“You don’t really want me to talk to her, do you? I mean…” he glanced at the exterior of the house, “why spoil your life when this can be avoided?”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Well, it’d be a shame if I had to tell your wife that a…how would you like to label it…a casual relationship has developed between a firefighter and the named female. The same female who happens to have a daughter who plays on the same netball team as your daughter. It would be a pity if your wife received an anonymous call about that. She’d probably be none too pleased. Nor would Olivia’s husband, I’m guessing. Now—” he leaned forward, the grin off his face “—do we understand each other? Are you going to talk to me about the fire at Janet Ennis’ house?”
Chapter Nine
“That’s blackmail.” Corey uttered the words barely above a whisper.
“That’s how you term it. I think of it as helping Janet’s mother find answers to questions that have plagued her for five years.”
“You’re getting dangerously close to ruining my life, McLaren.”
“Nora’s life has already been ruined by Janet’s death, and Janet’s life has certainly been…ruined, if you want to call it that.” He grabbed his car key in readiness to leave. “It’s your decision, Chappell. I need your answer.”
“But if my wife or my mates at the station find out I’ve talked to you…”
“You’re wasting my time, Chappell. I don’t give a damn about the Council, your wife or your mates. You got yourself into this situation in the first place. You knew you were playing with fire by having an affair with this woman.” He took a step toward Corey, and looked down at the man. “You’re pathetic. You obviously are more concerned about your damned reputation than with your wife or daughter’s feelings. I’d almost feel sorry for you if I weren’t so disgusted. A man who won’t help a mother discover what happened to her daughter…” He started to leave but Corey grabbed McLaren’s arm. McLaren tried to shake off the grip but Corey squeezed tighter.
“Please. McLaren! Don’t go. I-I didn’t mean to be such a…” He snorted as McLaren looked at him. “I’m not such a damned sissy. Or a berk. I’m sorry. Please. Can’t I help?”
McLaren considered his actions against the man’s future, then nodded.
Corey relaxed his grip and let his arm drop to his side. “What do you want to know?”
“First, I’d like to know if you suspected arson. Any niggle of doubt, no matter how small or infrequent, that the fire wasn’t an accident.”
“The studio held a lot of accelerants—well, it would, since it was used for her art work.”
“Things like artist paint?”
“Sure. Also turpentine. But she’d have that for cleaning her brushes, wouldn’t she? We discovered a fair amount of burnt wood in one corner of the building, but that turned out to be easels and wedged stretchers for her painting canvases.”
“When you arrived, the fire was still burning.”
“Yes. A wooden structure like that burns quickly. We wasted no time in getting there after receiving the phone call. I don’t know the length of time, but I can’t remember any call ever creating a response problem. But even with our prompt arrival, the place was well on its way to being destroyed.”
“Being there more or less early on, do you recall the color of the smoke?”
Corey nodded. Smoke color indicated what substance was burning. “Surprised I do, actually.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, it wasn’t anything that seemed odd. It was a wooden structure. We had gray smoke and yellow and red flames. Ordinary. There was a small amount of black smoke, but we concluded that the paints and turpentine caused that. There wasn’t a huge cloud of black smoke, if that’s what you’re wanting to know. Nothing to suggest any petroleum product was sprinkled about as an accelerant.”
“How about smoke patterns?”
“We’d usually look for those, sure. Around windows and doors to see if they were open to advance oxygen through the structure. But the building was a near loss. No windows or door were left standing.”
McLaren nodded, his mind racing. “Any unusual odor?”
Corey shook his head, exhaling loudly. “Sorry. No help there. If there was, I didn’t notice it. Just what you’d expect—paint and turpentine and charred wood.”
“Did you make a search for faulty electric wiring or electrical equipment? Maybe Janet had an electric kettle for brewing tea, or maybe she was burning candles. Lots of women do, I know.”
“You’re looking for cause.”
“Yes. Something had to have started this thing.”
