Torch

by Lin Anderson

  It was then he noticed the smoke. A blanket of it lay to the north-west of the city. He was so busy staring at it, he didn’t notice the pretty blonde woman who was trying to buy a magazine. She handed him a two pound coin and he tried to give her change but she wouldn’t take it.

  He stayed on his pitch until curiosity got the better of him. At least half a dozen of his regulars had already asked if he’d heard about the fire on Princes Street. The police had cordoned off part of the road but you could get a view from the Gardens, they said.

  It seemed he wasn’t the only one keen to get a look. Around the Ross Bandstand half of Edinburgh seemed to be spending lunchtime in the Gardens despite the cold weather.

  Jaz wasn’t surprised to see Emperor standing by the railing at the top of the steep bank of roses. He’d half expected to see Karen in the Gardens anyway. She usually brought Emps in for a run sometime during the day. But not as early as this. Lunchtime was busy for her. People strolling along Rose Street liked to hear her play.

  The dog started to howl, a mournful sound. Jaz hurried up the steep bank. A tent was erected on the pavement and just left of it, the dog was tied to a railing.

  Jaz stuck his hand through and rubbed the dog’s ears. ‘Hey Emps.’

  ‘Watch out, son. He might bite.’ A policeman had emerged from the tent and was coming towards him.

  ‘No he won’t. Will you boy?’

  The dog stopped whining and started to growl as the policeman approached.

  ‘Where’s Karen?’ Jaz was talking to the dog but it was the policeman who answered.

  ‘Who’s Karen?’

  Jaz stood up. ‘Emps belongs to a girl called Karen.’

  The policeman was interested. ‘Is this Karen a friend of yours?’

  ‘I know her.’

  ‘Could you come round here and tell us a bit about Karen.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’ Jaz was suddenly frightened. Karen wouldn’t tie Emps to a railing and abandon him.

  There was a funny look on the policeman’s face. ‘A girl... We think she was asleep in the doorway when the fire... ’

  ‘Karen’s dead?’ Jaz felt dazed. A picture formed in his mind, fingers coaxing music from the whistle, her eyes closed, her mind somewhere else. Always somewhere away from here and now.

  ‘We need to contact her family to identify...’

  Jaz’s brain was stupid with pain. ‘Karen hasn’t got a family.’

  ‘Everybody’s got a family, son.’

  ‘That’s shite!’ The shout caught in his throat. ‘Karen had no one,’ he looked down, ‘except Emperor.’ The dog whined and pawed at his leg.

  ‘What’s going to happen to Emperor?’

  ‘We’ve called the RSPCA.’

  ‘They’ll put him down.’

  The policeman was getting out his notebook. ‘Look son. You give me your name and address. If we can’t find a relative, maybe you could identify the girl.’

  Jaz spoke quietly, his mind already made up. ‘Give me the dog.’

  ‘I can’t do that...’

  Jaz was on his knees, his hands through the railing, wrestling with the rope attached to Emperor’s collar. The dog was jumping about, pulling at the rope. Another policeman was on his way over. The one beside him was trying persuasion tactics.

  ‘Look, son. Come over and give us a contact address. I’ll tell the RSPCA that you’re interested in the dog and...’

  The rope was almost free.

  ‘Come on Emps. Come on boy.’

  Jaz started to run.

  Behind him the dog, suddenly frantic, tore at the remains of the knot, there was a scrabbling sound and he jumped. Jaz heard the policeman shout as Emps cleared the spikes and landed in the rose bushes. Jaz kept on running.

  Chapter 6

  Rhona had been hanging around now for almost an hour. DI MacFarlane had been pleasant but firm. No one was permitted to enter the building until they were sure it wasn’t in imminent danger of collapse.

  They weren’t waiting for an inspection team to give the all clear. Rhona was sure of that. They were waiting for MacRae to return from wherever he disappeared to an hour before. She’d spotted MacFarlane on the phone looking decidedly rattled. No doubt checking in with his Lord and Master, she thought unkindly.

