the fire ignites.’
Deborah Parks nodded. Helen digested this development – struck by the care and intelligence of the perpetrator – as the FIO continued:
‘There were old cardboard boxes, a couple of brooms, other detritus in the cupboard – plenty of fuel to help the fire grow. If the cupboard door was closed the temperature would have risen quickly. Hot gases would have built up above the flames and when the temperature in the cupboard reached a certain level, the gases themselves would have ignited, causing a flashover. And, of course, the stairs above are made of wood that’s over a hundred and fifty years old -’
‘So it would have gone up like a candle. And the fact that the stairs would be ablaze before anyone was the wiser, means there would be little chance of escape.’
This crime became more unpleasant the more Helen learnt about it. This was a calculated attempt to kill the Simms family.
‘Any room for doubt?’ Helen offered, more in hope than expectation.
‘No. There are no electrics under the stairs and clear evidence of paraffin having been poured on the floor. This wasn’t accidental or vandalism, it was murder.’
Helen took this in, then:
‘What does such a calculated attempt on their lives suggest? In your experience?’
‘Well, if you’d wanted to make it look like an accident you would have started the blaze by the fuse box or in the kitchen perhaps, where there are plenty of appliances that could cause a fire. Your arsonist isn’t interested in that. He or she doesn’t care that people know it’s a deliberate act of arson. Perhaps they want people to know.’
‘So it’s an act of hatred? Revenge of some kind?’
‘Could be. If I was a betting woman I would wager that the arsonist was known to them. Someone they’d crossed swords with, wronged in some way perhaps.’
Deborah Parks paused before concluding her train of thought.
‘This was personal.’
Luke Simms looked broken in every way. He was putting a brave face on things for his dad’s sake, answering Charlie’s questions patiently and politely, but his eyes gave the lie to his performance. As he lay with his legs suspended in his hospital bed, he seemed to stare past Charlie to some unspecified spot on the wall, as if he was still struggling to take in what had happened.
By all accounts, Luke was a bright lad with a promising future. He was a pupil at St Michael’s Secondary, a prestigious fee-paying school in Millbrook. He was studying for his A-Levels – Maths, Biology and Sports Science – but his real dream was to play football. He practised five times a week and was a key player for a semi-professional team. He had twice been scouted by the Saints and like many local boys harboured hopes of playing for his hometown club. But that seemed a very distant possibility now.
