Playing With Fire

Mark knew right there and then that he was fighting for his life, so he laid into Crazy Nick with all he’d got, punching and kicking until Nick was on the floor gargling blood, and Mark’s mother was beating on his back with her hard little fists. He smashed a chair over Crazy Nick’s head and that was it, the last night he spent at home, the night he ran, with his mother’s screams of revenge and hatred burning in his ears. Just as he was ru

He stopped for breath and looked around, realized he didn’t have a clue where he was. He had headed east from Le

He was on a dark country road with trees and drystone walls on either side. The flames were well behind him now, and he thought he could hear the sirens of fire engines. Good luck to them. They didn’t do Tina much good. He thought of her fragile, pretty face, her slight form. Tina hadn’t had a chance. Tears stained Mark’s face as he felt the waves of guilt tearing him apart for the hundredth time. If only he hadn’t gone chasing after Mandy; if only, if only, if only…

Dark winter fields stretched away from him on both sides of the road, bare branches clawing like talons at the starlit sky, and now and then he could make out the lonely glow of a distant farmhouse or the clustered lights of a small village. For a moment, Banks’s words of warning came back to him, that he might be in danger, that he might be the next victim, and he felt a tremor of fear. Shadows moved and rustling sounds came from behind him. But it was only the wind in the trees. Why would anybody want to kill him? He didn’t know anything. But Tina hadn’t known anything, either.

Mark didn’t know where he was going; all he could do was keep walking. If he kept going on, eventually he’d end up at the seaside. Maybe he’d live there. It was easy enough to get a job at the seaside, no questions asked, with all those tourists to take care of. Drake from the squat had told him that. Drake had lived in Blackpool and worked at the Pleasure Beach on one of the rides. Made a fucking pile, he said, and pulled plenty of talent, too. But not in January. Blackpool was a cold and lonely place in January. Still, maybe there’d be some building work. There was always building. And there was the sea. Mark loved the sea.

Ru

He pulled the fleece-lined coat tight around him, tightened up the collar around his neck. Wearing a copper’s clothes. That was one for the books. It would serve them all right if he did die, though, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t even sure anymore whether he cared or not, whether it wasn’t such a good idea after all. Everything inside was going numb, like his feet, and he realized he didn’t even need to do anything painful to die. It would be easy. All he had to do was find an out-of-the-way spot – plenty of them around here – and lie down in the cold. They said it was just like falling asleep. You got cold, then numb, so you couldn’t feel it, then you went into a coma and died. Especially as he was halfway there already. He saw a stile and the silhouette of a ruined barn in the next field, a little moonlight shining through the empty windows. That would do, he thought, at least for the night. That would do just fine. And if he died there… well, that would serve the bastards right, wouldn’t it?

It was well after official closing time when Banks and A

Banks dismissed PC Locke, who had been baby-sitting Mellor since his initial questioning at the scene, and ordered three double brandies, breaking any number of laws and police rules in doing so. He didn’t give a damn. It was bloody freezing out there and he needed something to warm him up. A

“Can you start by telling us exactly what happened tonight?” Banks asked.

Mellor stared into the flames. “It’s still quite a shock,” he said. “Seeing something like that… even from a distance… someone you know.”

Thank God he hadn’t seen the body close up, Banks thought. “I’m sure it is,” he said. “Take your time.”

Mellor nodded. His cheeks wobbled. “I was walking Sandy here as usual. We always drop by the Fox for a couple of jars of an evening, ever since my wife died.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Banks.

“Well, these things happen.” Mellor reached forward and took a sip of brandy. “Anyway, as I said, it was habit. Creatures of routine. Boring sort of life, I suppose.”

“And tonight?”

“I saw the fire through the trees. I think Sandy must have smelled it first because he was acting strange.” He leaned over and stroked the dog’s glossy ruff. Banks could see from the light ginger fur how he had got his name. Sandy stirred, opening one brown eye and cocking an ear, then drifted off again. “Anyway, we hurried over there, but… I could see immediately there was nothing I could do.”

“What time was this?”

“I usually set off at nine, pretty much on the dot, and it’s about ten minutes from home, so…”

“Ten past nine, then?”

“About that, yes.”

Banks knew that the emergency call had been logged in at 9:13 P.M. “Where did you call from?”

“Phone box down the road. It’s only a short distance. I hurried as best I could, but…” He patted his stomach. “I’m afraid I’m not built for speed.”

Banks had seen the phone box and estimated that Mellor’s timing was pretty much accurate.

“I don’t have a mobile phone,” he explained. “No need for one, really. No one to call and no one who’d want to ring me.”

That didn’t stop most people owning a mobile, Banks thought, remembering the sad, pointless conversations he’d overheard during the last few years: “It’s me. I’m on the train. We’re just leaving the station now. It’s raining up here.” And so on, and so on.

“I take it you were by yourself at home?”

“Yes. I live alone now, apart from Sandy, of course.”

“What did you do after you’d rung the fire brigade?”