“It’s certainly possible and in the absence of any hard evidence guiding us toward the perpetrators’ motives, we’re going to have to focus our initial attentionon the victims,” Helen responded. “Why would someone want to attack them? What connects the three attacks? It’s not geographical, so there must be another reason why they were chosen. Look at the victims themselves, their spouses, family members, colleagues, lovers. Look at their business affairs, bank accounts, their successes, their failures. McAndrew, I’d like you to coordinate this, paying special attention to the Simms family—they could well be the principal targets of last night’s fires.”
Helen paused a second, before concluding:
“Leave no stone unturned. There is a reason why these three sites were targeted. And it’s our job to find it.”
15
The Simmses’ ruined house was even more sinister in the daylight. It looked hollow—like a skull picked clean of eyeballs, skin and flesh. Deborah Parks, Hampshire Fire and Rescue’s most experienced fire investigation officer, was already hard at work when Helen arrived. Helen had crossed paths with Deborah before and knew her to be a determined and incisive investigator. Helen was hoping she would be able to give them something—anything—to work with in a case that was extremely light on leads.
Deborah was an attractive and intelligent brunette, but encased in her sterile suit, goggles and mask, she looked like a robot, painstakingly picking over the wreckage, minutely sifting the ash for evidence. Pulling on her suit, Helen quickly joined her and they walked the fire site together, starting their journey at the back door of the house.
“I’d agree that our intruder entered by the back door,” Deborah began in her typically brisk and efficient way. “The damage to theglass was made by an implement or a fist, not by the fire. Has Meredith found anything useful on the exterior of the door?”
“Nothing yet. We were hoping for a print or something, but...”
“I’m nearly done now, so I’m happy for her to try her luck inside. It’s perfectly safe now that the struts are up.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“I would suggest,” Deborah continued, “that our arsonist then made his or her way toward the stairs.”
They had reached the ruined stairwell and Deborah now gestured toward what had once been a small under-stairs cupboard. Helen bent down and was immediately assaulted by a strong scent of paraffin.
“The fire started here, directly beneath the main stairwell. There’s no trace of paraffin anywhere else in the house and look there...”
Helen followed the line of Deborah’s index finger to see a small, black, crumpled box lying amid the ash on the floor.
“It’s a carbonized cigarette packet. It was used to ignite the fire, which then spread upward—as fire always does—meaning that though the cigarette packet was burned in the fire, it wasn’t destroyed.”
“Why would you use a packet of cigarettes to start a fire? Why not a match or a lighter?” Helen responded.
“Look closer.”
As Helen did so, Deborah continued:
“The cigarette packet has something wrapped around it, something that melted in the heat and is now fused to it permanently. My guess is that it was a rubber band. It’s a common arsonist’s trick. You lay down your accelerant. Then you take a cigarette out and attach it to the packet with a rubber band, not forgetting to stick a few matches under the band for good measure. You lay the box on the accelerant, then light the cigarette. The cigarette burns down until it hits the matches, sparking a fire flare—”
“Which sets the accelerant alight.”
“Exactly.”
“And how long would the cigarette take to burn down to the matches?”
“Ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Leaving our arsonist plenty of time to get awaybeforethe fire ignites.”
Deborah Parks nodded. Helen digested this development—struck by the care and intelligence of the perpetrator—as the FIO continued:
“There were old cardboard boxes, a couple of brooms, other detritus in the cupboard—plenty of fuel to help the fire grow. If the cupboard door was closed, the temperature would have risen quickly. Hot gases would have built up above the flames, and when the temperature in the cupboard reached a certain level, the gases themselves would have ignited, causing a flashover. And, of course, the stairs above are made of wood that’s over a hundred and fifty years old—”
“So it would have gone up like a candle. And the fact that the stairs would be ablaze before anyone was the wiser means there would be little chance of escape.”
This crime became more unpleasant the more Helen learned about it. This was a calculated attempt to kill the Simms family.
“Any room for doubt?” Helen asked, more in hope than expectation.
“No. There are no electrics under the stairs and there’s clear evidence of paraffin having been poured on the floor. This wasn’t an accident or vandalism—it was murder.”
