The Burning (7 page)

‘What about the other girl?’ Jenny asked.

‘A single shot through the chest from the front,’ Andy said. ‘Close range.’

‘Any other significant injuries on either girl?’

‘None that I can see, but that’s not proof of very much, given how little I’ve got to work with.’

Andy glanced past her to the door. Jenny turned to see DI Ryan entering. He was dressed casually in well-cut jeans and a brushed suede jacket over a plaid shirt and sweater. Expensive, designer
clothes that told Jenny that Ryan was either gay (though he seemed a little deadpan for that) or liked to have women competing for his attention.

Ryan addressed Andy, handing him a buff envelope. ‘Dr Kerr. I chased down those dental records.’ Then he acknowledged Jenny, ‘Hello again, Mrs Cooper.’ He smiled, but
made no offer of a handshake.

‘Inspector.’

‘I’ve got a file in the car for you. I can’t pretend it’ll leave you much the wiser.’

‘Dr Kerr has just pointed out that Morgan had a broken arm.’

‘Really.’ Ryan gave an entirely neutral reaction.

‘It’s possible he and Layla struggled. She was shot in the back, possibly fleeing upstairs.’

‘That would make sense—’

‘Interesting.’ The comment came from Andy Kerr, who was examining the dental records. He went back to the autopsy table and shone his flashlight into the skeleton’s mouth
cavity. ‘There’s no doubt this is Morgan, but the right canine incisor is missing.’

‘Has he lost it recently?’ Jenny asked.

‘Hard to say. His last check-up was eighteen months ago. Hold on.’ Andy went to the cupboard under the bench and came back with a hand-held ultraviolet lamp. He ran the narrow beam
of light carefully over the teeth. ‘What I can tell you is that we have some hairline cracks in the teeth either side of the missing incisor. I’d say he lost it traumatically, rather
than through disease.’

‘Kelly should be able to help you with that,’ Ryan said to Jenny. ‘I’ve left her details in the file. When were you planning to see her?’

‘I thought tomorrow,’ Jenny said.

Ryan looked at her, studying her face as if he were able to read her thoughts. ‘You don’t have to worry, Mrs Cooper. She’ll be fine with you. I made sure not to build up her
expectations.’

‘Thanks,’ Jenny said with a pronounced note of sarcasm.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Tomorrow will be fine. I’d like to be prepared.’

‘You’ll have my reports on these three later this afternoon,’ Andy said, drawing their meeting to a close. ‘Is that all for now?’

Jenny nodded. ‘For now.’

She followed DI Ryan out, noticing him cast a subtle glance over at Dr Hope and catch her eye as he passed the foot of her table. She looked away quickly as if he had caught her out. Jenny
believed that he had made her blush.

‘What’s your theory, Mrs Cooper?’ Ryan asked, as they stepped around the gurneys cluttering the corridor.

‘I don’t have one,’ Jenny answered honestly.

‘I’ve been doing some reading up on family annihilators,’ Ryan said. ‘Ed Morgan was textbook. Quiet guy in a low-status job who drew his self-esteem from the respect of
his family. I expect if you look far enough into his childhood you’ll find something that set the syndrome in motion – abuse, violence, some catastrophic blow to his
self-confidence.’

‘Has he got any extended family?’

‘I think there may be a cousin or two dotted about.’

‘Any suggestion of violence in his recent past?’

‘Not that I can find. But that’s consistent with annihilators, too. They tend to erupt all at once and out of the blue.’

‘He was questioned in connection with Susie Ashton’s disappearance.’

‘Like I told you, that was before my time.’

‘You haven’t gone back to the file?’

‘Make even more work for myself? I don’t think so.’

Jenny went ahead of him into the vestibule and paused there. ‘You’re not curious to know if it really was Morgan who did it?’

‘I was hoping you might cast some light on that.’

‘Whether it’s me or you, your boss still faces the same embarrassment.’

‘All Sam Abbott wants is for his name to stay out of the papers. If he finds the right doctor, he might even get himself retired early on health grounds and manage to hold on to his
pension. Not exactly noble, but maybe in his shoes I’d do the same.’

Jenny met Ryan’s gaze and couldn’t decide whether she trusted him or not. He was bright and more than polished enough to take on any number of high-flying careers, but here he was in
the South Gloucestershire CID and wearing a £1,000 outfit to visit the morgue. She wondered whether he had pride to match his vanity and couldn’t function unless he was confident that
he was the sharpest in the office.

