The Wire in the Blood

Unimpressed, Carol shook her head. ‘Right. Here’s what we do next. I’ve had some experience in offender profiling …’ She stopped when Tommy muttered something. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Taylor, did you have a contribution?’

Confidence restored, Tommy grinned insolently back at Carol. ‘I said, “We’d heard,” ma’am.’

For a moment, Carol said nothing, merely staring him down. It was situations like this that could make the job degenerate into a misery if they weren’t handled right. So far, it was only cheeky disrespect. But if she let it go, it would quickly slide into full-scale insubordination. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but chill. ‘Sergeant, I can’t think why you have this burning ambition to go back into uniform and play at community policing, but I’ll be more than happy to oblige you if CID work continues not to be to your taste.’

Lee’s mouth twitched in spite of himself; Di Earnshaw’s dark eyes narrowed, waiting for the explosion that never came. Tommy pushed his shirtsleeves above his elbows, looked Carol straight in the eye and said, ‘Reckon I’d better show you what I’m made of then, Guv.’

Carol nodded. ‘You better had, Tommy. Now, I’m going to work on a profile, but to make that anything more than a bit of an academic exercise, I’m going to need a lot of raw data. Since we can’t find any evidence of linkage between the victims, I’m going to stick my neck out and say we’ve got a thrill seeker rather than a torch for hire. Which means we’re looking for a young adult male. He’s probably unemployed, likely to be single and still living with his parents. I’m not going to go into all the psychobabble about social inadequacy and all that right now. What we need to look for is someone with a record of police contact for petty nuisance offences, vandalism, substance abuse, that sort of thing. Maybe minor sex offences. Peeping Tom, exposing himself. He’s not going to be a mugger, a burglar, a thief, a fly boy. He’s going to be a sad bastard. In and out of minor bother since he was a pre-teen. He probably doesn’t have a car, so we need to look at the geography of the fires; chances are if you drew a line linking the outermost fires, he’ll live inside its boundaries. He’ll probably have watched all the fires from a vantage point, so have a think about where that might have been and who might have witnessed him there.

‘You know the ground. It’s your job to bring me suspects that we can match against my profile. Lee, I want you to talk to the collator and see who uniform know that fits those criteria. I’ll get going on a fuller profile and Tommy and Di will do the routine work-up on the crime itself, liaising with forensics and organizing a door-to-door in the area. Hell, I don’t have to tell you how to run a murder inquiry …’

A knock at the door interrupted Carol’s flow. ‘Come in,’ she called.

The door opened on John Brandon. It was, Carol realized, a measure of how far she had to go before she’d be accepted into the East Yorkshire force that no one had stuck a head round the door to warn her the chief was on his way. She jumped to her feet, Tommy nearly toppled in his hurry to get out of his chair and Lee cracked his elbow on the filing cabinet pushing himself upright. Only Di Earnshaw was already in place, standing against the back wall with her arms folded across her chest. ‘Sorry to interrupt, DCI Jordan,’ Brandon said pleasantly. ‘A word?’

‘Certainly, sir. We’re pretty much finished here. You three know what we’re after, I’ll leave you to it.’ Carol’s smile managed to dismiss as well as encourage and the three junior officers edged out of the office with barely a backward glance.

Brandon waved Carol to her seat as he folded his long body into the guest chair. ‘This fatal fire at Wardlaw’s,’ he began without formalities.

Carol nodded. ‘I was out there earlier.’

‘So I heard. One of your series then, I take it?’

‘I think so. It’s got all the hallmarks of it. I’m waiting to hear from the fire investigators, but Jim Pendlebury, the fire chief, reckons it’s got generic similarities to the earlier incidents we’d identified.’

Brandon chewed one side of his lower lip. It was the first time Carol had ever seen him look anything other than completely composed. He breathed heavily through his nose and said, ‘I know we talked about this before and you were convinced that you could handle it. I’m not saying that you can’t, because I think you’re a bloody good detective, Carol. But I want Tony Hill to take a look at this.’

‘There’s really no need,’ Carol said, feeling heat spreading up her chest and into her neck. ‘Certainly not at this stage.’

Brandon’s gloomy bloodhound face seemed to grow even longer. ‘It’s no slur on your competence,’ he said.

‘I’m bound to say that’s what it looks like from here,’ Carol said, trying not to sound as mutinous as she felt, forcing herself to remember how angry Tommy Taylor’s earlier impertinence had made her feel. ‘Sir, we’ve barely started our own inquiries. It may well be that we’ll have this whole thing wrapped up in a matter of days. There can’t be that many potential suspects in Seaford who fit the serial arsonist profile.’

Brandon shifted in his chair, as if struggling to find an appropriate arrangement for his long legs. ‘I find myself in a slightly awkward position here, Carol. I’ve never been happy with the “theirs not to reason why” approach to command. I’ve always thought things run better when my officers understand why I issue the orders I do rather than having to rely on blind obedience. On the other hand, for operational reasons, sometimes things have to be taken on trust. And when other units outside my command are involved, even when I think there’s no earthly reason for confidentiality, I have to respect what they ask for. If you follow me?’ He raised his eyebrows in an anxious question. If any of his officers could read between so oblique a set of lines, it would be Carol Jordan.