Eleven Days Read Online Free Page B

scene, they might have been here when this started. They won’t be here long. Once the fire’s out, the entertainment’s over, and they’ll go back to their homes and we’ll never know what they saw.’ He stopped to wipe away more sweat popping on his forehead. ‘Look for the usual, anyone who suddenly decides it’s a good time to leave when you approach, anyone staring too hard . . . and pay close attention to people’s hands when you’re interviewing them.’
    ‘Their hands?’ a petite female constable asked. She didn’t look old enough to get served in a bar.
    Carrigan nodded. ‘Look for anyone with soot or dust on their hands, but what I really want you to do is smell them.’
    ‘Smell them?’ This time it was all three uniforms who stared up at Carrigan as if a madman had taken over the case.
    ‘Yes. The crowd are too far away to pick up the smell. Here . . .’ He raised his arm and pulled on his sleeve. The cloth released its vapour and he watched with satisfaction as the uniforms wrinkled their noses. ‘That’s what you smell like if you’ve got too close to the fire. But, more importantly, look out for anyone who stinks of petrol.’ He watched as the young female constable took notes. ‘Do you have a video camera in the patrol car?’ he asked her.
    ‘We do.’
    ‘Good. Go get it. I want you to circle the crowd and film them. Do it several times so you get everyone.’
    ‘Film them?’ She stopped writing and looked up from her notebook.
    ‘People who start fires like to watch them burn,’ he replied, remembering a course he’d attended on this very thing, several years back. ‘They love to see their handiwork, it’s what gets them off. Chances are whoever set the fire is standing in the crowd right now, watching it.’
    ‘How do we know it’s not accidental?’ she asked.
    ‘We don’t, but if it’s not then this is our only chance at this.’
    The sound of crashing drums and squealing guitars burst through the night. Carrigan and Geneva looked up and saw a group of people standing on a balcony diagonally across from the burning house. They were passing around a bottle of champagne, smoking cigars and watching the fire with rapt expressions. ‘Christ,’ Carrigan muttered. ‘Someone tell these jokers this isn’t some bloody Christmas party.’
    The uniforms nodded and avoided Carrigan’s eyes. They chatted among themselves for a moment then spread out to tackle the crowd.
    ‘You okay?’
    He hadn’t even realised she was still standing beside him. ‘I can imagine better ways to spend my day off. Do you have any idea why Branch called us in?’
    But Geneva wasn’t paying attention. He saw her look past him, squint, then frown.
    ‘You can ask him yourself,’ she said, pointing over to the perimeter and then quickly turning back. ‘Oh my God, I hope that’s not who I think it is with him.’
     
     
    Carrigan brushed some of the dust off his jacket. It had mixed with the melting snow and now lay like an oil slick across his clothes and face. He straightened up as Branch approached but it was the other man he was watching.
    ‘Assistant Chief Constable Quinn,’ he said neutrally, as the pencil-thin figure next to Branch stepped forward. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’
    Quinn came to a stop a foot away from Carrigan. He was a tall bony man, all angles and points, always neat and fastidious, with a whispery moustache perched on his upper lip, making him look more like a mournful pre-war bank clerk than the third most important man in the Met. ‘And why is that?’ Quinn’s dry enunciation filled the air around them, crisp and hard as a whipcrack. ‘Do you all imagine that I do nothing but sit behind a desk?’
    Carrigan had never been able to read the man and couldn’t tell if this was his attempt at humour or a rebuke. ‘I just meant this is a fire, accidental for all we know. Why bring my team into this?’
    Quinn sucked the insides of his cheeks, his eyes