‘Or maybe you wouldn’t, Mrs Cooper?’ Ryan said with the subtly knowing look that was becoming familiar to her. ‘I’ve heard you don’t always go by the usual
route.’

‘I go whatever way I have to,’ Jenny said. ‘Now where’s that file?’

Jenny sat behind the wheel of the stationary Land Rover sifting through the bundle of documents DI Ryan had handed her with the growing suspicion that Superintendent Abbott had
something to hide. Besides statements from police officers and neighbours who witnessed the fire, the file contained a fire-investigation report, photographs of the destroyed house and a full
forensics report from a private laboratory that had tested debris from the heart of the building. It identified the accelerant as diesel, and not only that, diesel refined and sold by BP. An
accompanying map detailed the handful of BP filling stations within a twenty-mile radius. It all amounted to a comprehensive piece of police work that in any normal investigation would have taken a
week, or more likely a month, to complete. This had been assembled more or less overnight, in the dog days of December. She had never known detectives move as quickly.

Leaving the file stowed under the driver’s seat, Jenny made her way into the main hospital building and attempted to track down Darren Brooks. She eventually located him in a side ward
next to the intensive-care unit on the third floor. His room was at the end of an empty corridor with no staff in sight. Jenny glanced through the observation pane and saw that he was alone. His
upper body was propped up on pillows and most of his torso and forehead were bound with pressure bandages. Three IV bags hung from a stand at the bedside delivering fluid and drugs. She suspected
he would be on maximum doses of drugs: the pain from burns was reputedly worse than any other kind. There was still no nurse to consult, so Jenny decided to take a chance and went inside.

Brooks, a man in his late thirties – though it was hard to tell beneath the bandages – looked up at her through heavily lidded, bloodshot eyes.

Jenny introduced herself and explained that she was investigating the deaths at Blackstone Ley. Then she asked if he was able to talk.

‘What about?’ He answered in a hoarse and fractured whisper, with a broad Gloucestershire accent.

Jenny had second thoughts. ‘If you’re in too much pain, this can wait.’

‘I can’t feel a thing,’ he said, his eyes rolling upwards and exposing the whites.

Jenny brought out her phone and searched for the email Ryan had sent her. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve been told that the police think Ed Morgan started the fire at his home
deliberately—’

‘My wife told me.’

Jenny held the screen up in front of his face, showing the goodbye message Ed Morgan had left for Kelly. ‘Can you read that, or shall I?’

‘I can manage.’

Brooks stared at it for a moment, then looked away. After a long stretch of silence, he said, ‘You’d see her, the way she dressed, and she’d look like she might. But she never
did, not to my knowledge. Not since she’s been with Ed.’

‘I was told you were close with her once.’

‘Long time ago.’ His gaze turned inwards. ‘How is she?’

‘Unhurt. She was at work. Her son’s missing and her two daughters died in the fire.’ Jenny stopped herself from adding extra detail. Brooks was going to be in enough pain
without her adding to it.

‘Kelly’s a good girl,’ he said slowly. ‘Makes the women jealous and turns every man’s head, but she’s worked hard for her kids. Cleaning, bar work, not above
none of it. You’ve got to respect that.’

‘Did Ed?’

‘I’m sure he did. We didn’t talk much.’

‘Did he strike you as the jealous kind?’

‘Not ‘specially. Always been a quiet bloke.’

Brooks seemed to slump, the effort of talking sapping his energy. Jenny decided she could afford one more question. It had to be a good one.

‘You don’t have to answer this, Mr Brooks, but did you ever suspect Ed of murdering Susie Ashton?’

He thought for a moment. ‘No. Kelly would’ve known. She’s one of those women, like – you’d tell her everything.’

Jenny couldn’t stop herself from following up: ‘Why do you say that?’

Brooks turned his eyes towards her. ‘It’s like this,’ he said, his voice fading so Jenny could barely hear. ‘Once in a man’s lifetime he’ll fall for a woman
who is not of this earth. That was Kelly.’

‘D
O YOU KNOW WHAT HE MEANS
?’

‘Kind of.’

Jenny was warming her legs in front of the log fire, feeling guilty that Michael had not only cooked but was now insisting on carrying their plates through to the kitchen.

‘Is that it?’

‘What do you want to me say?’

‘It’s obviously a male thing – “not of this earth”.’

‘You think?’

‘I’ve not heard of women turning men into imaginary angels. It’s certainly never been a fantasy of mine.’

‘I suppose somewhere in their minds, most guys, well – ’ he paused to correct himself, ‘immature guys, have this image of a woman being pure. And if she’s pure,
then she’s no longer quite human, is she?’