“We sifted through the rubble, as we do at every incident site. Nothing seemed suspicious. She had two lamps, I remember, and one of those portable CD players. We found no evidence of candles or cigarettes, although there was a small portable electric heater, microphone, computer, two-burner hot plate, small refrigerator and a two-drawer filing cabinet. They were all badly melted, of course, but none of the electrical objects proved to be faulty.”
“And I assume from what you said about the remnants of the structure that you couldn’t determine if there had been multiple flash points.”
“Basically we had half of one wall—the east wall, the average height on that remnant was four and a half feet. The adjoining wall, the north wall was in slightly better condition but still only about five feet of that remained. The other two walls had burnt down to the foundation or near to it. As I said, McLaren, it was a wooden structure filled with paint, turpentine, canvas, cotton rags and paper. We didn’t expect much to be left after we extinguished the fire.”
“But on those two walls you found no multiple flash points or evidence of several points of origin.”
“You want this to be a case of arson?” Corey’s left eyebrow shot up, mirroring his astonishment.
“No. That would indicate Janet had an enemy—or was mentally unstable if she set it herself.” He paused, his mind replaying his recent conversation with Nora. Mental illness didn’t run in families, did it? Taking a deep breath, McLaren clenched his left fist and tapped it against his right palm. What did he want this to be? Would he feel better, would Nora feel better, if he uncovered evidence of arson? Would it make everything worse if this led to murder? He flashed a grin at Corey and said rather slowly, “No. I’m not keen to prove arson, but I’ve been retained by Janet’s mother to find out everything I can about this fire and about her death. I need to learn all I can so I can eliminate or focus on one specific thread.”
“Sure. Of course. Didn’t mean to get all…well, it’s a tough subject to talk about, isn’t it? Especially when someone dies in a fire.”
“Where did you find Janet’s body?”
“Where did we find—”
“In the studio, I know, but was it near the door, like she’d been trying to get out but the door was blocked, maybe? Or by a window? Did she have her mobile in her hand?”
“I can tell you, she gave me a start.”
“Oh?”
“Not the position or condition of her body, but finding her there. The studio wasn’t that big. Size of a large room. Twenty one by thirty feet.”
“That is large.”
“Well, it would be, wouldn’t it, if it’s an artist studio. Needed space for her supplies and to work in.”
“So you found her…”
“Near the center of the room. More away from the entry than toward it. She faced away from the door, too. Like she wasn’t even conscious of the fire or had tried to get out. I thought that a bit odd, but if she had been unconscious she wouldn’t have known about the fire. Her body was in the classic pugilist pose. You know what that means?”
“Fists clenched, arms raised and knees toward the chest.” McLaren looked away from Corey, suddenly queasy. Recalling Janet’s face from the photo and remembering her singing…well, she had been real. He had talked about her to Nora and Helene, he had seen her house, stood in the forest and
seen where she had worked as an artist. To even hint at her any other way repulsed him.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Zero in on one of them, then.”
“This happened five years ago, so how can I remember it so exactly and you be sure what I’m telling you is accurate.”
“That had crossed my mind.”
“I remember because we found Janet’s body in the rubble. I remember because the weather had been so hellish and when we got to the blaze we were scared shitless that the forest would catch on fire. I remember because I heard a recording of one of Janet’s songs a month later and thought what a hell of a waste that such talent was lost.” He clenched his hands together until the skin of his knuckles shone white in the sunlight. “When you’ve got all that dumped on you from one incident, you don’t easily forget. Like you probably remember some murder cases you worked on.”
“You’re right. Some things do engrave themselves on the mind.” And emotions, McLaren wanted to add. He still could not shake the image of that hanged man. The corpse, stiff with rigor mortis, slowly swung from the rope, easing into and out of the half-light of the basement. He had been so careful, climbing on the ladder in order to cut the rope. The body swayed, and in so doing, one of its rigid arms touched McLaren on his shoulder. He had yelped and jumped, nearly falling off the ladder in his fright. The purpled and swollen flesh, so upsetting later in the light from the police work lamps, had been terrifying in the gloom. McLaren doubted he would ever forget the sight or the touch of the dead man.
