Playing for the Ashes

It was shortly after noon when Detective Inspector Isabelle Ardery first saw Celandine Cottage. The sun was high in the sky, casting small pools of shadow at the base of the fir trees that lined the drive. This had been sealed off with yellow police tape. One panda car, a red Sierra, and a blue and white milk-float were lined up on the lane. She parked behind the milk-float and surveyed the area, feeling grim despite her initial pleasure at being called out on another case so soon. For information gathering,the location didn't look promising. There were several houses farther along the lane, timber-framed with peg-tiled roofs like the cottage in which the fire had occurred, but they were each surrounded with enough land to give them quiet and privacy. So if the fire in question turned out to be arson--as was suggested by the wordsquestionable ignitionscrawled at the bottom of the note Ardery had received from her chief constable not an hour ago--it might prove unlikely that any of the neighbours had heard or seen someone or something suspicious. With her collection kit in hand, she ducked under the tape and swung open the gate at the end of the drive. Across a paddock to the east where a bay mare was grazing, half a dozen onlookers leaned against a split chestnut fence. She could hear their murmured speculation as she walked up the drive. Yes, indeed, she told them mentally as she passed through a smaller gate into the garden, a woman investigator, even for a fire. Welcome to the waning years of our century. "Inspector Ardery?" It was a female voice. Isabelle turned to see another woman waiting on the brick path that led in two directions: to the front door and round towards the back of the house. She'd apparently come from this latter direction. "DS Coffman," she said cheerfully. "Greater Springburn CID." Isabelle joined her. She offered her hand. Coffman said, "The guv's not here at the moment. He rode with the body to Pembury Hospital." Isabelle frowned at this oddity. Greater Springburn's chief superintendent had been the one to request her presence in the first place. It was a breach of police etiquette for him to leave the site before her arrival. "The hospital?" she asked. "Have you no medical examiner to accompany the body?" Coffman gave her eyes a quick rise heavenward. "Oh, he was here as well, graciously assuring us that the corpse was dead. But there's to be a news conference when they i.d. the victim, and the guv loves that stuff. Give him a microphone, five minutes of your time, and he does a fairly decent John Thaw." "Who's still here, then?" "Couple of probationary DCs getting their first chance to suss things out. And the bloke who discovered the mess. Snell, he's called." "What about the fire brigade?" "They've been and gone. Snell phoned emergency from next door, house across from the spring. Emergency sent the fire team." "And?" Coffman smiled. "Luck for your side. Once they got in, they could see the fire'd been out for hours. They didn't touch a thing. They just phoned CID and waited till we got here." That fact, at least, was a blessing. One of the biggest difficulties in arson investigation was the necessary existence of the fire brigade. They were trained to two tasks: saving lives and extinguishing fires. Intent upon that, more often than not they axed down doors, flooded rooms, collapsed ceilings, and in the process obliterated evidence. Isabelle ran her gaze over the building. She said, "All right. I'll take a moment out here, first." "Shall I --" "Alone, please." Coffman said, "Quite. I'll leave you to it," and strode off towards the back of the house. She paused at the northeast corner of the builGeorge, Elizabeth is the author of 'Playing for the Ashes', published 2008 under ISBN 9780553385496 and ISBN 0553385496.