4
Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels swore under her breath. If she hadn’t made a detour to Wideopen to pick up her DS from a mate’s house she’d have been at her crime scene by now. An urgent callout had summoned her to work, interrupting her sleep for the second time in as many days. A case of arson, according to the control room, an accelerant, most probably petrol, poured through the letterbox of a terraced house in the West End. The resulting inferno had claimed two lives.
As duty Senior Investigating Officer she couldn’t complain about her work schedule. In recent weeks there had been an unprecedented lull in murder enquiries. That would change now summer was here. As the temperature rose, so would crime. Guaranteed every year. But she was going nowhere in a hurry tonight. Traffic had ground to a halt in front of her, stretching into the distance as far as she could see. Sirens wailed and blue lights flashed in her rear-view mirror. A telltale beam of light pointed down from the sky on to the road ahead. The police helicopter – India 99 – had been deployed. With budgets in every department being squeezed, that meant only one thing: the incident was serious, if not fatal. People were out of their cars, engines left running, keys dangling from ignitions. Abandoning their vehicles and their belongings, drivers were walking up the dual carriageway in between car lanes, chatting to strangers or talking on mobile phones, all craning their necks to see what was going on, putting their own lives at risk.
She picked up her radio. ‘7824 to control.’
‘Control to 7824, go ahead.’
The familiar voice of Pete Brooks, the radio controller, woke her sleeping DS. Hank Gormley opened one eye, peering through the windscreen at a long line of tail lights. Daniels could smell alcohol, but Hank wasn’t pissed by any stretch of the imagination. He knew better than to hang one on a school night. He was a bloody good investigator, her professional partner for almost a decade, a man she respected and cared for a great deal, a valued friend and colleague she couldn’t do without.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, through a gaping yawn.
Daniels touched her lip to silence him in favour of her radio. ‘Pete, I’m southbound on the A1. Could you advise the fire department that I’m delayed? Tell them I’ll be with them ASAP. I’m stuck in a long tailback. From the looks of it, I’m not getting out of here anytime soon.’
‘That’s received.’ There was a tap-tapping sound as Brooks accessed his control room computer. ‘Multiple RTA ahead of you, Kate. Total gridlock, according to air support. First responders en route. You may as well send out for pizza, ’cause you’re gonna be a while.’
Shamefaced, Gormley apologized for dragging her out of her way.
Daniels shrugged. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re entitled to a life.’
‘Really?’
‘No, not really! That’s a warrant card in your pocket . . .’ A loud explosion made them duck. They waited for another. When it didn’t come, they raised their heads. The beam from the helicopter was highlighting a huge plume of smoke through a curtain of pouring rain. Daniels went back to her radio. ‘Things are kicking off approximately quarter of a mile in front of us, Pete. Speak to Traffic. Tell them we’re stuck and ask if we can be of any assistance.’
‘Senior officer is Mike 7295. Shall I put you on talk-through?’
‘Please.’ Mike 7295 was the call-sign of an officer Daniels knew well. What he didn’t know about traffic accident management wasn’t worth knowing.
The radio again. ‘Control to 7295. Take talk-through with 7824?’
‘Affirmative.’
Another voice. Low and controlled. Mr Cool. ‘This is not a good time, Kate.’
For either of them, Daniels thought. ‘7824. Two officers. Plain clothes. En route to serious incident. Southbound. Approximately five hundred metres. Sounds like you need a hand. Anything we can do?’
‘If you’ve got a couple of high-viz jackets, we need all the help we can get.’
‘Roger that.’
Gormley looked at Daniels. ‘It’s raining stair-rods!’
‘Don’t be such a wuss, Hank.’ She swung the wheel to her left, blue light and siren engaged. ‘You can swim, can’t you?’
Pulling on to the hard shoulder, Daniels edged her way forward, weaving in and out of traffic that had no business being there, dodging pedestrians who’d rushed out of their homes with blankets, torches, anything they thought might assist the dead and dying. None of them remotely aware of what they were letting themselves in for.