case. Daniels didn’t know why she felt compelled to take him
there. Just a case of two heads most probably. She was finding it hard to imagine anyone starting a fire with so many people partying nearby. Why risk being seen? Unless the risk was greatly
reduced because the perpetrator was local – no one would bat an eyelid then, would they?
They got out of the car. Locking it, she led Naylor to the terrace opposite in order to view the blackened building from across the road. They stood in silence for a while. For her part, she was
trying to imagine the place in darkness with a noisy party going on in the lane behind her. Offences she’d dealt with as part of the Murder Investigation Team and before that in the Serious
Incident Squad floated in and out of her head.
Motive. Opportunity. Means
. She couldn’t decide if the arson was a prank gone tragically wrong or an offence that had been carefully
planned, executed in cold blood with calculated intent to cause death.
‘First impressions?’ she said.
Naylor was thoughtful a moment. ‘What would Jo make of it, I wonder?’
It was a good question, one Daniels didn’t immediately answer.
‘More importantly,’ he added. ‘What advice would she give?’
‘She’d tell me to think like an offender, get inside their head, be their shrink. She’d point out that arsonists can be habitual, remind me there’s often an element of
voyeurism associated with such offences, a thrill-seeking element too, no doubt. Hard to imagine, I know, with a baby in the house.’
She fell silent, trying to stem images of Jamie Reid’s body on a cold slab in the examination room of the morgue. Closing her eyes, she brought to mind the picture of the child on the
murder wall: a happy snap of a little boy with dimpled cheeks and a mass of dark, curly hair. That made her more depressed but all the more determined to catch his killer. She looked past Naylor,
her eyes locking on to something on the wall over his right shoulder. He turned to see what had caught her interest, homing in on a blackened mark where a cigarette had been stubbed out. Its
residue was still embedded in the brickwork. Beneath it, a single cigarette butt lay on a concrete flagstone.
It hit them simultaneously.
Had someone been watching the place burn?
31
I dentifying his grandfather’s body at the city morgue hit Elliot Milburn hard. It was a task no grandson should ever be asked to perform, one he’d been dreading all
day. His mother was too upset and his father was working away, too busy and too selfish to do this one last thing for his own flesh and blood. It was common knowledge that the two men hadn’t
got along and Elliot wasn’t entirely sure why.
Neither one would talk about it.
The morgue assistant was a compassionate woman, softly spoken, with caring eyes. She’d insisted on keeping Elliot company while he waited to view the body, supporting him and yet still
managing, somehow, to allow him the silence he craved. He was staring at the green door opposite, willing it not to open. Inevitably, after a while, it had. Elliot froze. Without saying a word, the
assistant gently touched his elbow, eased him to his feet and into the viewing room to go through the motions of identification.
It was sad moment; the worst of Elliot’s life so far. He found it incredibly hard to be there in that room. His grandfather meant everything to him. He idolized the man. Who would give
Elliot guidance now this wise old man was gone? Even though he’d had a good long life, they had so much more to do together. This was to be their very last meeting and yet Elliot
couldn’t bring himself to look at him.
But then he realized he had to.
It was the sole reason he was there.
Raising his eyes from the floor, they came to rest on the old man’s weather-beaten face. He looked so peaceful, like he did on a sunny Sunday afternoon in his garden at the allotment where
they’d go after lunch, where he’d fall
there. Just a case of two heads most probably. She was finding it hard to imagine anyone starting a fire with so many people partying nearby. Why risk being seen? Unless the risk was greatly
reduced because the perpetrator was local – no one would bat an eyelid then, would they?
They got out of the car. Locking it, she led Naylor to the terrace opposite in order to view the blackened building from across the road. They stood in silence for a while. For her part, she was
trying to imagine the place in darkness with a noisy party going on in the lane behind her. Offences she’d dealt with as part of the Murder Investigation Team and before that in the Serious
Incident Squad floated in and out of her head.
Motive. Opportunity. Means
. She couldn’t decide if the arson was a prank gone tragically wrong or an offence that had been carefully
planned, executed in cold blood with calculated intent to cause death.
‘First impressions?’ she said.
Naylor was thoughtful a moment. ‘What would Jo make of it, I wonder?’
It was a good question, one Daniels didn’t immediately answer.
‘More importantly,’ he added. ‘What advice would she give?’
‘She’d tell me to think like an offender, get inside their head, be their shrink. She’d point out that arsonists can be habitual, remind me there’s often an element of
voyeurism associated with such offences, a thrill-seeking element too, no doubt. Hard to imagine, I know, with a baby in the house.’
She fell silent, trying to stem images of Jamie Reid’s body on a cold slab in the examination room of the morgue. Closing her eyes, she brought to mind the picture of the child on the
murder wall: a happy snap of a little boy with dimpled cheeks and a mass of dark, curly hair. That made her more depressed but all the more determined to catch his killer. She looked past Naylor,
her eyes locking on to something on the wall over his right shoulder. He turned to see what had caught her interest, homing in on a blackened mark where a cigarette had been stubbed out. Its
residue was still embedded in the brickwork. Beneath it, a single cigarette butt lay on a concrete flagstone.
It hit them simultaneously.
Had someone been watching the place burn?
31
I dentifying his grandfather’s body at the city morgue hit Elliot Milburn hard. It was a task no grandson should ever be asked to perform, one he’d been dreading all
day. His mother was too upset and his father was working away, too busy and too selfish to do this one last thing for his own flesh and blood. It was common knowledge that the two men hadn’t
got along and Elliot wasn’t entirely sure why.
Neither one would talk about it.
The morgue assistant was a compassionate woman, softly spoken, with caring eyes. She’d insisted on keeping Elliot company while he waited to view the body, supporting him and yet still
managing, somehow, to allow him the silence he craved. He was staring at the green door opposite, willing it not to open. Inevitably, after a while, it had. Elliot froze. Without saying a word, the
assistant gently touched his elbow, eased him to his feet and into the viewing room to go through the motions of identification.
It was sad moment; the worst of Elliot’s life so far. He found it incredibly hard to be there in that room. His grandfather meant everything to him. He idolized the man. Who would give
Elliot guidance now this wise old man was gone? Even though he’d had a good long life, they had so much more to do together. This was to be their very last meeting and yet Elliot
couldn’t bring himself to look at him.
But then he realized he had to.
It was the sole reason he was there.
Raising his eyes from the floor, they came to rest on the old man’s weather-beaten face. He looked so peaceful, like he did on a sunny Sunday afternoon in his garden at the allotment where
they’d go after lunch, where he’d fall
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