‘Which leaves Richard Ford,’ Helen replied, more in hope than expectation. But this time, there was genuine hesitation from Deborah. Prior to this, she’d been assertive, confident even, knocking back Helen’s suspicions about her colleagues. But now she seemed troubled.

‘Talk to me, Deborah. What’s he like?’

‘I don’t really know him that well …’ she answered.

‘But what you do know gives you doubts?’ Helen asked. She didn’t want to lead Deborah to any conclusions, but she had something for her here – Helen was sure of it.

‘Yes,’ she eventually said. ‘He’s one of those guys that as a woman you just steer clear of. Something about the way he looks at you. Like you’re some sort of foreign species.’

‘Does he have friends?’

‘Not within the team. He avoids crowds, pubs, that kind of thing. He doesn’t take part in all the usual macho posturing you get from fire guys, he doesn’t really take part in anything at work, except … work.’

‘How long’s he been working for the Fire and Rescue service?’

‘Since leaving school, I think.’

‘Does he have a tattoo – with the Hants Fire crest?’

‘Sure – a lot of the guys do.’

‘Is he a hard worker?’

‘Very. Happy to come in on his days off to help out. I don’t think he has a girlfriend.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘What about family?’

‘He’s never mentioned anyone. He’s a loner. New guys try to engage with him, then give up after a while. That’s the way he wants it, so …’

‘And if he’s so diligent and experienced, why is he still at a relatively junior rank?’

‘Can’t do the exams. He’s great on all the practical stuff, but the theory, the homework … And as for his interview technique …’

‘Has he been passed over for promotion?’

Another moment of hesitation, then:

‘Yes. He failed his fire sergeant’s interview for the third time recently. Which means … that he can’t apply again.’

Helen tried to suppress the excitement growing within her, as she asked the next question.

‘And when was this?’

All Deborah’s confidence – her resistance – seemed to have deserted now as she replied.

‘A month ago.’

Helen marched away from the café, her phone clamped to her ear. As soon as Sanderson answered, she launched in without introduction.

‘We need to check out Richard Ford. Who was doing the initial chat with him?’

There was the briefest intake of breath from Sanderson, before she replied.

‘Charlie. She’s with him right now.’

57

Something was wrong in this house. Charlie had felt it the moment she stepped inside. Everything was in the right place, there were no obvious signs of anything amiss, but the whole place felt unused, like a museum. It looked – and smelt – stale.

Richard Ford had been less than pleased to find Charlie waiting for him on his doorstep. He had been helping out at one of the fire sites, he’d told her, shifting some of the detritus, so the arson team could do their work. He was dirty and sweaty and stank of smoke – clearly he had been looking forward to getting a shower. But instead he found himself answering the gentle questions of a DC, probing him about his work patterns and movements over the last couple of days. Charlie didn’t blame him for being irritated and yet that wasn’t quite it. He seemed to be giving off something else. Suspicion? Anxiety? Something else? Charlie couldn’t put her finger on it.

He’d been carrying a black bin liner, which he made no reference to, stowing it in the hall cupboard, before shepherding Charlie into the old kitchen. He’d put the kettle on for tea, but it laboured to work up a head of steam. It was as if everything was slightly off here – the slow tick-tock of the dusty carriage clock on the mantelpiece giving the dated kitchen the washed-out feel of yesteryear.

‘Do you live alone?’ she asked.

‘Yup. Mum died a few years back. Got a sister, but she didn’t want any of this,’ he replied gesturing to the house. ‘She emigrated to Oz.’

Charlie could hardly blame her. As Ford now made the tea in what looked very much like two dirty cups, Charlie’s eye ran over the Hants Fire and Rescue tattoo that graced his left bicep. The sight set her nerves jangling, but when Ford turned to her, Charlie was all smiles once more.

‘And last night you were home alone?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You didn’t go out at any time? To the shops? Anything?’

‘No. Why?’

‘These are just standard questions. We’ve been asked to verify the movements of everyone on the fire team … So what about Tuesday night? The night of the first fires –’

But Charlie got no further. Her mobile rang out, disturbing the eerie quiet of the house.

‘I’d better take this. Sorry,’ Charlie said as she hurried out into the hall. Ford watched her go, seemingly neither surprised by nor interested in her sudden departure.

‘Charlie Brooks,’ she said cheerily, as she scuttled into the small parlour opposite. It was even more forgotten than the kitchen, and Charlie’s eyes flicked over the dusty surfaces, as Helen filled her in on the latest developments. Charlie responded steadily, giving affirmatives where necessary, keeping calm, but she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck starting to rise. When she rang off, she hesitated for a moment to quieten her breathing. If she played it cool, this would probably work out fine. Helen was on her way, so summoning up her courage, Charlie marched back into the kitchen.

‘Sorry about that. Normal nonsense about being in two places at –’

Then Charlie stopped dead. Richard Ford was nowhere to be seen.

58

Helen shot past the red light without hesitation. It was a risky manoeuvre given the heavy rush hour traffic, but Helen felt she could make it. She knew the sequences of every set of lights in this city and judged she would make it across the junction without getting caught by oncoming vehicles. The pursuing squad cars hung back, despite the flashing lights and sirens that should have cleared the way – they were junior officers with their whole careers ahead of them and were not in the business of taking unnecessary risks.

Helen had only one thing on her mind, however, and that was to get to Charlie as quickly as she could. She was across the junction in a flash and now ratcheted up her speed, pulling away from the city centre and blasting into the open road beyond. More vehicles were attending from Southampton Central, but no one would be as fast as Helen on her bike, which is how she liked it. If Ford was dangerous – as he surely must be – then she wanted to be first in line to get her friend out of trouble and resolve the situation swiftly and decisively.

Charlie seemed to have a knack for these things, Helen thought to herself as she leant into a sharp corner, dropping her speed a notch, before pulling the throttle back hard once more. She was a very diligent and able copper, yet she seemed to have the most amazing nose for trouble. Forever going where angels fear to tread. Helen had every confidence that Charlie could handle herself, but you could never predict how a situation would pan out and everybody’s luck has to run out sometime.

Helen’s knee found the road as she bent in hard to another tight right-hander. The leather that encased her legs protested slightly then sighed as she straightened up. She was driving aggressively but felt completely in control, eating up the miles to Ford’s house in Midanbury. She was only a few minutes away now – minutes away from delivering Charlie and apprehending their man. But minutes could be costly, as Helen knew all too well, and she prayed that she wouldn’t be too late.