  After walking round the building a couple of times, she retired to a police car with a cup of coffee from a doughnut vendor, who’d seen an upturn in his trade. Through the windscreen, the scene of crime officers were sifting through the piles of sodden debris that littered the pavement, an unpleasant but necessary business. At least MacRae had let them make a start on that. She’d already introduced herself to the two men involved. They’d worked with Gallagher and seemed to know the ropes.

  Her meeting with the pathologist had been less satisfactory. Brisk and professional giving nothing away. She’d eventually mentioned her work with Dr Sissons. At the name of his Glasgow counterpart, the doctor raised an eyebrow.

  ‘So,’ the voice was old school Edinburgh. Chances were he had never been to Glasgow in his life. ‘You’ve come through from the west to help us.’

  It made her sound like the cavalry.

  ‘There may be a link between the two spates of fire raising.’

  ‘I take it your main concern is the fire and not the death of the girl.’

  ‘Well,’ she hesitated, knowing what she was about to ask was not strictly protocol. ‘The two are related.’

  He waited while she chose her words. ‘I was hoping I might sit in on the post mortem.’

  ‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ The man looked as though he had just discovered a bad smell under his nose.

  ‘It might help.’

  He stared at her, then nodded.

  ‘I have two to do today, so it won’t be until tomorrow morning. Seven thirty.’

  Chrissy wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already. Rhona moved the mobile to her other ear and reached for the coffee cup she’d stuck in the door pocket.

  ‘Okay Chrissy, but you haven’t met the man. I’m going to insist all samples come through to you. That way I won’t have Valentino breathing down my neck. And no. I do not think he’s sexy. If you saw him dipping a charred sausage in a blob of tomato sauce you wouldn’t think so either.’

  The noises on the other end of the phone suggested Chrissy did not believe her. Denial always made matters worse with Chrissy.

  ‘I’ll have to go. My caveman’s back. And Chrissy. Don’t buy any more of those takeaways. I spent half the morning being sick.’

  Rhona dropped the window on MacRae’s second knock.

  The voice was irritated. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Let’s go then.’

  Rhona wondered if the anger radiating from his body was specifically directed at her.

  He turned back as she shut the door of the police car.

  ‘I suggest you bring a plastic bag. No one is allowed to pee, spit, shit, cough or vomit once inside the building.’

  Rafters gaped above Rhona like the broken ribs of a huge whale. Underfoot, the floor was a spongy mass of sodden debris.

  MacRae led the way, followed by MacFarlane who joined them at the door. The acrid smell caught at Rhona’s throat. Despite being familiar with fire scenes, the devastation fire wrought always surprised her. At a normal murder scene it was the victim that lay mutilated. Here, the building was the victim.

  Along the wall of what must have been a reception area, a set of shelves stood upright in defiance, the twisted metal evidence of the strength of the fire. A filing cabinet stood open beside it, buckled by the heat.

  MacFarlane spoke first.

  ‘One of the firemen said the colour of the flames was wrong.’

  ‘Whatever was burning wasn’t what should have been in here?’ Rhona said.

  MacFarlane nodded.

  ‘The building was being renovated but the owner was taking a long time about it. The preservation peo
ple were being awkward.’

  ‘You think it might be an insurance job?’

  They both looked at MacRae for confirmation.

  ‘I don’t think anything. But I sure as hell smell something.’

  MacFarlane had picked his way across the debris to the remains of a doorway on the left.

  ‘Take a look at this, Sev.’

  Straight ahead was a wide staircase. To the left and right, what remained of archways led into other rooms. MacFarlane was standing in the remains of the left hand arch. MacRae followed him through. In the centre of the room was a pile of debris. MacRae knelt beside it and nodded at Rhona to bring the fire investigation kit.

  ‘It smells like...’ MacFarlane began.

  ‘Don’t bother MacFarlane. You haven’t the nose for it.’

  MacRae filled the bag and handed it back to Rhona.

  ‘Have they checked the windows?’

