Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

This wasn’t the pure white of floodlights, though. It was a sickly yellow light that flickered against the black skyline. I glanced at it again, feeling a growing unease. The police wouldn’t leave a crime scene untended. Not until it had been fully searched, and I couldn’t see how they could have explored those thickets of undergrowth in the gardens already. And then the glow suddenly leapt higher, and any doubt as to what it was vanished.

Something was on fire.

I wasn’t sure I could find my way to Edgar’s house in the dark. Rachel had driven us there the night before, and I’d been too preoccupied with the disturbed man in the back seat to pay attention to where we were going. But there weren’t many roads to take, and the blaze was an effective beacon anyway. The flames were clearly visible against the night sky, lighting up nearby trees with erratic shadows. Then I turned on to the bumpy dirt track leading to Edgar’s and the fire lay dead ahead.

The house was engulfed. Sparks spewed up from it, and plumes of dirty smoke rose into the night sky. One of the nearby trees had caught fire as well, and the crackle of flames spreading through its branches sounded like snapping bone. A length of police crime scene tape, still secured at one end, flapped madly in the updraught. A police caravan was parked at the end of the track, and just behind it was a pick-up truck. In the feverish light from the fire I could make out the words Coker’s Marine and Auto on its side.

Beyond that, silhouetted against the flames, were struggling figures.

The heat beat against me as I jumped out of the car and ran towards them. I squeezed past the truck, able to make out the bulky figure of Coker wrestling with a police offer. It was a female PC, struggling to hold the thrashing salvage yard owner in an arm lock. A male officer was on his hands and knees nearby, hat lying on the floor as he shook his head groggily. As I ran up Coker threw off the policewoman, his face shiny from snot and tears in the firelight. As he raised an arm to hit her I grabbed hold of him.

‘OK, enough!’

He wrenched free and swung a fist at my head. He was off balance but it still caught me a glancing blow on the cheekbone. I clutched at his arm, trying to pull him away from the policewoman, and something barged into me from behind.

I landed in the dirt, convinced Coker had hit me again, but it was the male PC. He drove his shoulder into Coker’s middle, wrapping his arms around him in a rugby tackle. By now the woman had recovered. As Coker clubbed at her partner she caught hold of an arm again, twisting it behind him.

‘Fucking get off !’ he roared as the two of them wrestled him to the ground. He landed with a heavy thump, but still struggled. I clambered to my feet but before I could go to help the female officer shot me a warning look.

‘Stay where you are!’ she yelled, struggling for something at her belt. She gave Coker’s arm another wrench as the policeman wrapped his arms around the flailing legs. ‘Stay down! Lie still or I’ll spray you!’

Coker swore and fought them, almost kicking free. Grim-faced, the woman sprayed a short burst from a gas cylinder into his face. There was an agonized bellow and the big man thrashed around even more.

And then, abruptly, all the fight went out of him. He sagged back, putting up no more resistance as the two officers dragged his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. He was keening now, and with a shock I realized he was crying.

‘He killed her. He killed my Stacey!’

The broad shoulders were shaking with the force of his sobs. The police officers stepped away, panting. Off to one side I noticed a large plastic petrol container, lying on its side with its lid trailing in the mud.

‘You OK, Trevor?’ the woman asked her partner.

‘Yeah. Caught me a good one, though.’

He looked barely out of his teens. I could see now they were police community support officers, not PCs. All the way out here, with the house already searched, it must have seemed there wasn’t much risk of anyone trying to disturb it.

The firelight gleamed on the blood covering the young PCSO’s lower face. I took a tissue from my pocket and held it out to him.

‘It’s OK, it’s clean,’ I said. It earned a suspicious glare.

‘Who are you?’

They visibly relaxed as I explained. By the time I’d finished Coker’s sobs had subsided but he was still crying. He seemed spent, barely aware of us any more.

‘Poor bastard,’ the male PCSO said, when I told them about his daughter.

‘Yeah, poor him,’ the woman said, massaging her shoulder as she gave the prone man an unfriendly look.

A loud rushing noise made all three of us jump round as the roof of Edgar’s house collapsed. Gouts of flame shot into the air, streaming sparks as a blast of hot air swept over us. I hoped all the animals had been taken away before Coker set the blaze.

‘Shit,’ the policewoman said. ‘They’re going to have a fit.’

While she went back to the caravan to call in, I walked back down the track to my car. I’d left the lights on and the door open when I’d jumped out. As I passed Coker’s pick-up truck I glanced in the back. In the light from the flames I could see a small portable generator surrounded by coils of greasy rope and lengths of chain. Various power tools were half covered by an oily tarpaulin.

One of them was a heavy-duty angle grinder.

Lundy prodded with his foot at a piece of charred timber that lay in the sodden grass. The remains of Edgar’s house were blackened and roofless against a grey sky. Except for the walls not much of the structure remained. Most of the top floor had gone, leaving only a windowless brick shell.

The air was thick with the stink of wet soot and burnt wood. A tall sycamore close to the house was charred and scorched, half its branches reduced to charcoal. Heat still radiated from the house, and the ground in front of it was littered with scorched debris. Lundy looked at it and sighed.

‘I hate fires. Between the fire brigade and the blaze there’s bugger all left afterwards.’

At least no one had been inside this one. ‘Was there much left to search?’

‘Not in the house. We’d pretty much done with that, so we were waiting for more equipment to start clearing the garden. But it’d be nice to have it left in one piece.’

Coker had made a thorough job of destroying Edgar’s home. The petrol had ensured there was little left for the fire teams to save once they arrived. They’d tried anyway, two engines blocking the lane at the end of the track while their hoses poured water on to the flames. Then they’d set about raking the smouldering remnants of furniture and cages outside so the fire couldn’t start up again.

Lundy hadn’t been out to Edgar’s the night before. I’d decided against calling him. Even if there’d been a phone signal anywhere near the burning house, there was no point disturbing him at home when he’d learn about the fire soon enough anyway. He’d want to hear about the photograph of Mark Chapel, but that wasn’t so urgent it couldn’t wait till morning. And that would give Rachel an opportunity to tell him about the sea fort. It would be better coming from her than me.

After giving the police my statement, I’d left the firefighters still bringing the blaze under control and driven back to the boathouse. I’d slept badly, but by the time I got up one thing at least was clear in my mind.

I knew I couldn’t go back to London without talking to Rachel again.

I’d rehearsed what I was going to say, and felt my frustration mount when her phone went straight to voicemail. I’d started to leave the usual bland message and then stopped.