Playing with Fire Read Online Free PDF

and let Banks and Annie pass. “First on the left. Let me take your coats.”
    They gave him their overcoats and walked into a room lined with wooden shelves. On the shelves were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of long-playing records, 45-rpm singles and EPs, all in neat rows. Banks exchanged a glance with Annie before they sat in the armchairs to which Hurst gestured.
    â€œImpressive, aren’t they?” Hurst said, smiling. “I’ve been collecting sixties vinyl since I was twelve years old. It’s my great passion. Along with canals and their history, of course.”
    â€œOf course,” said Banks, still overwhelmed by the immense collection. On any other occasion he would have been down on his hands and knees scanning the titles.
    â€œAnd I’ll bet I can lay my hands on any one I want. I know where they all are. Kathy Kirby, Matt Monro, Vince Hill, Helen Shapiro, Joe Brown, Vicki Carr. Try me. Go on, try me.”
    Christ, thought Banks, an anorak. Just what they needed. “Mr. Hurst,” he said, “I’d be more than happy to test your system, and to explore your record collection, but do you think we could talk about the fire first? Two people died on those barges.”
    Hurst looked disappointed, like a child denied a new toy, and went on tentatively, not sure if he still held his audience. “They’re not filed alphabetically, but by date of release, you see. That’s my secret.”
    â€œMr. Hurst,” Annie echoed Banks. “Please. Later. We’ve got some important questions for you.”
    He looked at her, hurt and sulky, but seemed at last to grasp the situation. He ran his hand over his head. “Yes, I know. Pardon me for jabbering on. Must be the shock. I always jabber when I’m nervous. I’m really sorry about what happened. How did…?”
    â€œWe don’t know the cause of the fire yet,” said Banks, “but we’re definitely treating it as suspicious.” Doubtful was Geoff Hamilton’s word. He knew as well as Banks that the fire hadn’t started on its own. “Do you know the area well?” he asked.
    Hurst nodded. “I think of this as my stretch of the canal, as my responsibility.”
    â€œIncluding the dead-end branch?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me about the people who lived on the barges?”
    Hurst lifted up his black-rimmed glasses and rubbed his right eye. “Strictly speaking, they’re not barges, you know.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œNo, they’re narrow boats. Barges are wider and can’t cruise on this canal.”
    â€œI see,” said Banks. “But I’d still like to know what you can tell me about the squatters.”
    â€œNot much, really. The girl was nice enough. Pale, thin young thing, didn’t look well at all, but she had a sweet smile and she always said hello. Quite pretty, too. When I saw her, of course. Which wasn’t often.”
    That would be Tina, Banks thought, remembering the blistered body in the charred sleeping bag, the blackened arm into which she had injected her last fix. “And her boyfriend, Mark?”
    â€œIs that his name? Always seemed a bit furtive to me. As if he’d been up to something, or was about to get up to something.”
    In Banks’s experience, a lot of kids Mark’s age and younger had that look about them. “What about the fellow on the other boat?” he asked.
    â€œAh, the artist.”
    Banks glanced at Annie, who raised her eyebrows. “How do you know he was an artist?”
    â€œShortly after he moved there, he installed a skylight and gave the exterior of his boat a lick of paint, and I thought maybe he’d actually rented or bought the boat and was intending to fix it up, so I paid him a courtesy visit.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œI didn’t get beyond the door. He clearly didn’t appreciate my coming to see him. Not very