  ‘All the ground floor ones were blown out with the blast,’ MacFarlane told him. ‘Gas and electricity have been off for the past year, so it wasn’t a gas explosion.’ He looked about. ‘It’ll be difficult to prove a break in.’

  A line of scorch marks was visible on the bare floorboards. Rhona followed it back to the archway.

  ‘Don’t wander about.’ MacRae’s voice followed her. ‘Not until we’re sure it’s safe.’

  ‘The fire ran this way.’ The scorch marks led to the foot of the staircase. Rhona wondered why she had missed them on her way in, but then her eyes had been on the ceiling, or what was left of it. ‘I think someone piled bits of old shop fittings where you are now and splashed petrol about, then dripped it through here and up the stairs and back to the front door. When he lit it, the fire ran back into the side room.’

  ‘Christ MacFarlane, tell her!’ The voice had reached exasperation.

  Rhona noted MacFarlane’s concerned face before she started up the stairs, but she wanted to be sure. The first and second steps were burned through but the third and fourth showed the signs she was looking for.

  ‘He’s right,’ MacFarlane tried.

  ‘The petrol had already vaporised, that’s what caused the explosion,’ she looked back at them pleased.

  ‘Shit!’ MacRae was coming towards her but she was too engrossed in her explanation to care.

  ‘The chemical reaction absorbed the majority of oxygen in the atmosphere so the fire...’

  ‘Watch out!’

  MacRae pulled her down the stairs and into the relative shelter of the archway as a section of ceiling gave way.

  Rhona would have apologised if he’d given her the chance but as soon as the noise of the falling debris stopped MacRae headed for the entrance. MacFarlane shot her a look that suggested it would be better to keep her mouth shut and followed MacRae outside, where he was already dishing out orders. ‘We need a scaffolding gantry before we put a full team in. No one, I repeat no one is to go back in there until we’re sure of the ceiling. And MacFarlane, this is an old building. I bet most of the joists survived the fire. I’d like a proper look at them once the debris is cleared.’

  MacFarlane moved off towards the police tent, throwing Rhona an encouraging look as he left.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ she asked MacRae.

  ‘I wait until they make it safe.’

  Rhona ignored the singular pronoun.

  ‘How long will that take?’

  His voice was clipped. ‘Twenty four hours maybe more.’

  She held up the sample bag. ‘I’ll send this to the lab. Get them to check for an agent.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He turned away.

  ‘You think it was petrol?’

  ‘I know it was.’

  ‘You can’t be sure until it’s tested.’

  ‘Look lady...’

  ‘My name’s Rhona.’

  ‘You play around with your chemical reactions all you like. That fire didn’t just happen. Someone made it happen and that someone made it big and powerful enough to blow a young girl halfway across Princes Street.’

  The Big Issue seller from Waverley was hovering on the edge of their conversation. An Alsatian stood alert beside him, looking like a police dog awaiting a command. On their right, MacFarlane emerged from the operations tent a mobile held to his face.

  ‘MacFarlane!’

  In broad daylight, MacFarlane looked worse than Rhona felt and she realised he had probably been up all night.

  ‘Who’s the guy?’ MacRae motioned behind him.

  ‘Where?’ The DI’s tiredness was turning to stupidity.

  ‘With the dog.’

  ‘Oh him. Name’s Jaz. He knew the victim. That’s her dog. He ran off with it, then changed his mind and came back. He offered to identify the body for us, while we try and find her family.’

  MacRae turned. ‘Come here, son.’

  The guy hesitated.

  ‘Does the dog like chips?’

  ‘Salt and sauce?’

  MacRae opened the Saab door. He grabbed a chip poke from the passenger seat and emptied its contents on the road.

  The dog looked up at the boy.

  ‘Go on Emps.’

  They watched as the dog devoured the chips, licking up the sauce like a pro.

  ‘DI MacFarlane here says you knew the girl.’

