To Dwell in Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page B

he caught the first whiff of a strange smell. Burned matches and . . . garlic?
    A firefighter came to meet them, pulling off his hood and respirator. “Detective.” He nodded at Callery and gave Kincaid a questioning glance.
    â€œDetective Superintendent Kincaid, Camden CID.” Kincaid still hesitated when he introduced himself. It seemed odd to say “Camden” rather than “Scotland Yard.” “And DI Sidana,” he added.
    â€œJohn Stacey, crew manager,” said the firefighter, a burly man with short, thinning hair. “The good news is that I don’t think we have too much of a hazmat issue here, with the air moving through the station. Most of the smoke has already dissipated.”
    Kincaid realized that even in the heated lower concourse, the station was bitterly cold.
    â€œI would recommend that the crime scene techs and the pathologist wear protective gear since they are going to have prolonged exposure to the victim. And you three as well if you intend to get up close and personal.”
    â€œThat smell,” Kincaid said. “Was there an explosion in the café as well?”
    â€œYou mean the garlic odor? No, that’s a component of the white phosphorus. But I don’t think you’ll want to get too close to the victim without a respirator, contamination or no.”
    Now Kincaid detected a hint of nauseating oiliness beneath the phosphorus.
    â€œI’ve got the DS who contained the scene into a suit,” Stacey continued. “Is she one of yours?”
    â€œShe?” Kincaid shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
    â€œGood job, anyway. Look, I’ll get you some suits. You can gear-up by the cash point, just this side of the temporary stage.”
    The square center of Searcys champagne bar spanned the upper concourse just ahead, and beneath it Kincaid saw the freestanding vertical oblong of one of the station’s cash machines. The stage must have been really close to the incident, then, but he held his concerns about Andy and Poppy until he could see for himself.
    Stacy spoke into his radio and another firefighter brought them three Tyvek suits.
    When they had done the always-awkward dance of slipping into the suits and booties, Stacey handed them the respirators and led them forward.
    Beyond the stairs leading up to the upper concourse, he could see firefighters and ambulance service medics assisting the injured and setting up stretchers. Then he saw what lay behind the temporary barrier and all other thoughts fled.
    â€œJesus.”
    Beside him, Sidana gave a little gasp, audible even through the respirator, but this time it was not because she was offended by his language. They both stared at the thing on the floor.
    â€œTold you,” said Callery, but without satisfaction.
    It was not the first time Kincaid had seen a body consumed by fire—the blaze in the Southwark warehouse flashed through his mind, as well the horrible events in Henley the previous autumn. But there seemed something particularly obscene in the contrast between the charred corpse and the gleaming perfection of the station.
    Callery had referred to the victim as male, but Kincaid wasn’t sure anyone but the pathologist could be certain of the gender.
    A smaller, suited figure moved away from the body and came towards them. “Here’s your sergeant,” said Callery.
    Beneath the suit hood and the respirator, Kincaid glimpsed dark hair and familiar blue eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. “Melody?” His voice was muffled by the respirator.
    Grasping his arm, she squeezed it, relief visible even beneath the mask. She motioned back the way they’d come and the others followed.
    When they reached the cash point, Melody yanked off her respirator and pulled back her hood. Her face was smudged, her eyes red rimmed. “Duncan! I’m so glad it’s you. Somehow I hadn’t realized—”
    â€œI