An insistent ringing woke DS Scott from a deep slumber. It took him a moment to orient himself, realizing the sound didn’t exist solely in his dream. Also disturbed by the noise, his wife shifted in her sleep, allowing Scott the opportunity to carefully untangle himself, having wrapped his arms around her sometime during the night. Quickly rolling over, he tapped the green accept icon as he noiselessly walked out the bedroom door into the hall.
“DS Scott,” he whispered.
“I apologize for calling so early, detective. This is FBIC Clive Farthington. There’s been an incident at a holiday house in Cambridgeshire. I was told to apprise you of the situation and request you meet me at the cottage.”
Scott rubbed a hand through his short blond hair in annoyance.
“It’s the middle of the night. Is there a reason this can’t wait until the morning?”
“Well,” the Fire Brigade Incident Commander said, coughing hesitantly. “When a fire results in the death of four people and one person sent to the hospital, it typically warrants immediate attention.”
“What’s the address?”
Upon receipt, Scott said he would be there within a half an hour. Scott slunk quietly back into his room, gathered his clothes and gear, carrying them into the tiny guest room so he didn’t wake Mary. After a quick shower, he popped a kettle on the stove while he dressed. Armed with a thermos of tea, his laptop bag and a grim outlook, he headed out the door.
Dew had formed on various chunks of grass and spider webs, giving them a bejeweled appearance from the glow of the lamppost. The predawn hours were silent, as most of the world still slept.Treading lightly so as not to alert the neighbors’ loud and overeager watchdog of a beagle, DS Scott climbed silently into his car and proceeded to the address given him by FBIC Farthington.
Arriving only five minutes later than promised, DS Scott pulled up to the incongruous scene. Situated on a creek, the otherwise picturesque environment was hazy from the still dissipating smoke. While the fire itself had been extinguished, it was still somewhat chaotic around the smolding holiday cottage. Fire engines were weaved between the stands of trees which nearly hid the cottage from view, the flashing lights casting an unearthly hue to the house and grounds.
Climbing out of his car, DS Scott headed toward the cootage. Asking one of the firefights where he could find FBIC Farthington, he was pointed toward the back of the house. Though he couldn’t see it due to darkness, DS Scott could hear babbling from the creek as he walked around the house. As he passed a hot tub on the side of the house, Scott couldn’t help thinking what a nice spot this would have made for a quiet holiday, enjoying a hot cup of coffee with his wife along the creek or a nice glass of wine in the hot tub at the end of a lazy day.
Several men were clustered beside the gas bbq, surveying the exterior damage. As DS Scott approached, one of the men broke away from the group to meet him. Extending his hand, he introduced himself as FBIC Clive Farthington.
“What a bloody mess,” he said, nodding his head toward the cottage.
“So what happened exactly?” Scott asked as he moved to finish his circuit around the house.
Farthington walked beside him, pointing out general damage as they went - cracked and blown out windows, burned window and door frames, a few places where the flames had lept high enough to blacken some of the branches close to the cottage. Once they reached the front door, FBIC Farthington handed DS Scott a disposable mask, donning one himself before leading the way into the interior of the one story bungalow. He continued to identify the damage as they went, through the kitchen and dining room, into the sitting room.
“To the left is one of the bedrooms and bath, and this way are the three other bedrooms, bathroom, storage, boiler room and fuse box,” FBIC Farthington said, as he moved gingerly in that direction. “At first we thought the fire must have been electrical in origin, since we discovered the fuse box had shorted. But as we moved through the house putting out fires, we found bodies and several other points of origin throughout the house. That’s when I called it into homicide and they said to contact you.”
DS Scott nodded and leaned into the room which housed the fuse box. The wall around the box was darkened to a sooty black, tendrils of burnt plaster climbing up from the casing. The fire had traveled toward the ceiling, expanding to the right and burning it’s way toward the doorway where he stood.
“You mentioned four people were killed,” he said. “Where were they found?”
Farthington nodded toward the fuse box.
“One was in here, we presume checking on the fuse box. Perhaps the lights went out or they smelled smoke, came in and were overwhelmed. I’ll show you where we found the others.”
