It’s all a bit complicated. But

  Skye, she’s a child of the Sixties, going on about Ellie’s beautiful soul. I don’t think she’s malicious, but I don’t think her head’s screwed on straight either.’ He thought about Arkell and the claims of sexual assault hanging over him. ‘People like Skye and Ellie have trusting natures. They make easy pickings for the scrotes I have to deal with. We don’t need her getting Ellie involved with all this stuff.’

  ‘Don’t be so tight on your sister. She, of all people, has every right to look for a bit of meaning in her life. God knows, enough people are left feeling empty by society today. Look at the increasing incidence of mental illness.’

  Jon glanced at her bottle of pills on the windowsill.

  ‘Not post-natal depression,’ she said. ‘Depression full stop. People feel sad, they look for reassurance. Traditionally the church provided that, but nowadays it seems to be falling apart.’

  ‘Well, she could join a bloody hockey team. A swimming club. She’ll get all the sense of purpose and belonging she wants from that. Might lose a bit of the weight that so bothers her too.’

  Alice rolled her eyes. ‘Sport. Jon Spicer’s cure for all of life’s ills.’

  ‘It would sort out a lot of them. Boxing clubs – make attendance at them a condition for these Asbo kids. Re-offending rates would plummet, I bet you.’

  ‘Maybe bring back National Service too?’ Jon shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  Alice turned the kettle on. ‘You sound like an old man.’

  ‘You know, there’s sense in it. What’s the saying, the devil makes work for idle hands? People need to get more going on in their lives.’ He thought about Arkell again. There was a person playing on people’s needs for his own gain. Whether financial profit or something more sordid. A thought occurred.

  ‘The coven Ellie wants to join. Has she mentioned who else is in it apart from Skye? Is Skye like, well, the head witch, or is someone else in charge? Do covens have wizards or warlocks or whatever they call male witches?’