Heatwave by Oliver Davies (the red fox clan txt) 📗

as he was back, swivelling his chair towards me and looking much more awake. “What happened? Are you and Sam good?”

I had known the questions were coming, but it still felt a raw spot, and I winced at the question. I tugged a hand absently through my hair, still damp from the shower, and sighed.

“Yes and no. She’s gotten offered a job in Kent. They sought her out, and it’s a big promotion, a step up. She’d be an idiot not to take it.”

“Oh, Darren.” Stephen looked at me with a sympathy I found hard to stand, so I shrugged and fiddled with the half-full cup of coffee on my desk. “How will you- I mean, when’s it happening?”

“They want her as soon as possible, basically. She’ll put in her notice with work today.”

“It’s decided then.”

“Aye. What could I say, Steph?” I raised my hands imploringly. “I couldn’t- I wouldn’t hold her back, would I?”

“No, of course not.” He reached over to squeeze my shoulder.

A moment passed, and he seemed to sense that I badly wanted to be done with this conversation. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, eliciting a creak.

“Alright, have we got any news? Any updates from Sedgwick?”

“Not yet, but it’s still early.” I checked my watch and found that it was just past eight.

Sedgwick still hadn’t appeared by the time that a call came out over the radio, asking for available officers to help with a suspicious-looking building fire. Stephen and I looked at each other and shrugged. We couldn’t be of much help to Sedgwick’s case right now, not without more information, and there was no reason to stay sitting around idly when there was something we could help with. Besides, the news of another fire could be a coincidence, but it was strange to have two fires within a week, even when the ground was as dry as it was now. The fire out near Strensall certainly hadn’t been an accident, after all.

The officer already on the scene filled us in as we started the drive over, which would take us a good hour. It wasn’t an incident that had happened within the confines of York city, but we were being called out to advise on it anyway and to help out the local police.

“Did you bring your running kit this time?” Stephen asked, reaching over to turn up the air con. “Get a bit of hill running in?”

“God, no,” I laughed. “Far too hot for me at this time of day, mate.”

He gave a nod of acknowledgement, turning out onto the main road and adjusting his hands on the steering wheel.

“So what will we be doing exactly? What do they need us for?”

“A second opinion? Extra pair of hands? I don’t know exactly, but the local police were adamant about having a couple of York officers out to help, and Rashford signed it off.” I gave a shrug of acceptance. “We’ll find more when we get there.”

“At least we get a scenic drive.” Stephen gestured to the baby blue sky and the suburbs of York that were turning mile-by-mile into countryside. I rested my head back and idly watched the landscape roll by, my mind drifting back to Sam and our conversation. I thought about all the things I might’ve said that would have been more comforting, or how I could’ve expressed myself better and made it clear how much I’d miss her.

My thoughts drifted as we travelled over to the small town that was our destination, a place called Rowley. We’d climbed up a short way, and there were clouds in the sky now, but it was still a bright, warm day and the people out on the streets were in shorts and sandals. Even just in my shirt and trousers, I was too warm, and I relinquished the cool air of the car with regret.

It was a short five-minute walk from where we’d parked up the road to where the fire had taken place. It was a narrow road, and we’d been asked not to block the way for the fire engine.

At the end of the track, there was a large, family farmhouse up ahead and a scattering of assorted farm buildings and equipment scattered about the place in that organised but chaotic way that characterised many working farms and riding stables.

What immediately drew my attention, though, was the thickly bitter tang of smoke in the air and the badly charred structure of an agricultural barn off to the left. Two police cars and a fire engine were crammed into the gravelled area around it as if they were protecting it from future harm. The barn was mostly still on its feet, its four walls still holding, but the roof had started to cave in on the back end, and the whole thing was badly blackened.

We headed closer to the site of the fire, cutting between the police cars to reach the team who were moving around near the barn.

“Who is that?” I asked the most senior officer after I’d introduced myself. I gestured towards the one civilian I could see amongst the group, a heavily bearded man and talking angrily to a police officer. He was dressed in an olive green coat and mud-caked Wellingtons, and there was a cut above his eye that was still bleeding.

“That’s Mr Roberts. The landowner,” she explained.

“How’d he get injured?” Stephen asked.

“The teenagers roughed him up when he tried to chase them off.” She shook her head. “He charged into the fire, too, to get his animals out. It’s a miracle he’s not in hospital, though we’ve been trying to get him to go and get checked out.”

“So he saw these teenagers, then?” I said, my eyebrows lifting. “And they attacked him?”

“Aye, if arson and trespassing weren’t enough, they’ve added aggravated assault too.” Frowning, she turned away, looking up the slope towards Mr Roberts. “We snatched two of them who couldn’t keep up with the others, but the rest were long