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

“You got two, though? That’s a damn good start.”

I gave a nod of approval, feeling more positive about this lead now than I had when we arrived. It might very well be a coincidence that teenagers had again been kicking up trouble and setting fires, especially since we were a good hour’s drive from York here, but regardless, I was more confident that we’d be able to nail the people who did this. Attacking a lone man on his own property for trying to protect his livelihood was a despicable thing to do, and, kids or not, there should be consequences.

“Can we talk to Mr Roberts?” I asked, nodding towards the farmer. He’d broken off with his ranting against the police officer but was still looking like he’d like to put his fist through a wall.

“Please, go ahead. See if you can calm him down a little.”

She gave a put-upon sigh, and I sent her a sympathetic look. I was about to step away when a thought occurred to me, and I paused.

“Was it you who called us in?”

“Uh, no, I’m afraid not,” she said, looking politely confused. “We wouldn’t usually call York police unless we had a violent situation on our hands we couldn’t deal with ourselves or a high-profile case.”

“Aye, that’s what I thought. Strange,” I said. “Can you ask around, see who did request us?”

“Sure,” she agreed.

I turned to nod to Stephen, and we moved over towards Mr Roberts, but before we’d taken a couple of steps, I noticed that the firefighters seemed to be packing up.

“Wait, let’s talk to those guys before they head off.” I gestured towards the firefighters, and Stephen grunted his agreement.

For a change, he took the lead in introducing us to the grim-faced team leader, who shook our hands with a firm grip and looked strong enough to deadlift a horse.

“I’m guessing you want to know what caused it?” he asked.

“Particularly whether there was an accelerant used, aye.”

“Look, I can show you. That’d be easier.”

He gestured for us to follow him as he moved around his colleagues and took us around to the back of the barn. The back was the most badly damaged, and the firefighter kept us a good distance away for safety.

“See this here?” he said, pointing to an array of black marks up the wall. He looked up at them like they were letters he could read, but my inexpert eyes could tell little. “This is the origin point. The char pattern points directly down, and it’s a sharp v, so we know an accelerant was used here.” He mimed someone splashing fuel on the wall. “This is where it burned hottest, hence the damage.”

I could still feel the residual heat coming off the smouldering barn, and on a hot day like today, it was stifling. We were all sweating, especially the firefighter in his gear, and we moved back towards the cars around the front.

“So, you don’t know yet what kind of accelerant it was?” I asked as we walked.

“Not yet, but we will do.”

“Thanks for the help,” I said with a nod, and he left us to head back to his team.

“That didn’t narrow it down much,” Stephen sighed.

“No, but it’s all good information.” I looked over toward Mr Roberts, who was still standing strong, closely watching the activity going on around him with an air of suspicion. “Let’s go and see whether the farmer can help us out, aye?”

“Sounds good.”

Roberts saw us approaching him and considered us with an unimpressed frown as we got nearer. On first impressions, he looked like the sort of guy who’d quibble about being given a few pennies less change than he was due, but also one who could be relied upon in an emergency; capable, decisive and dutiful. Or perhaps that was just the stereotype of a country farmer that I was projecting onto him.

“Who’re you two?” he demanded when we came to a stop in front of him.

I politely introduced us both and then started to say, “We’d like to ask you some questions-”

“More ruddy questions,” he grumbled. “I’ve been over it all already.”

“I know, sir, I’m sorry for the repetition. We’re trying to catch the folks who did this to you, and it’d help a lot if you could talk us through it.”

“Fine,” he said, looking at me from under bushy eyebrows, drawn together in consternation. His brow was red and wet with sweat, from the heat of the day and of the fire. “What d’you wanna know then?”

“Can you describe for us the teenagers that you saw? How many of them were there?”

“Ten, at least,” he said with a firm nod. “A couple of lasses with them too, didn’t expect to see that, did I? They were kicking up a right ruckus as if they owned the whole place like I haven’t lived on this land since my grandfather was alive!” He swore under his breath, his weathered face crumpled up in anger. “They burn my barn, burn my animals, gave me this blasted thing. Damn the lot of ‘em.” He gestured at his face, which was still bleeding sluggishly.

“We should get that seen to, don’t you think?” I offered, concerned that the older man would get dizzy.

Head wounds always do bleed such a lot, even when they’re barely longer than a finger joint, as Roberts’ was. There was some nasty bruising coming up beneath the cut, though, and I reckoned he could do with getting checked out for a concussion, though he seemed perfectly lucid at the moment.

“Nonsense, I’m fine. I’ll see to it when my animals are sorted, and you lot have done your damn job.”

“Can you tell us what the teenagers looked like?” I asked, giving up on trying to persuade the stubborn man to do something that he clearly didn’t want to.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he huffed. “One of the girls had pink hair that I did notice, candyfloss pink. Ridiculous colour. The boys all looked like yobs, like layabouts. Wearing those