Turning right down the hall, Farthington stopped between two doorways, pointing at both of them as he turned to face Scott.
“These two rooms are bedrooms.We learned five students had rented this cottage for a holiday. There are four bedrooms, so three of them had their own rooms and the two who were a couple stayed in the room on the other side of the kitchen. We found bodies in both these rooms, one in each. While we’re awaiting confirmation, we believe the occupants were Dave Wilson and Andy Baker.”
Farthington opened one of the doors and took two steps into the room. Scott followed, moving to one side to inspect the damage. Beneath the window seemed to be the fire’s point of origin, the damage streaking up the wall, fanning toward the bed. The coverlet was completely drenched, soaking wet from the firehose spraying it down to extinguish the flames. Beside the bed was a small table, which had been knocked over, strewing the contents on the floor. A bedside lamp was among the wreckage, the bulb having smashed on impact. In the far corner was a small pile of luggage, damaged by both water and smoke.
“That’s where we found one of the boys,” Farthington said, pointing to beneath the window. “The room across the hall nearly mirrors this, with the damage and where we found a body. At the moment we’re assuming the occupants are who died. We were able to read the tags on their luggage, which would make this Andy’s room and across the hall Dave’s.”
“That accounts for three of the bodies. What about the fourth?”
“We found it in the other bathroom, by the fourth bedroom on the far side of the house. This way.”
Passing back up the hall, Farthington moved toward the sitting room. Scott followed, treading warily between smouldering pieces of furniture as he made his way across the room. Farthington led the way past the bedroom and down a gloomy, poorly lit hallway to an isolated bathroom at the far end. There were similarities to the scenes in the fuse box room and bedroom, with the fire having spread from a point near the baseboard, expanding up and outward.
“We believe this last body was Claire Holloway, one of the occupants of the last bedroom. Hers was the last body found, since this was one of the last parts of the house where the fire was put out. If we’re right about her and the bodies in the two bedrooms, then the one by the fuse box belongs to John Avery, Claire’s boyfriend. Once the fire was extinguished we were able to check the luggage in those front rooms and the guestbook by the front door, so next of kin could be contacted.”
The two men made their way back through the house and into the front yard, shedding their smoke coated masks once there was fresh air to breathe.
“This property is fairly isolated,” DS Scott said, “Considering this is a holiday cottage and somewhat out-of-the-way, there was less damage than there could have been. How were you alerted to the fire in the first place?”
Farthington nodded. “Fair question. The closest neighbor lives up the hill overlooking the property and called us when they saw smoke and flames licking out a window. It’s not far as the crow flies, but it’s set back far enough that they weren’t disurbed by house parties or the like, which means they hadn’t heard anything unusual tonight. They just happened to be up letting the dog out in the middle of the night and saw what was going on.”
“What of the fifth person, the one who was sent to the hospital?”
Farthington shook his head. “Michael Jones. We found him sitting on the front steps, talking to himself. When we started moving him away from the fire and smoke, he became frantic, saying he needed to stay in the light. He wouldn’t calm down unless he was in the headlights of the fire engines or in the back of the ambulance. He kept talking about darkness, the darkness, and how he needed light, that the fire was safe because of the light. He left shortly before you arrived, heading to the hospital to be checked for smoke inhalation and burns.”
After asking if DS Scott had any more questions, FBIC Farthington headed back to join his men and wrap up the scene. Scott was left to ponder what he’d seen in the house and the strange behavior of Michael as the lone survivor. Until more information came to light, his current hypothesis was Michael set the fires, out of some bizarre need to create more light, which likely ended up killing his friends. One question he was left with was whether their deaths had been a tragic accident or by design.
So bummed I missed out this time, but I enjoyed reading yours and Sam’s chapters!!
ReplyDeleteWell done. I really like your ability to give descriptive detail in your writing- not too much and not too little. I felt like I was walking through the burned out cabin with them, studying each room. My favorite description though was as DS Scott was approaching: "Fire engines were weaved between the stands of trees which nearly hid the cottage from view..."
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