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anyone on it—and I’m not saying that’s what happened—then he could have done a more thorough job.”
    â€œMaybe he didn’t have time?” said Banks.
    â€œPossible.”
    â€œOr he ran out of accelerant.”
    â€œAgain, it’s a possible explanation,” said Hamilton. “Or maybe he simply wanted to confuse the issue. Either way, it cost another life.”
    The body on the second barge lay wrapped in a charred sleeping bag. Despite some blistering on her face, Banks could see that it was the body of a young girl. Her expression was peaceful enough, and if she had died of smoke inhalation, she would never have felt the fire scorching her cheeks and burning her sleeping bag. She had a metal stud just below her lower lip, and Banks imagined that would have heated up in the fire too, explaining the more deeply burned skin radiating in a circle around it. He hoped she hadn’t felt that, either. One charred arm lay outside the sleeping bag beside what looked like the remains of a portable CD player.
    â€œThe body should be fairly well preserved inside the sleeping bag,” Hamilton said. “They’re usually made of flame-resistant material. And look at those blisters on the face.”
    â€œWhat do they mean?” Banks asked.
    â€œBlistering is usually a sign that the victim was alive when the fire started.” Making sure that Peter Darby had already videotaped and photographed the entire scene, Hamilton bent and picked up two objects from the floor beside her.
    â€œWhat are they?” Banks asked.
    â€œCan’t say for certain,” he said, “but I think one’s a syringe and the other’s a spoon.” He handed them to Terry Bradford, who put them into evidence bags, taking a cork from his accessory bag first, and sticking it over the needle’s point. “The fire’s sure to have sterilized it,” he said, “but you can’t be too careful handling needles.”
    Hamilton bent and scraped something from the floor beside the sleeping bag and Bradford put it in another bag. “Looks like she was using a candle,” Hamilton said. “Probably to heat up whatever it was she injected. If I wasn’t so certain the fire started on the other barge, I’d say that it could have been a possible cause. I’ve seen it more than once, a junkie nodding off and a candle starting a fire. Or it could even have been used as a crude timing device.”
    â€œBut that’s not what happened here?”
    â€œNo. The seats of the fire are definitely next door. It’d be just too much of a coincidence if the two fires started simultaneously from separate causes. And this one caused so much less damage.”
    Banks felt a headache coming on. He glanced at the young girl’s body again, nipped the bridge of his nose above the mask between his thumb and index finger until his eyes prickled with tears, then he looked away, into the fog, just in time to see Dr. Burns, the police surgeon, walking toward the barges with his black bag.

Chapter 2
    A ndrew Hurst lived in a small, nondescript lockkeeper’s cottage beside the canal, about a mile east of the dead-end branch where the fire had occurred. The house was high and narrow, built of red brick with a slate roof, and a satellite dish was attached high up, where the walls met the roof. It was still early in the morning, but Hurst was already up and about. In his early forties, tall and skinny, with thinning, dry brown hair, he was wearing jeans and a red zippered sweatshirt.
    â€œAh, I’ve been expecting you,” he said when Banks and Annie showed their warrant cards, his pale gray eyes lingering on Annie for just a beat too long. “It’ll be about that fire.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Banks. “Mind if we come in?”
    â€œNo, not at all. Your timing is immaculate. I’ve just finished my breakfast.” He stood aside