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with it, but he was unable to ever quite detach himself from the thought that he was dealing with something that had once been alive.
    A firefighter was still dousing down the mess which smouldered with the possibility of re-ignition. This was okay and necessary, but it didn’t half destroy evidence. Henry winced at the thought.
    â€˜Had a good look,’ Grant, was saying. ‘It was an extremely hot fire because of the foam in the settee, which was also the seat of the fire. Until everything has been doused down, I can’t say for sure, but I’ll lay my career on it being a discarded cigarette underneath the settee. Caught hold of the rubbish underneath, then whoosh!’ Grant’s hands explained his words with an explosive gesture. ‘They don’t put this sort of filling in furniture these days. It was a very old piece, to say the least – and she was lying on it, poor bugger.’
    â€˜Why didn’t she get off, try to escape?’ Henry asked.
    â€˜Drink? Drugs? Who the fuck knows?’ said Grant. ‘Post-mortem’ll tell you that, no doubt.’
    â€˜Would you say the fire was accidental or deliberate?’ Rik Dean asked Grant.
    There was no hesitation in Grant’s response. ‘Accidental. You don’t start a deliberate fire by discarding a cigarette and hoping it’ll burn a house down.’
    Henry turned up his nose doubtfully. That was unless you were a very tricky person, he thought to himself.
    â€˜Still doesn’t add up,’ said Rik. ‘Why did JJ go out of the window?’
    â€˜Do we know for sure he went out of this window?’ Henry put in. ‘At the moment it’s only an assumption.’
    â€˜Yeah . . . but . . .’ Rik protested.
    â€˜I know, I know.’ Henry raised his hands. ‘This is his girlfriend’s flat and it’s more than odds on he did go from here, but it’s not a racing certainty as yet, not until we get our house-to-house teams to knock on every door in this building.’
    Rik accepted this. ‘I’ll get a couple of guys on to that now.’
    â€˜Good idea.’
    â€˜And I’ll go and clean up,’ said Grant.
    They left Henry standing alone by the door of the living room. He was still amazed by the devastation that fire could bring in such a short time. It was still an assumption that the body on the settee belonged to Carrie Dancing, but he was pretty certain that subsequent examination would reveal that to be the case. Henry liked to deal with facts as opposed to supposition whenever possible. He knew that assumptions did have to be made, particularly in the early stages of an investigation into a suspicious death. The trouble was that assumptions tended to have fangs which had a nasty habit of biting you where the sun don’t shine.
    He sniffed. He could smell charred flesh. It turned his stomach, making him feel queasy. It was one of those aromas that once inhaled never purged.
    Suddenly he was whacked between the shoulder blades. He staggered a couple of steps from the unexpected blow and spun to face his unknown adversary, ready to fight.
    â€˜Jesus!’ he said, fists raised defensively.
    It was just as well he did not lash out, otherwise he would have punched a Home Office pathologist into next week.
    â€˜Henry, you slimy old twat.’ Professor Baines beamed. ‘Back in plain clothes? I knew that uniform business would not last.’ He was referring to Henry’s recent short but sharp time as a uniformed inspector.
    â€˜Yeah, I’m on the SIO team now,’ said Henry, trying to rub his back from the friendly, but hard blow delivered by Baines.
    â€˜Oh, that’s handy.’
    â€˜Why?’ Henry asked suspiciously.
    â€˜Well, not being one to jump to conclusions . . . but I’m pretty sure this female was dead before the fire cremated her.’
    The van arrived on time and drew up in the alley at the back of the