Destruction of Evidence (12 page)

Peter followed Trevor through the door, picked out a sterile white boiler suit from a box and climbed into it. White paper hats, masks and overshoes were stacked in a second box. While Peter fished out two pairs of masks, overshoes and a couple of bonnets, Trevor pulled on a suit.

Reggie waited until they’d dressed before donning a fresh pair of overalls and tucking her hair beneath a bonnet. All three snapped on gloves. Carrying their overshoes they left the HQ and went to the cellar. The aluminium up and over door had buckled from the heat. The remains of the white UVPC door alongside it had been removed. Trevor looked through the gap and saw four people, anonymous in masks, bonnets and suits, sifting through the ashes on the floor. One of them looked up.

‘Anything, Ted?’ Reggie asked.

‘Wood ash, traces of solvent and other flammable liquid, nothing unexpected. The staircase to the office suite collapsed an hour ago. The glass in this door was definitely smashed in from outside and we’ve found other, alien glass fragments mixed with traces of petrol.’ Ted Gant rose stiffly to his feet and walked to the entrance to meet them.

‘Fire bomb?’ Reggie asked.

‘Nothing sophisticated. I’m guessing petrol in a glass bottle with a paper fuse. I’ve sent fragments for analysis so we may know more later.’ Ted arched his back and stretched his arms. ‘I’m getting too old to crawl on my hands and knees.’

‘Inspector Joseph, Sergeant Collins, Ted Gant, local forensics.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Trevor didn’t waste time on preliminaries. ‘Have you found any fingerprints?’

‘None apart from the family’s and Alun Pitcher’s employees. Terri Langston – expert from a neighbouring county,’ he explained for Trevor’s benefit, ‘is working in the kitchen. She may have something for you.’

‘What about the floor above this?’ Trevor asked.

‘Fortunately we finished there before the stairs caved. The door to the office suite was locked before the room burned. We dusted what we could reach for prints, the only ones we’ve found belonged to the Pitcher family and Alun Pitcher’s employees. Same result from the dusting of what was left of the staircase between the ground floor and the family’s private accommodation, although we did find smudges on the front door that was axed by the fire service and also smudges on the floor.’

‘Someone in stockinged feet?’ Trevor suggested.

‘Possibly.’

‘So the killer could have accessed the house from the front door or the fire escape?’ Peter questioned.

‘If it was the front door they were either expert lock pickers, had a key or the door was opened for them from the inside,’ Ted pointed upwards. ‘If you’re heading for the kitchen, use the fire escape but don’t step off the balcony. Terri’s squared off the interior and they’re going over the floor inch by inch. She’ll have your heads on plates if you blow one speck of potential evidence from one square to another.’

‘You’ve been up there,’ Reggie guessed.

‘Needed some fresh air. This place stinks. Not that the kitchen is any better.’ Ted rubbed his shoulder. ‘We went over the fire escape and balconies again this morning and found zilch.’

‘Nothing?’ Trevor said in surprise.

‘Not one fingerprint, trapped hair, fragment of paper or scrap of forensic evidence on the railings or steps. The entire surface had been cleaned. There’s a hose still connected to a tap at the side of the building. And before you ask, we’ve dusted it. No prints, just smudges.’

Peter walked over to the steps and ran his hands over the rail. The fire escape, railings and balconies were black powder coated wrought iron, but the areas that had been close to the seat of the fire had burned rust red. ‘Given the size of the staircase and balconies that must have taken an hour or two.’

‘Less if there was more than one person doing it,’ Ted said.

Trevor glimpsed movement in the yard adjoining the Pitchers. He looked at Reggie. She’d seen it and called to an officer standing guard at the entrance.

‘Constable Murphy, see that the adjoining yards are kept clear will you?’

He nodded and when he moved Trevor saw that he was even paler than Damian and Paula.

‘He knew the Pitchers as well?’

‘Jim Murphy is the same age as Constable Rees, they would have both gone to the local comprehensive. This is affecting the whole town, and badly,’ she answered briefly.

