Then Thomas saw him. His boy—his beloved son, Luke—lying on the grass in the front garden. Shaded by the mulberry bush, he lay with his head on the lap of another neighbor, who was talking to him earnestly. It would have been a touching sight were it not for the crazy angles of Luke’s legs, bent nastily back on themselves, and the blood that clung to his face and hands.
“The ambulance is on its way. He’s going to be okay.”
Thomas didn’t know whether his neighbor was lying or not, but he wanted to believe her. He didn’t care what injuries his son had sustained as long as helived.
“It’s okay, mate. Dad’s here now,” he said as he knelt down next to his son.
The ground around Luke was covered with leaves and branches from the mulberry bush and in an instant Thomas realized that his son must have jumped. He must have leaped from the house and landed in the bush. It probably broke his fall—might even have saved his life. But why was he jumping at all? Why hadn’t he just run out the front door?
“Where’s Mum? And Alice? Luke, where are they, mate?”
For a moment, Luke said nothing, the agony racking his body seeming to rob him of the ability to speak.
“Has anyone seen them?” Thomas cried out, panic rendering his voice high and harsh. “Where the hell are they?”
He looked back at his son, who seemed to be trying to raise himself, in spite of his injuries.
“What is it, Luke?”
Thomas knelt in closer, his ear brushing his son’s mouth. Luke struggled for breath, then through gritted teeth finally managed to whisper:
“They’re still inside.”
4
Helen Grace flashed her warrant card and slipped under the police cordon, walking quickly toward the heart of the chaos. Three fire engines were parked outside Travell’s Timber Yard, and more than a dozen firefighters were tackling a blaze of monumental proportions. Even from this safe distance, Helen could feel the intense heat—it rolled over her, clinging to her hair, her eyes, her throat, seeming to revel in its power and appetite for destruction.
Travell’s Timber Yard was one of the largest in Southampton, a prosperous family business popular with tradesmen and builders for the length of Hampshire. But little or nothing of this successful venture would survive the night. From humble beginnings, this city center outlet had grown year on year, culminating in the construction of a huge warehouse where timber of every variety, shape and size could be found. Helen watched now as this cavernous building raged in flame, its metalskeleton shrieking in the heat as the windows shattered and fire rained down like confetti from the disintegrating roof.
“Who the hell are you? You can’t be here.”
Helen turned to see a firefighter from the Hampshire Fire and Rescue Service approaching her. His face was caked in dirt and sweat.
“Detective Inspector Helen Grace, Major Incident Team, and actually I have every right—”
“I don’t care if you’re Sherlock Holmes. That roof is going to go any second and I don’t want anyone standing nearby when it does.”
Helen cast an eye over the roof in question. It was buckling now as the fire ripped through it, seeking new fuel and fresh oxygen. Instinctively she took a step back.
“Keep going. There’s nothing for you here.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“Sergeant Carter, but he’s a bit busy at the moment.”
“Who’s the fire investigation officer on duty?”
“No idea.”
He walked back toward the fire engines—two of which were now movingawayfrom the scene.
“You’re leaving?” Helen asked, incredulous.
“Nothing we can do here, except contain it. So we’re being sent elsewhere.”
“What are we looking at? Any chance it could have been accidental? An electricity short? Discarded cigarette?”
The exhausted firefighter cast a withering look in her direction. “Three major fires on the same night. All starting within an hour of each other. This wasn’t an accident.” He fixed her with a fierce stare. “Someone’s been having a bit of fun.”
