indifference, even a couple of toddlers. It wasn’t Towering Inferno but it was live action.
Please God. Let it be live action.
Smoke stung her eyes, caught in her throat as she assessed the situation. The blaze looked under control; crews trained hoses at what appeared to be the seat of the fire, the front sitting room. Damping down was in operation elsewhere. Anything not
destroyed by flames or smoke was under four inches of water. Bev grimaced; the Becks hadn’t had much to begin with.
She glanced round, recognised a few of the firefighters from previous incidents. It was the main man she needed. A uniformed cop pointed her in the right direction. As she approached the house, though there were no flames, a huge pall of smoke hung in
the air. More drifted or billowed from blackened blistered window frames.
Bev picked her way through pools of filthy water and charred debris. Household items chucked out during the search of the property lay soaked and smoke-damaged. Heartbreaking. Nothing compared with the junked toys and baby clothes.
Then she saw the side wall. Daubed in red paint, letters a foot high, was a chilling message.
BURN IN HELL BABY KILLERS
Her fists were tight balls. The threat laid to rest any doubt about the fire’s origins. But questions clamoured for answers. She searched for a familiar face in the crowd. John Preston, the chief fire officer, was easy to spot – a six-foot
Geordie with a voice like an amplified foghorn.
“What’s the score, John?” Apart from Becks nil.
“One occupant out by the time we arrived. Crews in breathing apparatus brought out two more. Both women. The paramedics are working on them.”
Ambulances were parked across the street. She’d check it out soon as.
“I was told four occupants,” Bev said.
He nodded, grim-faced. “We think there’s still someone inside.”
It wasn’t Mandy Forsyth. The family liaison officer was heading over, a blanket across her shoulders. Bev grabbed the woman’s hands. “Mandy. Thank God. How are you?”
“I got out before the smoke got too bad. I’ll be OK. “ She shivered. “Best start paying me danger money.”
“You up to telling me what happened?”
She nodded, but drew the blanket tightly round her chest, shaking, clearly in shock. Bev grabbed the nearest uniform, told him to take Mandy to a squad car. “I’ll be with you in five minutes, Mandy, OK?”
She turned to the CFO. “So...if there is anyone in there.” She nodded at what was left of number thirteen. “What are the chances?”
He shook his head. “Smoke, sergeant. It’s a killer.”
She closed her eyes. Terry Roper. It had to be. He’d moved in with the Becks to do his knight-in-shining-armour routine. What was that going to do to Maxine?
“We’ll know soon enough.” Preston tipped his head towards the house. Another breathing apparatus crew was preparing to enter.
“Any idea how it started?” The writing on the wall couldn’t make it clearer but Preston was the expert.
“Place was torched, petrol bomb most likely. You can still smell it.”
Bev bowed to the fire officer’s refined olfactory powers. The only thing she could smell was smoke coming off her clothes, hair, skin, everywhere. Yet she craved a ciggy. How did that work?
“Should have something more solid after the fire investigation team’s been in.” Preston took off his helmet, wiped the back of his hand across a soot-streaked forehead. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”
Looked pretty shit to her. She raised an eyebrow.
“A couple of minutes later and we’d be looking for more than one body.”
He promised to give her a shout as soon as he heard anything, then rejoined his men. Bev scanned the street as she hit fast-dial on her mobile. No hacks or video vultures in sight. Amazing that the media hadn’t heard a whisper. The guv answered
after five rings. It took a couple of minutes to bring him up to speed. Byford was happy for Bev to continue calling the
Please God. Let it be live action.
Smoke stung her eyes, caught in her throat as she assessed the situation. The blaze looked under control; crews trained hoses at what appeared to be the seat of the fire, the front sitting room. Damping down was in operation elsewhere. Anything not
destroyed by flames or smoke was under four inches of water. Bev grimaced; the Becks hadn’t had much to begin with.
She glanced round, recognised a few of the firefighters from previous incidents. It was the main man she needed. A uniformed cop pointed her in the right direction. As she approached the house, though there were no flames, a huge pall of smoke hung in
the air. More drifted or billowed from blackened blistered window frames.
Bev picked her way through pools of filthy water and charred debris. Household items chucked out during the search of the property lay soaked and smoke-damaged. Heartbreaking. Nothing compared with the junked toys and baby clothes.
Then she saw the side wall. Daubed in red paint, letters a foot high, was a chilling message.
BURN IN HELL BABY KILLERS
Her fists were tight balls. The threat laid to rest any doubt about the fire’s origins. But questions clamoured for answers. She searched for a familiar face in the crowd. John Preston, the chief fire officer, was easy to spot – a six-foot
Geordie with a voice like an amplified foghorn.
“What’s the score, John?” Apart from Becks nil.
“One occupant out by the time we arrived. Crews in breathing apparatus brought out two more. Both women. The paramedics are working on them.”
Ambulances were parked across the street. She’d check it out soon as.
“I was told four occupants,” Bev said.
He nodded, grim-faced. “We think there’s still someone inside.”
It wasn’t Mandy Forsyth. The family liaison officer was heading over, a blanket across her shoulders. Bev grabbed the woman’s hands. “Mandy. Thank God. How are you?”
“I got out before the smoke got too bad. I’ll be OK. “ She shivered. “Best start paying me danger money.”
“You up to telling me what happened?”
She nodded, but drew the blanket tightly round her chest, shaking, clearly in shock. Bev grabbed the nearest uniform, told him to take Mandy to a squad car. “I’ll be with you in five minutes, Mandy, OK?”
She turned to the CFO. “So...if there is anyone in there.” She nodded at what was left of number thirteen. “What are the chances?”
He shook his head. “Smoke, sergeant. It’s a killer.”
She closed her eyes. Terry Roper. It had to be. He’d moved in with the Becks to do his knight-in-shining-armour routine. What was that going to do to Maxine?
“We’ll know soon enough.” Preston tipped his head towards the house. Another breathing apparatus crew was preparing to enter.
“Any idea how it started?” The writing on the wall couldn’t make it clearer but Preston was the expert.
“Place was torched, petrol bomb most likely. You can still smell it.”
Bev bowed to the fire officer’s refined olfactory powers. The only thing she could smell was smoke coming off her clothes, hair, skin, everywhere. Yet she craved a ciggy. How did that work?
“Should have something more solid after the fire investigation team’s been in.” Preston took off his helmet, wiped the back of his hand across a soot-streaked forehead. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”
Looked pretty shit to her. She raised an eyebrow.
“A couple of minutes later and we’d be looking for more than one body.”
He promised to give her a shout as soon as he heard anything, then rejoined his men. Bev scanned the street as she hit fast-dial on her mobile. No hacks or video vultures in sight. Amazing that the media hadn’t heard a whisper. The guv answered
after five rings. It took a couple of minutes to bring him up to speed. Byford was happy for Bev to continue calling the
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