But that ten years ago. Corey and McLaren stood in the quiet, each occupied with his thoughts. The shadows of early afternoon had lengthened in the time they’d been talking, and the eastern section of the garden sat in a patch of ochre-hued light.
Corey said slowly, thinking, “We didn’t discover anything odd in the debris. I know that for a fact. I would have remembered after discovering…well, after we found her body. It would’ve made an impression on me. But nothing screamed that it had been arson.”
“Did Nora supply you with a list of things that would’ve been in the studio?”
“No. We had no reason to suspect arson, as I said.”
“So you don’t know if anything was moved into or out of the studio before the fire.”
Corey frowned and tapped the back of his hand against his lips. “You’re hinting that someone moved something important into the studio and set fire to the place to collect insurance money.”
“Or moved something out to save it from the blaze so it wouldn’t be missed…and then got the insurance for the so-called missing item.”
“Mrs. Ennis didn’t mention a specific item. And she would have done if it were important. We were there; she could have asked us to search for a particular thing.” He looked at McLaren, his eyebrows lowered. “If what you’ve just said is right, if that did happen, well, who would that insurance fraud benefit?”
“Right now I’d say the mother, the fiancé or the ex-boy friend.”
“Sounds like something the police would’ve found out.”
“Maybe their incompetence stopped them.”
****
Myles Tyson, Janet’s fiancé, apologized for being late. “To tell you the truth—” he sat across from McLaren in the pub “—I got lost. When you said The King’s Head for some reason I envisioned The King’s Arms and went there. I finally realized my mistake after sitting there for fifteen minutes. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.” He took a breath and ordered a cup of coffee from the waitress.
McLaren took a few seconds to evaluate the man. Myles looked to be in his early forties. There seemed to be nothing remarkable about him—medium height, brown hair and eyes, not particularly muscular or handsome. But how muscular did he need to be to carry around photographic equipment? His hair had started to recede at his temples and was flecked with gray. Otherwise, he had no obvious signs of aging; age spots didn’t mar his large, tanned hands or face. McLaren settled down to the task at hand, leaving the mystery of attraction between the sexes to another time.
“That’s quite all right, Mr. Tyson.” McLaren picked up his mug of coffee. “I suggested this because it was close to your house and I thought I could grab a late lunch at the same time.”
“Sure. Right.” Myles looked around the room, nodding. The main crush of the lunchtime crowd had cleared out, leaving only a handful of diners within the pub’s white plastered interior. A pinball machine blinked in vibrant neon in the corner, humming as it waited for a player. “So,” Myles said, his gaze still on the expectant machine. “How can I help?”
McLaren explained the situation and ended with “Do you know anyone who might have wanted Janet dead?”
Myles’ eyes widened and his cheeks flooded with color. He stared at McLaren, shaking his head. “No, uh, no. Of course not.”
“Of course not…what? Of course you don’t know anyone like that, or of course no one would want to kill Janet?”
“Why, uh, yes. Both.” He broke off, thanking the waitress for the coffee, and took a sip. “Maybe I should’ve ordered a stiff whisky.” It came out as a jest, but his expression suggested he meant it. “Everyone loved Janet. What harm had she ever done to anyone?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“She wasn’t a pushy person. She didn’t try to walk over people to attain her goals. She was a caterer and a singer. Both occupations can be cutthroat, but Janet wasn’t of that ilk. She took her careers almost casually, not expecting too much, just having a grand time with life.”
“Were there jealousies? A singer, perhaps, who was covetous of Janet’s success, or a prestigious catering event Janet got instead of some other company? Feelings run high in things like that.”
Myles shook his head again, this time more emphatically. “No. She wasn’t like that. Sure, she wanted to be successful—who wouldn’t after all the work and hours she put into it? But she didn’t walk over people. She kept her eyes and mind focused on the future and kept moving ahead.”
