‘A witness, that’s what they reckon you are. Maybe the police think you might have seen something important. Did you see anything, Darren?’

Darren was silent for longer than she thought was natural. For him, anyway. He wasn’t the sort of bloke to be stuck for a word, even if it was to tell her to ‘eff off’. He was staring at the TV screen, though the news had long since finished, and there was some football match on.

‘Did you, Darren?’

‘No,’ he said finally. But he didn’t sound too sure.

Stella touched his chest, then flinched away at the coldness of it.

‘No,’ he said again. ‘I didn’t see anything.’

‘Was there anybody about in the village when you left that night?’

‘I just told you, I didn’t see anything.’

‘You might be able to help the police find who did it.’

He grabbed her arm then, and for the first time Stella felt a chill of fear. He was stronger than she thought, and he had that possibility of violence in him, after all.

‘Get it into your head right now,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see anything that night. Got it, Stell? I didn’t see a bloody thing.’

Cooper always woke automatically to the sound of sirens, even when he was in unfamiliar surroundings. He listened for a few moments, until he recognized the distinctive rasping bullhorn of a fire tender approaching a road junction somewhere to the north. So it was nothing to do with him – not for a while, at least. At this time of year, the call-out was probably to a bonfire that had been prematurely set alight. It happened every year; some people just couldn’t wait for the fifth of November. Soon there’d be fireworks, too. Night after night of explosions over the town. Complaints to the police about youths pushing bangers through pensioners’ letter boxes.

The sirens receded gradually into the distance. Cooper remembered where he was, sighed, and turned over again. He felt the comfort of a warm body beside him in the bed, the reassurance of steady breathing that meant he wasn’t alone in the middle of the night.

It made a big difference, not to be alone. And for once, it wasn’t the cat.

15

Wednesday, 26 October

It was Jimi Hendrix. When Cooper saw the can of Swan lighter fluid next morning, he knew immediately where he’d seen one before. It featured in one of those classic rock posters. Hendrix setting fire to his white Stratocaster at the Monterey Pop Festival.

Could it have been 1967? Somewhere around that time. The legend said that Hendrix felt upstaged by The Who, because the British group had ended their set by smashing their equipment. During his own last number, the guitarist had grinned at the audience, squirted lighter fuel on his guitar and struck a match, playing the final notes through the flames. It was one of the seminal moments in the history of rock music. Mad, and dangerous.

‘You can buy the hundred millilitre can for about three pounds, but it isn’t stocked everywhere,’ said Fry, when he’d examined the can.

‘That gives us a chance of tracing the shop it was bought from, then.’

‘Yes, it would do, if we had the manpower.’

In the poster Cooper remembered seeing on a friend’s bedroom wall, the can had been clearly visible in the guitarist’s hands. It was just like this one – square-sided and yellow, the same colour as Hendrix’s frilly shirt.

‘Anyway, we’ve got an initial report faxed through from Downie’s people at the FSS lab this morning.’ The neutral tone of Fry’s voice didn’t give away whether it was good news or bad news.

‘What does it say?’

‘I’ll read it for you: “The laboratory received two evidence containers of debris taken from the suspected seat of a fire. A head space sample from each container was subjected to gas chromatograph analysis. The chromatogram shows characteristic peak patterns of a common hydrocarbon fuel, n-Butane.”’

‘Lighter fluid, then.’

‘Right. Specifically, butane lighter fluid. The positive samples were taken from a section of carpet in the Mullens’ sitting room, and from the toy box in the corner near the video. Not much accelerant used – but then, it wouldn’t have needed a lot.’

‘It could have been an accidental spillage, couldn’t it?’ suggested Cooper.

‘Have you tried accidentally spilling lighter fluid, Ben?’

‘I don’t even smoke. I never have.’

‘Well, it comes in an aerosol can like this one, with a pressure valve that fits into the lighter.’

‘OK, I’ve seen it.’

‘The most you can do accidentally is create a bit of mist that makes your fingers feel cold. To spill it, you have to prise the top off the can.’

‘Even so, Diane, one of the Mullens’ kids could have done that.’

‘Maybe. So which of the Mullens was a smoker – Brian or Lindsay?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘The answer is, neither. And why didn’t the SOCOs find a lighter fluid can in the house? They’re metal, so it wouldn’t have been destroyed in the fire.’

‘I don’t know that either.’

‘Because there wasn’t one, Ben. The only can that’s turned up is this one, which was found in a wheelie bin down the road. And if this is the right one, then it wasn’t put there by accident.’

Fry had called a meeting of what was left of her team. They were waiting for Murfin, but he was finishing a phone call, typing one more paragraph of a vital report, trying to make the point that he had too much work to do already.

‘Right, there are things to be done in the Darwin Street arson enquiry,’ she said.

‘Such as?’ asked Murfin.

‘We need to chase up forensics from the fire scene – particularly that sitting room. Brian Mullen swears that he never went in there that night. If we find any evidence of his presence in the room after the fire started, then we can demonstrate that he’s lying.’

‘Right.’

‘Obviously, somebody will have to interview this Jed Skinner. That should happen as soon as possible, before it occurs to Mullen to contact Skinner and they get their story straight.’

‘I’ll do that, if you like,’ said Cooper.

‘No, let Gavin go.’

‘OK. What, then?’

‘You can come with me to the hospital. I want your opinion on Mr Brian Mullen.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t look so surprised – it isn’t the first time I’ve asked for your opinion, Ben.’

‘Well …’

‘Also, Mullen’s story is that he arrived home from the Broken Wheel in a taxi, which dropped him off at the end of the street. I’ve already spoken once to the next-door neighbour, Keith Wade, but I want to know about a conversation they supposedly had. Wade must have witnessed Mullen going into the house on his abortive rescue mission. It would be useful if he happened to see his neighbour arriving in the street, too.’

‘From the taxi?’

‘That’s another thing –’

‘You want us to find the taxi driver.’

‘Exactly. Confirm the time and place he picked Mullen up, and where he dropped him off. And then I’d like to know what happened to Skinner. Did the driver see him outside the club? Did he and Mullen share a taxi, even?’

‘I wonder if Mr Wade is aware of any problems between Mullen and his wife?’ said Cooper. ‘If he lives in an adjoining semi, he might have been close enough to hear any arguments.’

‘We should ask all the neighbours that,’ said Fry. ‘Discreetly, of course.’

Cooper looked at the map to check the relative locations of the fire and the wheelie bin where the lighter fluid can had been found.

‘By the way, this isn’t the Shrubs,’ he said, pointing at the map. ‘The area’s called that because of the names of the streets.’

‘I know that.’

‘Well, since when has Darwin been a shrub?’

‘It’s close.’

‘Close? In an evolutionary sense, or what?’

‘Geographically. Look, Lilac Avenue is just over there, no more than three hundred yards away. Myrtle Drive is next to it. It’s nothing to make a fuss about.’