‘How do you define “pure”? I mean, what are the criteria?’

‘Aren’t we going to watch a film now?’

‘In a minute. Stop changing the subject.’

Michael came back into the room and tipped the last of the wine into their glasses that were standing empty on the mantelpiece. ‘I can’t speak for him. How do I know what he
thinks?’

‘Tell me what a pure woman is. Come on – you must have discussed this kind of stuff in the Air Force.’

Michael gave her a look, and decided to humour her. ‘I think maybe we’re talking about two different things. There’s the one who’s sweet, innocent, maternal and only has
sexual feelings for you—’

‘Or pretends she has.’

‘You’re a woman – you see through it.’

‘I’m not sure Kelly Hart fits that category. She’s got history. What about the other kind?’

‘Well, I suppose she takes you somewhere else altogether. And she can have as much history as she likes. In fact, the more the better.’

‘And still be pure? Really?’

Michael looked at her warily, as if nervous of where she was pushing him.

‘Go on,’ Jenny prompted. ‘No need to be embarrassed.’

‘I suppose what she’s about, or seems to be, at least, is
pure
sex. Which means she’s buying into it as absolutely and completely as the guy.’

‘You think most women don’t buy into sex?’

‘We’re keeping this in the abstract, OK – I don’t want you taking this personally.’

‘I won’t,’ Jenny insisted, but she was already comparing herself with the mythical female Michael was conjuring.

‘I’m not saying most women are lacking something, I’m just saying that some women seem to possess a sort of black magic.’

‘You mean the femme fatale?’

Michael stared thoughtfully into his glass and then slowly shook his head. ‘No. It may not be that obvious.’

‘This is interesting.’ Jenny couldn’t help wondering whom he was picturing – she felt sure he was thinking of someone from his past, and felt a childish twinge of
jealousy. ‘Go on. Describe her – theoretically, of course.’

‘Quiet. Self-contained. Drops unspoken hints but makes you come to her. Knows when to look right into your eyes – and beyond them – then how to kill you by looking away.
She’s not a coquette, she’s somehow more direct than that, like there’s something oddly male about her.’

‘
Male
? Now you really are confusing me.’

‘Maybe that’s not the right word.’ He paused to reconsider. ‘This is going to sound strange, but it’s as if when you’re sleeping with this
woman—’

‘You don’t meaning
sleeping
—’

‘No, but the point is, it’s like she’s a man in a woman’s body – she’s after the same thing as you are. The same hit. And that’s what tips it all over
the line – having sex with her is like heroin, or devil worship. It’s beautiful because somehow it’s unnatural and dangerous.’

‘Dangerous how?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged, becoming embarrassed.

‘It’s your word. It must mean something.’

‘I suppose she’s gives you everything you could dream of between the sheets, but when it’s over, there’s not a shred of nurture in her being.’ He tipped back his
wine and swallowed. ‘And that, of course, is what makes her not of this earth – when it comes down to it, she’s a witch. A demon.’

‘Meaning she’s not pure after all,’ Jenny said.

‘She’s pure lust. And that’s not a good thing.’

‘But it’s a drug.’

‘For a while, until you realize what’s missing. This woman is not going to be the mother of your children.’

‘What if she’s a mother already?’

‘There my powers of speculation end.’

‘You’ve never thought of me that way?’

‘Oh yeah, all the time. What do
you
think?’ He went in search of the TV remote.

‘You’ve worried me, Michael.’

He flopped onto the sofa. ‘You have compassion in your soul, Jenny. And that’s what I love about you.’

She was touched. ‘You mean that?’

‘You think I’d chop wood and cook lunch for a witch?’

Jenny sat next to him and tucked her arm under his. He hadn’t exactly said
I love you
, but he was getting there.

Jenny drove through the deserted Clifton streets experiencing an unfamiliar sensation of peace. Her drive into work usually involved a steady ratcheting of tension as the tasks
of the day ahead lined up against her in formidable rows. But this dull December morning she felt light and unencumbered. She had a man at home who, through his actions at least, was expressing
something akin to devotion. Michael had volunteered to not only go to the supermarket, but to deal with the peeling paint on the bathroom ceiling and to have dinner ready for her. In the twenty or
so months they had known each other, he had never stayed at Melin Bach more than two nights in a row, and she had only ever spent single nights in his tiny rented house outside Stroud. It was
difficult not to let her imagination run away with what it might portend. Was this the beginning of real commitment? She scolded herself –
Stop it, Jenny!
– but she
couldn’t help it. She was desperate to know.