“What about her former catering employee? Mightn’t he have been angry with her? Losing a job doesn’t exactly call for roses on the boss’ birthday.”
“I don’t know about that. I mean, I know she fired him—Nora said as much, and Janet even mentioned it. But I don’t know how he felt. He left work that day without uttering threats, if that means anything.”
“You’d been engaged…how long?”
“We were engaged in August.”
“So, approximately one month, then. Had you known each other long before that? I know you were her photographer, but I mean were you friends before you became her photographer?”
“We knew each other, sure. I did a few odd photo shoots before she employed me as her full time photographer.”
“Like, when another photographer couldn’t accommodate her?”
“Yes. I never did any food shots, though. That’s a completely different type of photographic skill. I just did shoots for her CD cover, website, posters for the clubs she’d appear at—things like that. You get to know someone pretty well and pretty quickly when you’re photographing them. We were friends for about a year, I guess, before the engagement.”
As Dena and I were friends before our engagement… The thought popped into McLaren’s mind without him willing it, thrusting Dena’s face into the conversation with Myles. McLaren pulled in his bottom lip, annoyed that his mind wandered in the midst of a serious interview, and focused on the photographer. “In that year did Janet ever talk to you about Tom Murray?”
“Her former boy friend? Sure. But she wouldn’t pour out her heart to me, if that’s what you’re after. I wasn’t a diary or a priest. She never said a thing about personal problems. Janet had strict lines drawn up and wouldn’t tell tales out of school.”
“So you don’t know how angry Tom was, then, when their friendship ended.”
“Sorry, no. But why wouldn’t he be upset? Janet was a beautiful, carin
g person, Mr. McLaren.”
“I don’t know why he wouldn’t be upset. That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
“Unless it was Tom’s idea to break off with Janet. Then he might not be upset.”
“Did you know Tom Murray? Would you believe he had made that decision to end the relationship?”
“I knew him, certainly. I saw him around sometimes at photo sessions. A Christmas party, once, I think. But we weren’t more than nodding acquaintances. I don’t know about Janet, but I wasn’t sorry to see him leave.”
“Dislike the man?”
“No. Not that. Just that I had begun liking Janet quite a lot. With Tom gone…well, I don’t know if it was purely psychological or not, but with him out of Janet’s life I didn’t have to rein in my feelings for her.”
“You’d started caring about her.”
“More than I think I realized at the time.” He took a sip of coffee and put the cup on the table. Four women passed their table, intent on commenting about their recent bridge game. Myles looked up, eyeing each woman in turn before resuming his conversation. “I guess I’d buried my feelings while Tom was in her life. You know…pretend you don’t like something so you’re not disappointed when you can’t have it. Of course, I didn’t know how deeply I did care about her. I hadn’t stopped to think about it.” He ran the tip of his index finger along the handle of the cup. “Well, you don’t, do you? What good would it do? Only bring up frustration and hurt.” He took another swallow of coffee and held the cup in his hands.
“So you don’t know if Tom Murray held any grudge or anger when he left Janet.”
“No. Like I said, we weren’t mates and we didn’t socialize. You’ll have to ask Tom about that. But I do know someone else who might’ve harbored ill feelings about her.”
“Someone other than the former catering employee?”
“Yes. I’ve seen him at Janet’s many times. He’s more or less a permanent fixture around her place.”
“What’s his name?”
“Oh, sorry. Bruce Parrott. Works at Haddon Hall the last time I heard. He was a guide. Might still be. He does something else when there are no booked groups to lead around. Can’t think what it is. Server in the restaurant?” Myles frowned and blinked rapidly. “You’ll find him if he’s not left, though I suppose he might have done in five years. He used to be a musician with Janet’s original trio, when it was just forming. She fired him under unpleasant circumstances, I heard. Sorry, gotta run.” He stood up, grabbed his car key, and walked out of the pub.
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