Trevor turned back to Ted. ‘Have all the entrances to the building been checked?’

‘Yes, and there’s no indication of forced entry on any of the floors. Of course, there’s the kitchen window that blew out…’

‘You need a build up of hot air pressure to blow out a window. It wouldn’t have exploded if the glass was already broken,’ Peter said drily.

‘Sorry, not thinking straight. Not enough sleep,’ Ted apologized.

‘Occupational hazard, mate,’ Peter pulled on his overshoes and started to walk slowly up the fire escape, looking around as he climbed.

‘So, someone let the killer into the house,’ Reggie said thoughtfully.

‘Or a door was left open, or the killer had a key.’ Trevor looked up at the balconies. ‘I agree with Mr Gant. The cleaning of the fire escape and balconies suggests the outside staircase as our killer or killers’ entry and exit point. But, on which floor did he she or they enter the building?’

‘Terri might be able to help you there.’ Ted turned back to the cellar.

‘Good work, Ted,’ Reggie shouted after him.

‘Patronising bugger,’ he called back.

‘I mean it.’

‘So do I,’ he retorted.

Peter, Trevor and Reggie stood side by side, their backs to the balcony rail facing the remains of the scorched and shattered French doors, gazing into what had been the Pitchers’ kitchen. The area had been given greater importance than the cellar as six suited workers were sifting through and examining the ash on the floor. One of them looked up at Reggie.

‘I’m good at my job, Reggie, but I’m not a miracle worker. If you want results, give us the time we need to examine the scene.’

‘I’m not chasing, Terri…’

‘That’s a first,’ Terri broke in sceptically.

‘I’m showing Inspector Trevor Joseph and Sergeant Peter Collins the layout of the house. Inspector Joseph is taking over the investigation.’

Terri sat back on her haunches.

‘Good luck, Inspector. I’ve never seen a crime scene as clean as this.’

‘So I gather after talking to Mr Gant.’

Spotlights shone into the room from makeshift tripods illuminating total destruction. The entire area was coated in thick black dust and ashes. Wooden cabinets had been reduced to charcoal. Granite worktops had crashed down and splintered adding to the cinder strewn rubble. Metal taps, sink, stove and everyday utensils had been twisted by the heat of the fire into macabre and fantastic skeletal shapes.

‘Looking at this it’s amazing the rest of the house is more or less intact.’ Peter studied the scene with a professional eye.

‘The sink was filled with cooking oil and set alight. The fire investigator told me it would have shattered the window above it within minutes. More oil was sprinkled around the room. But the solid oak door to the passage was closed and the fire service arrived within fifteen minutes of the call being made. It would have been a different story if the door had been left open. The first officers on the scene concentrated on containing the three major seats of fire. Here, in the attic and the cellar. They succeeded. There’s localised burn damage from the individual fires in the rooms and extensive smoke damage throughout the house. But the officers did well. From a forensic point of view we were fortunate to have areas left to work in – not that we’ve found anything of note yet.’

‘Not so fortunate for the family.’ Peter said grimly.

‘If they were already dead nothing could have helped them,’ Terri brushed her gloved hands together to rid them of dust. ‘As well as traces of cooking oil, we’ve found mixed ashes that suggest that here, as in the bedrooms and living room, combustible items were heaped together and set alight.’

‘Something significant?’ Trevor asked one of the women who slipped a piece of shrivelled plastic into an evidence bag.

‘It’s worth checking for fingerprints, but don’t hold out hope. We haven’t found any prints so far except the ones that should be here.’

‘There were three main seats to the fire, here, the attic and the cellar,’ Trevor said thoughtfully.

‘Yes,’ Reggie concurred.

‘The fisherman – Ken Lloyd – who alerted the emergency services saw the attic fire first, then this one?’

‘Correct.’

‘He didn’t see the one in the cellar.’

‘He didn’t report seeing it,’ Reggie informed him.

