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haven’t met the man. I’m going to insist all samples come
through to you. That way I won’t have Valentino breathing down my
neck. And no. I do not think he’s sexy. If you saw him dipping a
charred sausage in a blob of tomato sauce you wouldn’t think so
either.’
    The noises on
the other end of the phone suggested Chrissy did not believe her.
Denial always made matters worse with Chrissy.
    ‘I’ll have to
go. My caveman’s back. And Chrissy. Don’t buy any more of those
takeaways. I spent half the morning being sick.’
    Rhona dropped
the window on MacRae’s second knock.
    The voice was
irritated. ‘You ready?’
    ‘Of
course.’
    ‘Let’s go
then.’
    Rhona wondered
if the anger radiating from his body was specifically directed at
her.
    He turned back
as she shut the door of the police car.
    ‘I suggest you
bring a plastic bag. No one is allowed to pee, spit, shit, cough or
vomit once inside the building.’
    Rafters gaped
above Rhona like the broken ribs of a huge whale. Underfoot, the
floor was a spongy mass of sodden debris.
    MacRae led the
way, followed by MacFarlane who joined them at the door. The acrid
smell caught at Rhona’s throat. Despite being familiar with fire
scenes, the devastation fire wrought always surprised her. At a
normal murder scene it was the victim that lay mutilated. Here, the
building was the victim.
    Along the wall
of what must have been a reception area, a set of shelves stood
upright in defiance, the twisted metal evidence of the strength of
the fire. A filing cabinet stood open beside it, buckled by the
heat.
    MacFarlane
spoke first.
    ‘One of the
firemen said the colour of the flames was wrong.’
    ‘Whatever was
burning wasn’t what should have been in here?’ Rhona said.
    MacFarlane
nodded.
    ‘The building
was being renovated but the owner was taking a long time about it.
The preservation people were being awkward.’
    ‘You think it
might be an insurance job?’
    They both
looked at MacRae for confirmation.
    ‘I don’t think
anything. But I sure as hell smell something.’
    MacFarlane had
picked his way across the debris to the remains of a doorway on the
left.
    ‘Take a look at
this, Sev.’
    Straight ahead
was a wide staircase. To the left and right, what remained of
archways led into other rooms. MacFarlane was standing in the
remains of the left hand arch. MacRae followed him through. In the
centre of the room was a pile of debris. MacRae knelt beside it and
nodded at Rhona to bring the fire investigation kit.
    ‘It smells
like...’ MacFarlane began.
    ‘Don’t bother
MacFarlane. You haven’t the nose for it.’
    MacRae filled
the bag and handed it back to Rhona.
    ‘Have they
checked the windows?’
    ‘All the ground
floor ones were blown out with the blast,’ MacFarlane told him.
‘Gas and electricity have been off for the past year, so it wasn’t
a gas explosion.’ He looked about. ‘It’ll be difficult to prove a
break in.’
    A line of
scorch marks was visible on the bare floorboards. Rhona followed it
back to the archway.
    ‘Don’t wander
about.’ MacRae’s voice followed her. ‘Not until we’re sure it’s
safe.’
    ‘The fire ran
this way.’ The scorch marks led to the foot of the staircase. Rhona
wondered why she had missed them on her way in, but then her eyes
had been on the ceiling, or what was left of it. ‘I think someone
piled bits of old shop fittings where you are now and splashed
petrol about, then dripped it through here and up the stairs and
back to the front door. When he lit it, the fire ran back into the
side room.’
    ‘Christ
MacFarlane, tell her!’ The voice had reached exasperation.
    Rhona noted
MacFarlane’s concerned face before she started up the stairs, but
she wanted to be sure. The first and second steps were burned
through but the third and fourth showed the signs she was looking
for.
    ‘He’s right,’
MacFarlane tried.
    ‘The petrol had
already vaporised, that’s what caused the explosion,’