Free Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night by James Runcie Page B

dawn there were piles of brick, rubble and timber all over the ground, glowing hard, occasionally flaring up with the residue. Only a few items were recognisable amidst the remains: the tangled metal of a photographic enlarger, a melted metronome, a cracked glass ashtray, part of an antler from what had once been a stag’s head.
    Sidney visited the site before morning communion and found one of his parishioners, Mark Bowen, already at work, wearing heavy boots and thick rubber gloves. He was a fire investigator.
    ‘Is it still going?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘In some places it’s hot enough to bake a potato. I think the point of origin is near the main windows, but I can’t tell yet.’
    Sidney could see no sign of main windows and any casual passer-by would have had considerable difficulty working out either the structure or the orientation of the building.
    ‘The destruction is much greater than you would expect from a straightforward house fire and there may have been multiple points of origin. I suppose it must have been the photographic chemicals: toner, developer, acetic acid. There are all kinds of nastiness in there. I also found a petrol can near the scene. I suppose that’s normal . . .’
    ‘The Bells having a garage?’
    ‘But you wouldn’t expect them to be so careless with it. I can’t imagine any of the family leaving petrol lying around.’
    ‘Which suggests?’
    Mark Bowen stood up and started to take off his gloves. ‘Either that someone started the fire by using a can of petrol and then ran away or . . .’
    ‘Someone put the petrol can there deliberately . . .’
    ‘Exactly, Canon Chambers, although what is strange is that this doesn’t feel like a petrol-based fire to me.’
    ‘What does it feel like?’
    ‘Something more intense.’
    Sidney knew that he should head off back to church and check through the readings for the tenth Sunday after Trinity. ‘You don’t think it was an accident then?’ he asked.
    ‘The photographer was away at the time. He still doesn’t know anything about it. I imagine it might be a bit of a shock when he comes home.’
    ‘It could have been an electrical appliance, I suppose. Did the place have power?’
    ‘It doesn’t look like it.’
    Sidney realised that he was out of his depth and should move on but he couldn’t help wondering. ‘Why do people commit arson, Mark?’
    ‘I’m not saying it’s arson, Canon Chambers.’
    ‘I can see that would be jumping to conclusions. But in theory ?’
    ‘It’s mostly young men. You don’t find many female arsonists. Sometimes it is straightforward pyromania. The most common cause, in my experience, is revenge. But I am sure you know all that, Canon Chambers. You don’t need me to tell you that most of the trouble in the world is caused by love and money.’
    ‘I suppose sometimes people even set fire to their own homes.’
    ‘Not when they are sixty miles away. I haven’t found any evidence of a timing mechanism.’
    ‘You can’t rule anything out, you mean?’
    ‘Whoever did it could even have hired a professional arsonist. They’re often around when a business has money worries. The owner claims on the insurance; although I can’t think that this place would have been worth very much.’
    ‘One would have to check Daniel Morden’s policies?’
    ‘That’s not really your line of work, though, is it, Canon Chambers? You deal in the more dramatic stuff.’
    ‘I don’t seek it out.’
    Mark Bowen had one last thought. ‘You also have to remember that people sometimes burn places down to get rid of evidence.’
    ‘What kind of evidence?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘I am sure you can imagine.’
    ‘You mean incriminating paperwork, vital clues, that kind of thing?’
    ‘Actually I meant something more than that, Canon Chambers. I meant dead bodies.’
     
    A few days later, Keating was able to give Sidney an update on the situation. Daniel Morden had, indeed, been away in London at the time of the blaze,