The Fire Man Read Online Free PDF

gothic, letter K logo, below which was the legend
Viktor Kaloudis Ltd – Vlastou 15, Thessaloniki, Greece.
He pulled one of the sodden labels free and inserted it into his file.
    It was getting darker by the minute and the wind was getting up, driving gusts of rain into the areas where the roof no longer provided shelter. He decided to take an alternative view, from the rear of the warehouse before attempting the more daunting task of penetrating into the heart of the warehouse.
The heart of darkness,
he suddenly thought, for no good reason.
    From the rear access door to Unit A, it was possible to get a fairly panoramic view of the interior, so he rested his clipboard on the steel-framed seat of a gutted forklift, extracted his compact camera from the pocket of his anorak and took a couple of general shots. It was important to do this while there was still sufficient daylight. They wouldn’t be brilliant with the inbuilt flash, but he would get some professional ones taken later. Deciding to continue his general survey for the moment, he picked his way carefully amongst the charred timber, broken glass and fallen bricks, parallel with the rear wall, in the general direction of the despatch unit, C.
    In the course of his tortuous progression he looked closely at the three loading bay doors, each of which seemed well secured by newish twin closed-shackle padlocks. The two timber-framed personnel doors also seemed well protected, being lined externally with sheet steel and secured by five lever deadlocks.
    Spotting a collapsed section of the rear wall, McRae clambered gingerly through the gap and outside for a general view. Stepping as far back as he reasonably could from the rear wall, he took two pictures showing the complete rear elevation and then moved quickly to his right to get a shot along the side wall.
    Precisely as his finger began to depress the shutter, a short stocky figure in a high visibility jacket materialised on the very edge of the viewfinder and quickly turned his face away from the camera.
Friar Tuck?
he wondered, as he lowered the camera, only to find that the figure had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. He then retook the shot before retracing his steps to the right-hand warehouse door. As he approached the door, he could clearly see that one corner of the steel sheet seemed to have been levered, almost peeled, away from the frame. Looking more carefully, it was also apparent that the inner tongued and grooved woodwork had been splintered. He took several close-focus pictures for the record.
    Time to get stuck into the heart of darkness,
he thought.
    Re-entering the warehouse and climbing with care over a fallen stack of sodden heavy-duty cardboard packing cases, McRae moved into what had evidently been a two-tier aisle of hanging rails. Filthy, charred, part-melted and sodden piles of reeking garments, most still clinging to deformed plastic hangers, formed a valley through which he negotiated an erratic path. After twenty minutes, McRae had gained a clear idea of the original layout.
    It was evident that Unit B had indeed contained the bulk of the stock. There had been ten long aisles with double-height hanging rails, adjoined at each end by metal Dexion racking that consisted of multiple shelves. It appeared to the adjusters’ untrained eye that dresses, skirts and similar items had been hung up, while the shelving had contained blouses and tops in silk, cotton and mixed man-made fabrics each packaged in clear plastic sleeves. Not exactly being a fashionista himself, McRae was unable to determine how good the stuff was but, he thought he knew someone who could.
    Thinking of Karen made him realise that there was now little chance of making their agreed dinner date. It was nearly five o’clock already and they would not get away for at least another hour or two. Traffic on the Aston Expressway would be at a standstill anyway
. Fuck, better ring her.
    Astonishingly, Karen responded