DI Hitchens had strong hands, with clean, carefully trimmed fingernails. He placed them on his desk in his most serious manner. There was still no ring on his finger, though he’d lived with a nurse for a couple of years now, and they’d bought a home together in Dronfield Woodhouse. Fry wondered again about the white scar that crawled across the middle knuckles of his fingers. No one had ever mentioned him getting injured, or being involved in a fight. It looked intriguing. But then, it was probably just the result of something very boring – an accident with a potato peeler, or a hand caught in the blades of a lawn mower.

‘Diane,’ he said when she entered his office, ‘we’ve had a call from the Forensic Science Service.’

‘A result?’

‘Well, no. More of a complaint, actually.’

She sat down without waiting to be invited. ‘What’s the matter with them?’

‘Apparently, their fire investigation specialist, a Mr, er . . .’

‘Downie.’

‘Yes, that’s it. He seems to feel you didn’t get off on the right foot at Darwin Street. His boss gave me some stuff about co-operation and all pulling in the same direction. Do you know what he’s on about?’

‘Downie’s a bit of a pillock,’ said Fry.

Hitchens couldn’t help grinning. ‘Civilians, eh? Who let them into the equation?’

‘Right.’

‘Well, could you try to get on a bit better while you have to work with him? It would help relations all round.’

‘I can do that.’

‘Great. We’ve got to keep on side with our partners. It doesn’t do any good to get “unco-operative” on your record, I can tell you.’

Watching Hitchens, Fry guessed that he was starting to find the job of DI unsatisfactory. The hours were long, the responsibility more and more onerous. And he must be reflecting that the increase in pay from a DS wasn’t worth the hassle.

‘So how’s the fire enquiry going generally, Diane?’

‘The dog got a hit, as you know. And this morning the FSS confirmed the presence of accelerant – butane, just like the lighter fluid can the search team found. It’s a triple suspicious death, sir.’

‘Oh, brilliant.’ Hitchens spun anxiously in his chair. ‘Do you have any potential suspects?’

‘I favour the husband quite strongly. There’s no one else in the picture, so far as I can see. There’s a possibility of forced entry, but that could be a blind. The Mullens don’t seem like a family anyone would have a grudge against.’

‘So once you get a full report from the FSS, you’ll be looking to build a case against the husband?’