Heatwave Read online

  “And you,” I said, before gesturing at Stephen and myself, “DCI Mitchell and DI Huxley.”

  “I’m glad you came. You see, I heard about the troubles in York, the fire that you guys had, right?”

  “Aye, I’m surprised you heard, though,” I said honestly.

  “Well, I keep my ear to the ground.” He grinned brightly. “I might want a spot at York one day, good to know these things, right? Anyway, I heard about your fire, and then Roberts called this in. Teenagers, like your fire. It’s a reach, I know-”

  “A big reach,” Stephen agreed, and I turned to him in surprise. “But Mitchell here was thinking along the same lines, weren’t you, mate?”

  DI Young looked pleased that we hadn’t dismissed his theory out of hand, and I suppressed a smile at the puppyish eagerness in his manner.

  “Well,” I hedged, “I wouldn’t say that the fires were linked. There’s no evidence of that, in my opinion. But I did wonder if this might be connected to another case we’ve been involved in after Mr Roberts mentioned a teen that sounded very much like ours. But I don’t know, your district is a good distance from York. Teenagers are usually lazier than that, aren’t they? They stick to their own patch.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” Young agreed, nodding, “but, you see, it’s not that far on the train. And the two kids we did catch aren’t local. We haven’t had a chance to talk to ‘em yet, but you can tell just by their accents, you know? Plus, I know most of the teens around here.”

  “I know how it is,” I smiled, thinking of the small-town police station I’d come from. “Linked or not, it’d be good if we could talk to those two you’ve got in holding. If they’re not local, I suppose you haven’t got hold of their parents either?”

  “You got it right there.” He sighed, pulling a face that said, ‘It is what it is.’ “But we’ll find ‘em, I’m sure. It’ll just take a few hours.”

  Things were wrapping up over at the barn, the firefighters heading off now that they were convinced the fire was out and, once the fire engine had been moved, the police followed them out and emptied out the area.

  “Follow behind me, okay?” DI Young told us. “We’re all heading back to the station now, and you can talk to the two lads we managed to get hold of.”

  So we trailed the younger officer back towards the small town’s station, which reminded me strongly of Lockdale station, where I’d spent a large part of my career before coming to York. I’d had to move for my promotion then, and it’d changed my life significantly and, overall, for the better. But I hadn’t been leaving anyone behind then, and I didn’t know whether my relationship with Sam was yet strong enough to survive it.

  “You alright, mate?” Stephen asked, glancing over at me. He was driving, taking the narrow, twisting lanes at a pace that was far slower than the speed he usually used to tear around the city.

  “Fine. Just thinking about how you’re gonna have to put your foot down if you want to keep up with Young.”

  “Jesus, you telling me to go faster,” He grinned, “what’s the world coming to, right?”

  “Topsy turvy,” I agreed.

  “Do you really think that the blond teenager who was linked to Alistair is the same one who was here?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted after a pause, “but he did seem to fit that description pretty closely, didn’t you think?”

  “I guess.” Stephen gave a careless shrug. “Could be a coincidence, though.”

  “All clues are coincidences at first,” I said with a slight smile. “But I know what you mean. I’ll wait till we know more to say anything for sure. The similarity just struck me, that was all.”

  “We can ask these two lads more about it.”

  The roads had opened out a little, and it hadn’t taken long before we were in the middle of the small town. The station was near the opposite end to the farm, and we followed Young into the tight car park.

  “Just like Lockdale,” I said fondly as Stephen struggled to squeeze the car into a too-small space.

  “I’ll take the city any day,” he muttered.

  “We’ll be back there soon enough, don’t you worry,” I said jovially.

  For now, we had two teenagers to get some answers on and an arson case to help with. It wasn’t a serious enough incident for me to get involved with actually leading the case, so the majority of it would be handled by DI Young and his colleagues once Stephen and I had left.