  ‘Karen didn’t really know anybody. She liked to be alone, except for Emperor. I spoke to her now and again. Offered her food. She never took it. She wouldn’t beg either. She played the penny whistle for money. Rose Street mainly,’ he paused. ‘She was good.’

  Rhona bent and rubbed the dog’s ears.

  ‘Had Karen been sleeping round behind the boarding?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. She could have been.’ He looked straight at Rhona. ‘You think somebody started that fire deliberately, don’t you?’

  Rhona glanced at MacRae but he said nothing.

  ‘We don’t know that yet.’

  ‘That’s murder.’ The boy’s voice was angry and the dog’s head came up, neck hair bristling.

  ‘Have you seen anyone hanging about the building?’ Rhona tried.

  He shook his head.

  ‘We’ll be back tomorrow. If you think of something you could speak to us then.’

  The boy nodded and walked away, the dog at his heels.

  MacRae was climbing back into the car. She asked where he was going. It was like a red rag to a bull.

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like my ex-wife. Correction, my estranged wife. And for your information, I’m going to the scene of the last fire. The one that gave Gallagher a heart attack and landed me with you.’

  Rhona kept her voice calm. He was not going to get her as rattled as he was. ‘I’d like to come.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  The dog’s chips weren’t the only fast food in the car. Rhona swept the remains of three other fish suppers onto the floor before getting in. The stereo was blasting out an old Marvin Gaye number. MacRae reached across and turned it up even louder.

  Rhona kept her eyes on the road. Once you got used to the level, the music was alright. All those songs that sink into your brain so that years later you find yourself mouthing words you never knew you knew.

  MacRae’s face was as tired as MacFarlane’s. Or else he had a hangover. Probably chronic. He also drove like a maniac, she decided.

  Ten minutes later they reached a burned out office block.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Thursday last week.’ He waved at the approaching security guard, who nodded and unlocked the entrance chain. MacRae held the temporary door to one side and Rhona stepped in. She was in a large domed entrance hall. Ahead of her, a broad stairway spiralled upwards to a further two floors.

  ‘It used to be an elegant town house, then an office block. Some computer consultancy firm had the first floor. An investment company had the top and the ground was an advertising company.’

  ‘It must have been beautiful. That staircase, especially.’

>   Despite the damage the hall retained an elegance, the marble flooring blackened but intact.

  ‘Can we use the stairs?’

  ‘Not if you want to live.’

  Behind the staircase a ladder had been erected through to the upper level. He motioned her to go first.

  ‘Better you land on me, than me on you.’

  Rhona wasn’t convinced that was the reason for the chivalry.

  When she was halfway up he followed. She waited for him at the top. This time she wasn’t going to wander.

  He pointed at a pile of debris to the left of the door. ‘He started it where we came up, burning a hole through the ceiling, then spread the accelerant out the door and down your nice staircase.’

  ‘An insurance job?’

  ‘The insurance company doesn’t think so. The building was in the process of being sold for a good price. There was planning permission to convert it into flats.

  ‘Vandals?’

  ‘Not likely in this area.’

  MacRae went back down the ladder first then watched her descent with interest. Wearing a skirt had been a bad choice, Rhona thought.

  They walked back to the car.

  ‘Any chance we could give the music a miss this time?’

  The grin took her by surprise. MacRae looked completely different when he smiled.

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘That loud,’ she smiled back.

  He switched off the stereo and started the car. This time the pace was slower.

  ‘What does MacFarlane think about the fires?’

  ‘MacFarlane thinks we have a nutter on our hands.’

  ‘And you?’

  The smile had gone. ‘I don’t know why the places were torched but I’d risk my neck and say they were torched by the same person or persons. The jobs are professional. Same level of organisation and sophistication.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who it might be?’

  He reached across her and for a moment she thought he was going to turn on the stereo again. Instead he opened the glove compartment, brought out a letter and tossed it in her lap.

  ‘This arrived this morning, delivered by hand to my flat.’

  She opened it and read it. ‘Whoever wrote this doesn’t like you very much.’