When Old Fires Ignite

Chapter 2-1

Chapter Two

Callan frowned at the occupied parking spot. Bloody hell!

He pulled the handbrake harder than necessary then got out of his car and strode over to the police station.

Detective Chief Inspector Rory Macdonald looked up from his steaming cup as he entered. ‘Ah, ye’ve finally chosen to join us?’

‘I’m ten minutes early.’

‘As opposed to thirty. I trust ye enjoyed a fun date.’ Rory’s grin confirmed his colleagues had had a field day gossiping at Callan’s expense.

Callan’s hands itched to wrap around Robert’s neck. ‘Is the arson investigator here?’

Rory slurped his coffee. ‘Robert took him to the site. And the crime scene technicians say they found the remains of one human body. They can’t say at the moment if the car had any more passengers.’

Callan ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll follow—’

‘I suggest ye work on finding the identity of the person first.’ Rory set his mug aside. ‘Nothing’s worse than finding out someone ye love is dead on the news.’

‘The forensic lab needs to get back to me, but… It can’t be a local, I think.’

‘We need to be sure.’ Rory clomped to his office, muttering, ‘Ye smell like women’s shampoo.’

They’d never let him hear the end of this.

Callan headed to his own office and reached for the phone.

‘Detective,’ the lab technician answered. ‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t been able to process much.’

‘I need to find the identity. Do we know what started the fire?’

The technician harrumphed. ‘I’ve been here all night, Detective. That’s how busy it is. So, ta ta.’

Callan smacked a fist onto the stacks of papers littering his desk. ‘Crap!’ Why did people think they could hang up on him?

His fine mood soured, Callan grabbed a stack of unwanted files and shoved them to the other end of his desk. Like a set of dominos, the files hanging on the edge tumbled to the floor with a thud.

The papers in his office would bury him soon or play a part in a major accident.

He reached for the blank board and the marker at the same time. No matter how many times he cleared the papers, they just kept popping up.

In his head, he wound his way back to the scene of the fire, played it out in his mind like a movie. What had he seen?

Smoke, mist and the wind trying to blow the raging fire over onto the heathland.

‘The road’s just wide enough for two cars,’ he muttered. ‘That lay-by is the only one for about three quarters of a mile.’

Thrusting his arms wide, he pointed to one side. ‘The car faced the front, headed for the dual carriageway, not the town. Why would someone from town take the longer route to get there from here?’

He’d checked Dachaigh’s surveillance cameras and, as Aileen had said, none of her guests had a black SUV.

Where had the car come from? Loch Fuar? Or had the perp driven it off the dual carriageway and parked it in the opposite direction to mislead?

Callan uncapped the marker and scrawled. ‘How long did the car burn?’

That would help build a timeline.

A knock at the door cut off his thoughts.

‘s**t! What is it?’ He swivelled to find a man with broad shoulders, a wrinkled forehead and dirty blond hair.

The arson investigator.

His boots clicked on the floor and almost crushed the files that had nosedived from the desk earlier. ‘Er…’

Callan dismissed them with a wave. ‘Detective Cameron.’

A labyrinth of scars traced the hand that pumped Callan’s. ‘Detective MacNeill. Detective Walsh from Loch Heaven sends his regards. He also told me to be careful about your girlfriend.’

‘It’s just us. I appreciate ye coming down here with haste. We need to identify the passengers.’

Rory plodded in, glanced at the papers on the floor, and rolled his eyes. ‘What can ye tell us, MacNeill?’

After a couple of minutes of jostling, Callan managed to push the papers behind his chair and empty the visitor chairs.

MacNeill folded his arms. ‘You’ve done a good job. The evidence collection is thorough, so even though I’ve yet to write a report, I can say someone deliberately set the fire.’

Words Callan didn’t want to hear.

‘From what I’ve seen, the yellow can found at the scene was used to pour petrol onto the tarmac. Someone emptied the can all around the car and set fire to it from the front, perhaps using a cloth.’

Callan ran a hand over his face. ‘Part of the victim’s clothes, maybe?’

‘Maybe.’

Rory sat back. ‘How long did the car burn?’

‘Fifteen minutes. You’re lucky you drove past it and got the fire brigade out so swiftly. I’d have had almost nothing left to study otherwise.’

Two possibilities stared them in the face. Either someone had set the car on fire with the intention of erasing the traces of the person inside or they’d hoped the fire would spread and burn Dachaigh down.

Rory’s eyes met Callan’s. The man understood.

MacNeill stood. ‘I’m off to the garage to study the car a bit more. See if I can find anything else for you.’

Rory walked the man out. Callan lasered his attention back on the board.

‘There’s always a possibility the perp’s an eejit,’ Rory said when he returned.

‘One thing I don’t do, Rory, is assume the best-case scenario. It’s too hard to ignore.’ He pointed to the image of the car. ‘That sort of fire’s easily visible from the reception area at Dachaigh. If Aileen hadn’t been finished for the day, she’d have seen it.’

‘Seen it and gone to check it out.’ Rory nodded. ‘And if the perp was still around…’

‘They wanted someone to see the fire but…’ Callan faced Rory. ‘Aileen’s always busy, not someone to have one eye out the window. If she hadn’t seen it just after it started, she’d have seen it far too late. Too late to save the inn.’ To save herself. ‘With a patch of heathland and then a wall of trees between the lay-by and Dachaigh, the inn’s hardly a few hundred metres from the crime scene.’

Rory laid a hand on Callan’s shoulder. ‘Why would someone want to harm Dachaigh? Aileen and her guests could’ve escaped out the back door. And the heath wasn’t dry.’