  Still, I enjoyed being presented with a new challenge and getting to consult on it without having to do all the tedious leg work and research. Of course, as DCI, I didn’t necessarily have to do that on the cases that I was running, but it was how I worked. How could I read the lay of the land without having both my feet on the ground? Until we had our own case to work, this was a welcome distraction, and Stephen and I headed inside, keen to get started.

  Five

  The small-town station was oppressively warm inside and had the smell of an old building where the roof leaked in heavy rain and countless people had worked and sweated within its confines. It felt a lot like Lockdale, and it made me smile even as Stephen wrinkled his nose beside me and pulled his sticky shirt away from his chest.

  “Here,” Young said, offering us both cups of water. The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly chemical, but it went down my dry throat like a dream, and I thanked him.

  “We’ve got all the windows open,” Young added apologetically when Stephen flapped ineffectually at his face with his hand. “Not like your city police station, right?”

  I grinned at that. “Actually, there’s no air con at Hewford either, or if there is, you can’t feel it. Not everything’s better in the city, lad, that I promise you.”

  “Most of it is, though,” Stephen added cheekily, leaning towards Young like he was imparting a secret. “Mitchell’s just nostalgic for his rustic origins.”

  “Rubbish.” I swatted him on the arm before turning back to Young, who looked amused. “Okay, enough of our nonsense,” I grinned, “where can we talk to the kids? Have you got an interview room?”

  “Not really,” Young said before gesturing for us to follow him. “But we can use one of the back rooms. It used to be a storeroom, but it’s empty right now. Bit cramped, but it’ll do in a pinch. We’ve been waiting for the space in the budget for an extension, you know, but it never turns up.”

  “I know how that goes,” I agreed. As overstrained as York’s resources sometimes became, the station was certainly much better funded than Lockdale had ever been.

  Young showed us through to a back room which was, if it was possible, even hotter than the main office space.

  “Crikey,” I muttered, tugging my collar away from my neck. “Can I trouble you for some more water?”

  “Of course.” Young sent me an apologetic look and went to refill our cups.

  While he was away, Stephen and I got settled at the slightly rickety table that’d been set up. Stephen gave the table leg a nudge as if he thought it might collapse.

  “Missing the city?” I teased, fanning myself with my notebook.

  “I never thought I’d see a place that made Hewford look flashy.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and was about to respond when another officer, one I hadn’t met yet, came inside. She looked startled to see us sitting there but quickly recovered.

  “Oh, sir, here’s the first of the boys.” She came further into the small room, and a sullen teenager followed her grudgingly. “He’s calling himself Tiger Shute.”

  “Go ahead and take a seat, Tiger,” I said, nodding towards the chair opposite us. I was inclined to think that the name ‘Tiger’ was unusual enough to be his real one. That or it was the nickname he was best known by.

  The lad had an unremarkable sort of face, dotted with teenage acne, and his eyes narrowed with annoyance. The most distinctive thing about him was the bright green T-shirt he was wearing, with an artistic rendition of a dinosaur on the front. It looked like one of the slightl
y kooky pieces of clothing that turned up at fashion shows, and I wondered briefly whether it was designer.

  “Is Tiger the name on your birth certificate?” Stephen asked, clearly thinking along the same lines as I was. “Or a nickname for… Thomas or Timothy?”

  “No,” the teenager said. He glanced over at the officer who’d shown him in as she took her leave and closed the door behind her. Tiger hunched down in his chair once she’d left and glared at us.

  “No, it’s not a nickname?”

  “It’s my name,” he snapped.

  “Okay,” I said neutrally. The kid had probably gotten some stick for it over the years, so no wonder if he was a little tetchy. “And how old are you?”

  “Why’d you care? Are you gonna charge me or not?”

  “That depends on your level of cooperation in this conversation,” I said firmly, giving him a quelling look. He met it with defiance for a moment before he dropped his gaze to glare at the table.

  “Sixteen,” he muttered.