‘This figure he saw on the fire escape, he saw it after he saw the flames in the attic and kitchen?’

‘He made a statement to that effect.’

‘Could he have seen the fire in the cellar if it had burned the same time as the other two?’

‘His view might have been obstructed by the wall in the lane.’

Unable to take out his notebook and pencil and risk contamination, Trevor looked to Peter.

‘I’ll add it to my mental list of things to be looked into,’ Peter murmured.

‘Is the Home Office pathologist still here?’ Reggie asked.

‘On one of the floors above,’ Terri answered.

Trevor left the balcony for the staircase and began climbing.

‘I can tell you one thing about the Pitchers,’ Peter said as he stepped off the staircase and on to the balcony of the bedroom floor.

Trevor knew he was waiting to be asked. ‘What?’

‘They couldn’t have suffered from vertigo.’

‘Do you, Sergeant Collins?’ Reggie was amused.

‘Only in tall buildings with high ceilings built on the side of a cliff face.’

‘I’d call it a steep hill rather than a cliff face,’ Reggie passed him.

Peter took a deep breath to steady himself and kept his back to the spectacular view of the river that meandered through sheep-speckled fields on the valley floor.

Trevor turned and looked at the river. In one or two places it was little more than a shimmer of water in between trees. ‘Do you know exactly where Ken Lloyd was fishing when he saw the fire?’

‘No,’ Reggie admitted.

‘I thought he’d been interviewed?’

‘He has but not exhaustively. I thought it more important to concentrate on the salient facts.’ Reggie checked her watch. ‘I and all my officers, senior and junior have been working flat out since this crime was reported.’

‘I’m sure you have.’ Trevor checked his gloves before trying the handle on the French door. It opened into a bedroom. ‘Hello, anyone here?’ he shouted.

‘I know that voice.’

Trevor recognised the Irish brogue. ‘Patrick?’

Patrick O’Kelly walked into the bedroom. ‘You’re a long way from home, Trevor Joseph.’

‘I could say the same of you.’

‘You investigating this mess?’

‘It’s his prize for being good at his job,’ Peter looked around. ‘The gorgeous Jen with you?’

‘If you mean Dr Jennifer Adams, she is. Not that she’ll be happy to know you’re asking after her.’ Patrick’s eyes shone brilliant blue above his mask. ‘I’m just about to give the order to move the bodies. Want to inspect them before they go?’

‘I thought you were never going to ask. The real thing is always much better than photographs.’ Peter walked further into the room – and away from the balcony.

‘We’re not likely to mess anything up?’ Trevor examined his overshoes for signs of dirt.

‘Unfortunately not,’ Patrick said. ‘I’ve never seen a crime scene this clean of outside contamination and neither have the forensic teams. There’s plenty of blood, tissue, DNA and hair but only the victims’. Whoever did this should write a manual on how to destroy evidence. Follow me.’

Peter, Trevor and Reggie trooped behind him, through the bedroom on to a landing and into what had been the master bedroom.

Gillian and Alun Pitcher had possessed good taste. The floor was sanded wood, now blackened by soot. The original cream paint shone through the smoke stains on the walls. Gold still glinted in the brocade curtains. The remains of the damaged furniture was recognisable as eighteenth-century antique, but Trevor expected no less from a dealer who would have had the pick of the pieces coming through his auction rooms.

The linen had been stripped from the four-poster bed. The frame was untouched. Fragments of brown paper and string adhered to the charred body lying on the floor beside the bed.

‘Whoever did this made a few mistakes.’ Patrick peeled back a fragment of paper. ‘Gillian Pitcher’s body was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string like the others, but then bedclothes were heaped over it. Given sufficient time we might have only found ashes and skeletal remains but when the first two firemen entered the room with extinguishers the body was smouldering. They pulled back the duvet and doused the fire before beating a retreat. They doused a little too vigorously for my liking. Less force would have given me more to work with. But apparently both went into shock at the sight of her injuries, so I have to forgive them.’