‘Lucky, wasn’t she?’ Callan knew it wasn’t his story to share, but he had no choice. ‘She’s having financial trouble. She’s been applying for loans but keeps being rejected.’

‘Is the inn insured?’

Callan ran a hand through his hair. ‘Aileen would never…’

‘Aye, but remember how Langdon threatened her? Ask Aileen if someone made a bid for that property.’

Bloody hell! Ask her and let her know he knew? She’d skewer him before packing up and heading back to the city, where she’d get a job, eventually.

‘Ye need to talk to her, Callan. Even when it’s hard – especially then.’ After almost forty years of marriage, three children and four grandchildren – or was it five? – the man knew his way through every possible ‘couple fiasco’.

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Callan wanted to pull his hair out. ‘Alright, but first I’m heading to the rental company. Let’s see who rented out that car and why they don’t have any documentation for it.’

Shoving the inevitable encounter with Aileen under the carpet, Callan made his way to Loch Heaven. He’d programmed the address for Amy’s Rental and Taxi Services into the GPS, smacking his phone only once while doing so, which had changed the instructions to Swedish.

He followed the blue line now.

The road twisted around a river, curved over the bend, flew past a small fortress and entered the busy bustle of Loch Heaven.

A horn blared to his right, someone shouted a curse and when Callan stopped at a red light, a teenager ran smack into an old woman, sending her and her groceries flying.

Amy’s Rental and Taxi Services took him well into the heart of town, past the police station and the café Walsh’s wife ran, into a cluttered area. Judging by the smells of grease and engine oil mixed with the acrid stench of garbage, he was in the right place.

Another car door slammed behind him. Callan nodded at the trench-coat wearing detective who’d emerged from the car.

Walsh ambled over. ‘Sure Tim needs to be pulled into this?’

When Callan had called Walsh, he’d learned the other detective kept tabs on this place and had befriended the owner. But friend or not, something about their story wasn’t adding up, so that left Callan little choice. He said as much to Walsh, who nodded and followed him inside.

Somewhere metal clanked, followed by a curse. A mechanic wearing an overcoat bent over an engine while another lad washed a car.

Walsh nodded his greetings to a few men when a shout rose from the back. ‘Tim! Walsh’s here to see you.’

A second later, a door closed, and heavy footsteps pounded towards them.

The man with a thick ginger beard and bald head didn’t fit the image Callan had of ‘Tim’. He barely reached Callan’s waist. The eyes lasering into his spoke of unsheltered monsoons. And the hand shaking Callan’s gripped hard.

‘Detective Cameron.’

‘Tim Downie. Is this about your enquiry?’

‘Aye, I wanted to ken who hired the car from ye.’

Tim gestured for them to follow him. They wound around cars and made their way towards a wooden door on the back wall.

‘Amy, my sister, runs the rental and taxi part of the business.’ He pushed the door open. ‘It’s on the back side.’

Amy stood taller than her brother, with blond hair, blue eyes and soft hands. ‘You the bobby who called yesterday?’

Callan introduced himself after flashing his badge. ‘I’d like to ken who rented out the vehicle.’

Lips smacking as she chewed her gum, she assessed him. ‘Why do you want to know?’

Irritation flashed through him like a flame to petrol. ‘We’d appreciate it if ye’d help the police.’

‘And I’d appreciate it if you’d feature on one of those.’ She pointed to a calendar fluttering against the dark peeling paint. ‘But we don’t always get what we want.’

His fingers fisted of their own accord.

Walsh cut through the tension. ‘Amy, please. Someone’s dead. You could help us find out who.’

Amy raised a sharp eyebrow. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I have no business leaving dead people hanging.’

Her bright pink nails clattered over the keyboard, grating on Callan’s thinning control. Get on with it!

Her thick lashes batted. ‘The black car. It was with Tim.’

Tim crossed his beefy arms. ‘What business would I have had with your s**t?’

Amy rolled her eyes. ‘You said it needed the oil changing.’ She pointed to the screen. ‘Here it says out of commission.’

Callan leaned over the table – he stopped breathing when Amy’s perfume began acting like chloroform – and studied the screen. ‘Anyone else here who could’ve issued it? Maybe trying to earn a bit of money on the side?’

Tim huffed. ‘I’d have to ask around. I wasn’t here yesterday. The lads’ve a mind of their own.’

Amy’s laugh whipped through the air. ‘Mind in the wrong part of the body, that’s what their problem is. Ask the lads – they’ll know.’

Callan thanked her, even if it irked him, and followed Tim out.

‘Hey, blue-eyed babe.’

He froze. What the hell?

‘Aye, you with the badge. If you’re ever interested in modelling, let me know, ’kay?’

When the sun melted.

He didn’t reply, just strode away.

Walsh looked back at Callan. ‘Why don’t we start with that starry-eyed lad there? Maybe your blue eyes will work on him, too.’

Callan shot Walsh a glare, but judging by that stupid grin on his face, he was too late. He’d be butchered soon.

Walsh’s starry-eyed prey, Carl, had a date with a girl who’d brought her car in for some washing.

‘Black car. Seen the day before yesterday parked right here in the garage. Ring any bells?’

Carl frowned, trying to remember.

Another head peeked out behind the hood of the car. ‘Ever seen how many black cars are out there?’

Callan flashed them a photograph of a similar model and rattled off the registration.

‘Ah.’ Carl’s eyes lit up. ‘Aye, I remember now – I worked on her some. Needed an oil change and a new spare tyre. Good as new otherwise. About 25,000 miles on her.’