  “Good, thank you.” I took a note of Tiger’s age. “What’s your home address?”

  There was a long pause, and Tiger looked shifty, glancing around the hot room as he avoided eye contact. Young knocked on the door and came inside with our cups of water at that point, and we all looked up. He set the two down on the table.

  “I’d better get you another one,” he said with a brief look at Tiger, who was sweating just like Stephen and me were.

  I nodded my thanks and pushed my cup towards Tiger in the meantime. He gulped it down hungrily and kept hold of the cup when he was done, the plastic crinkling under his fingers.

  “Where do you live, Tiger?” I repeated. “We know you’re not from around here.”

  “Acomb,” he said finally, his shoulders curling up further. “Look, what do I get for this?” He briefly met my gaze with a flare of rebellion. “I’m not meant to be telling you anything. What do I get then, huh?”

  “Who says you’re not meant to be telling us anything?” Stephen asked, leaning forwards.

  “Uh.” Tiger looked startled. “No-one. I just meant- it’s the rule, isn’t it? Don’t snitch to the cops.”

  He wasn’t a bad liar, I thought, but he also wasn’t good enough to hide his tells completely. He still wouldn’t meet our eyes, and his hand had tightened around his water cup as he spoke.

  “Alright, so who would be annoyed if you broke that rule?” I tried, keeping my voice neutral.

  He shrugged and refused to say anything more on it nor, it became apparent, anything else. He unbent enough to give his full address and his parents’ phone number, but he refused to say anything about the other teenagers, about whose idea it had been, nor how he’d gotten all the way out here.

  “The firefighters told us that fuel was used to start the fire,” I told him, still trying to get him to talk. “What did you use?”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” he said stubbornly. “Don’t I get a lawyer or something?”

  I sighed and sat back in my chair, hiding a grimace at the way my clothes were sticking to me.

  “Are you aware that you’re looking at arson and aggravated assault charges? The consequences for those won’t be light. Are you really willing to take the fall for the rest of them? Would they do the same for you?”

  For a moment, I thought I’d gotten through to him. He paused for a long second, his posture tense and agitated.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered finally and clenched his jaw. “You don’t snitch.”

  “Okay,” I relented. Perhaps the teenager would change his mind after his parents had given him a talking to, but right now, I was sure that he wasn’t going to budge. “Time to talk to your buddy.”

  “He’s not my buddy,” Tiger snorted, surprising me with the vehemence of his response. He seemed offended at the suggestion, even though it had only been a passing comment on my part. I’d intended to get up to show Tiger out, but I settled back in my chair.

  “He’s not? I thought the group of you were friends?”

  Tiger seemed to realise he’d said more than he meant to, and I wasn’t sure he was going to respond. But if there was anything that would make most teenagers talk, it was insulting their pride.

  “I wouldn’t be mates with a nerdy weed like that,” he said, his lip curled.

  I shared a look with Stephen, who gave me a shrug. If the other teenager was something of an outsider, that might make it easier to get through to him, I thought.

  We took Tiger out of the too-hot little room and handed him off to one of the small-town officers to keep an eye on him while his parents were called. The other kid did look a little on the nerdy side, I thought, especially when he stood up and didn’t even reach my upper arm. He was narrow-faced and had quick eyes, like a fox in a trap, and I could feel the nerves vibrating off him.

  “Alright, lad, you’re up, let’s go.”

  He trailed, slow-footed and reluctant, after us. He sent a glance over at Tiger, too, I saw, but the other boy wouldn’t look at him.

  The little interview room felt twice as warm after taking a break from it, and I sighed as I sat down, shifting in my seat with an uncomfortable grimace. The teenager opposite kept his hands in his lap and watched us with obvious nervousness.

  We ran through the basics, and the teen gave up his details relatively easily. His name was Mickey White, he lived in the suburbs of York, and he was fifteen, though he looked younger.

  “How did you guys get out here?” I asked. “It’s a good hour from York.”

