Page 4 of Glasshouses

“We’ve managed to get the body out of the bedroom and downstairs. It’s on its way to the morgue and Nate confirmed it’s a female, probably between fifty and sixty. He asked me to pass that on.” He was on his best behaviour, I could tell.

DI Wrigley was not going to be impressed. “No sign of the home owner?” He would be the first priority, tracking him down and seeing what his connection to the victim was.

Paul shook his head. “Not so far, but we haven’t checked the cellars. We’re planning on sending a robot in to assess whether anyone was down there when the fire broke out. I don’t want to risk one of my team in there – I’m not happy with the stability of the structure.”

I looked at the house; the garden was long, big enough for another house to be built here. “It doesn’t look that bad.”

Paul nodded. “Externally, the structure’s presenting as reasonably stable, but internally it’s a different picture. The property’s largely original timber construction, and with a fire load like that, once the accelerant took hold it would’ve caused rapid fire spread and early structural compromise. We believe the seat of the fire was at the rear of the property and that the accelerant trail allowed it to travel vertically and laterally into the cellar voids. Temperatures down there are still significantly elevated.” He glanced back towards the house. “At this stage, we can’t account for occupancy numbers, and we still haven’t located the homeowner.”

“He could’ve been in the cellar.”

“Absolutely.”

I frowned. “Our victim wasn’t in bed, and she was dressed in day clothes. If there’s another vic, they could be in the cellar. Why would you be in the cellar in the middle of the night?”

“Depends on how long they’ve been there.”

I nodded, pulling a face and taking out my phone to call the detective inspector with an update he’d rather not hear.

Chapter Three

There was a curse I couldn’t make out and the sound of liquid being poured, which I figured was coffee from Wrigley’s new cafetiere. I would happily have maimed for a coffee right now.

“So the body isn’t that of Mike Mulligan?”

“Correct.”

“Why couldn’t this have been straightforward?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way, sir.” I watched the CSIs carefully move the body bag into the back of a van, Nate supervising them, not that they needed much supervising.

“Just once. What do you need? I want this wrapping as quick as possible and I’m aware you can’t conjure a conviction from thin air.” He was now tapping his pen on his desk; I could hear the repetitive sound which meant he was stressed.

“Verity would be useful. Maybe Lachy. I’ve got the locals on door to door here, but that’s only for forty-eight hours.” The golden hour was evaporating. “Reporters are out. Cordons are in place, all the usual stuff.” I’d spent the last hour organising the scene, liaising with Jenna and Katie, and trying to avoid Paul who seemed adamant he needed to live in my pocket.

“What’s been done so far to identify the victim?”

I looked up to the sky in the hope it would drop a barrel of patience on me. “Body’s at the morgue. Nate’s starting this afternoon. I’ll attend. Paul’s sending in a robot to look at the cellars in case we have a second – or more – body there. That’s starting in about ten minutes. The body’s not really recognisable and the house is in too much of a state to find anything that would help with identification between the fire and what’s been used to put it out.”

There was another grumble, unintelligible and bad tempered. “So we could be looking at identification through dental records or that malarky. That’ll take ages. What about Mike Mulligan? Any sign of him?”

“No. He doesn’t have a car registered to him and there’s no vehicle registered to this address. Neighbours reported he was isolated, spending a lot of time in his garden, but the house was a concern. He retired in his fifties and has money, by all accounts, but they didn’t know what it was spent on. He’s apparently a club member or it could be a church or religious organisation, no one’s sure.” The houses on the road were spread apart, long driveways and wide gardens so they could go months without bumping into each other.

There was silence from Wrigley.

“If you can let me have Verity and Lachy, that would help. The priority is locating Mike Mulligan and IDing our vic.” I pushed, knowing that Wrigley was set on the epitaph to his police career being that he’d taken down one of the city’s gang lords, and with what had happened last week, there was a good chance he could pull this one off.

“You can have Verity from this afternoon, she’s just interviewing at the moment, and I’ll send Lachy over now.”

“Thank you. Could you send him with a couple of coffees and a sandwich?”

“Now you’re pushing it, McAllister.”

Paul had set up a screen on a makeshift table, one of his colleagues faffing with a wire. He looked up as I headed over, forcing a smile. I knew he was trying to not be pissed off with me and to make an effort simultaneously. I was the reason he’d had to do three days of DEI training, or at least, I thought it was me.

“We can watch the live feed from here. It’ll be slow going but thorough and we can’t risk sending anyone down there without checking first. Get comfy.” Paul gestured to a box that I was meant to sit on. “This is Ste; he’s the tech head for this.”

Ste gave me a grin. He was in his twenties, cute with a smile that probably got him out of trouble on the regular.