  “We, er, caught the train,” he said, his head down and his gaze on the table. He had a strong accent that was mostly Yorkshire, roughened up by his teenage attitude.

  “How many of you were there?”

  “Uh, seven.” He glanced towards the door like he wanted to make a run for it but didn’t quite dare.

  I nodded, making a note. Already we were making better progress with Mickey than we’d managed with Tiger, and it’d only been a couple of minutes.

  “Did you know the others well?” I had the feeling that Mickey would keep sharing if I kept the questions reasonably subtle, so I tried to move towards asking about the teens’ identities in a roundabout way.

  “Not… particularly,” he said hesitantly. He hadn’t looked up once from the table, and his mousy-brown hair hung down, shading his face.

  “Do you know Tiger from school?”

  He silently shook his head, and I hummed. If the kids hadn’t met via school, how had they joined up?

  “He’s a year older than you, right?” I asked, and Mickey nodded. “What about the others? Are they your age?”

  “I guess.” He’d stiffened slightly at the question, and his reply seemed deliberately evasive.

  I leaned back and looked over at Stephen as I tried to weigh up what to ask next. Stephen was frowning slightly at the kid, looking faintly troubled.

  “What about the fire?” I said, trying a different avenue. “Was it your idea to set the barn alight?”

  “No.”

  “It’s so dry right now that that fire could very easily have spread. Mr Roberts could have lost his house, and you could have been badly burned. Did you think of that?”

  Abruptly, Mickey lifted his head for the first time since he’d sat down and looked at me.

  “Can I- can I ask, is that man okay?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Y’know, the farmer? Will he be okay?”

  That wasn’t what I’d been expecting him to say, and it took me a moment to think of how to reply. Stephen was faster than me, though, and responded before I could.

  “How did he get injured, Mickey?” he asked sternly, rather than answer. It was perhaps a harsher take than what I would’ve done with the timid kid, but I looked to Mickey regardless, curious to hear his answer.

  “I don’t know,” Mickey mumbled, shrinking back into himself. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat.

  “You must know,” Stephen press
ed, “if you’re asking if he’s alright.”

  I decided that playing off Stephen a little here wouldn’t go amiss and leaned forwards slightly.

  “Look, lad, Mr Roberts took a nasty hit to the head, but he’ll live. I know you must be a good kid, and you must care if you want to know if he’s alright, so help us out here, okay?”

  Mickey looked uncertain, chewing his lip as he looked between us.

  “What happened earlier today, Mickey?” Stephen repeated firmly.

  “I didn’t know they were gonna hurt him. He wasn’t meant to be there,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

  “Who hit him?” I asked, gentling my voice. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  Mickey silently shook his head and didn’t speak.

  “We’re trying to stop this from happening again,” I tried. “To stop other people like Mr Roberts from getting hurt like this. His animals were injured too, and he’s lost his barn. That’ll hurt his livelihood, kid, d’you understand?”

  “I can’t say.” Mickey looked over at the door again almost desperately, like he wished someone would come rushing through it to save him from our questions.

  “Who says you can’t?”

  “If you’re worried about being hurt,” Stephen said, his tone softening, “we can protect you, kid.”

  Mickey stayed mum, shaking his head and buckling down on his silence.

  “The guy who told you not to tell,” I tried, thinking of the blonde boy Roberts had mentioned, “is his name Jules?”

  Mickey tensed noticeably, and I watched him closely for a response but, after that first flinch, he stayed completely still.

  “Mickey?” I prompted.

  He wouldn’t answer, staying quiet in the face of my coaxing questions and refusing to reply to Stephen’s sterner ones too. I sighed heavily and accepted, after ten minutes or so, that we weren’t going to get anything else out of the teen, despite the encouraging start we’d had.

  “Alright, Mickey,” I said. “Let’s go and see how far away your parents are.”

  “It’s just my mum,” he said quietly, and I stilled before giving him a nod.