“Friday Fiction” Series: Mr. Gualchmai, Chapter One…
[Note from Steve: In the collection Sleuthing, British-Style, I introduce DI Clarke and DS Blake in three short stories as a homage to British-style mysteries. While the following didn’t make it to novel status (as the British coppers might have wanted, and I suggested might eventually happen one day), or the self-imposed editorial deadline for that collection (as a test case for Draft2Digital), you might find the following short story equally entertaining.]
Mr. Gualchmai
Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore
Chapter One
DI Clarke’s search for a new winter coat had been interrupted by a domestic squabble. Constables were taking the drunken bully to arraignment and jail, his family jewels probably still aching from Clarke’s well-placed kick; his bruised and battered girlfriend had been taken to the hospital, lucky that her only serious injury was a broken arm; and their two children were under the care of a family liaison officer, pending legal proceedings to protect them.
Clarke usually went into Oxford to shop if she had the time, so it had been lucky for the woman and her children she had decided to hit the smaller local Riversford shopping district first. The DI decided to celebrate one more win against misogynist brutes by enjoying a mash up in a small coffee bar she favored. Usually replete with noisy students from the various colleges at Oxford University, even that far out from the city, the spot was quiet now. Michaelmas term was over and few students were in the area. Some faculty had also made their exodus for the lengthy holiday.
The little café, if the spot with its four little tables and three stools at a counter deserved such an appellation, sat on a narrow side street, yet the locals looked for it. It was mostly empty now, and the street also empty of traffic. It was too early for Christmas shoppers, and the gray, dreary day wouldn’t have beckoned to many shoppers at any rate. She liked to shop in those conditions, though. The denser the crowds, the more obnoxious and pushy they became.
From her small table, she was in the perfect spot to see the explosion in the building across the street from her. Flames shot out third-story windows as they first engulfed that floor. The conflagration had seemed instantaneous.
“Say, ma’am, you didn’t pay,” said the waiter as she dashed out the door.
***
“You arrived quickly,” Clarke said to DS Blake. “Aren’t you supposed to be scanning those communication records?”
Logan Blake turned a bit red. “I met Sally for lunch. We were just down the street.”
Clarke only nodded and continued to watch the flames consume the building. But the brigade soon had the fire under control and carried out three bodies. Clarke recognized the assistant fire chief watching the exodus and moved forward. Blake followed.
“What’s the story, Archie?” she asked. “Gas leak?”
She’d recognize those watery blue eyes, fat jowls, and walrus-style mustache anywhere; they belied the man’s real conditioning. Huge Archibald Watson was an intelligent man who was strong enough to carry either Clarke or Blake down a ladder on one shoulder.
“Our team is just beginning what we do after any fire, Patty. For now, this looks like an accident. Maybe a shorted electrical wire? Building’s old, but fortunately mostly empty. The victims are the building’s owner, his wife, and son.”
“Tragic,” said Blake. “The building is in bad shape. I suppose the other tenants were students. How do you know the older male is the building’s owner?”
“Recognized him. Whole family died of smoke inhalation. Only the young lad has any burns. One nearest the apartment’s door, they tell me. ‘Scuse.”
Watson moved forward to meet a tall man who had just exited the building. They conversed a bit and then the fireman returned to the two detectives.
“’Tis work for you plods,” he said. “Guy, our inspector, tells me the dog found accelerant. The lab in Oxford’ll check out what kind, but you two—or whoever—might as well get started on your investigation.”
Clarke eyed Blake. “We’re on the scene, so let’s assume the boss will give the case to us. Another murder case, sergeant. Your streak of bad luck continues. Let’s get that investigation going.”
If his DI had forgotten about his task of scanning phone records to confirm an arrest in a previous jewelry heist, that was okay with Blake. Constables could do that chore.
Before riding back to the station with Sally and Blake, Clarke ducked into the café, found the waiter, and paid her bill, leaving him a nice tip.
“One murder scene where you and your SOCOs aren’t needed,” Clarke commented to the forensics specialist when she returned to the car. “Sorry to break up your date, though.”
“No problem, Guv,” Sally said. “We’d just finished. Logan ate like a pig, as usual.”
“You never know when the next meal is coming in this job,” Blake said, negotiating a tight turn into a street that was a short cut to the motorway. “Like today.”
***
“What do you have so far?” asked their DCI when the team came together later.
“Murder by arson,” Clarke said. All eyes focused on the case board where there were only three names. “Building’s owner and his family are the only victims. We suspect most tenants are students who can’t afford to live nearer to the university, so they’re on vacation and weren’t in the building. We’ll have to check that. Don, let’s get a tenant list.” A constable nodded. “Owner’s death would seem to exclude an insurance scam, but Bill, could you see what kind of insurance policy the owner had.” Another constable, another nod.
“Or one gone wrong?” said the DCI, who’d seen a few insurance scams in his day. “Where did the fire start?”
“A reliable witness says it started on the third floor.”
“Do we have that witness’s name?”
“Patricia Clarke,” Clarke said, jerking a thumb towards herself. “I was right across the street. There was first an explosion and then flames. I only saw the latter, truth be told, but they were all on the third floor to begin with. That’s right under the victims’ apartment as it turns out.”
“Accelerant was found,” Blake added. “We’re waiting for the lab’s determination about the type.”
“That could be important,” Clarke said. “If uncommon, where it was purchased or obtained might be an important clue.”
“I’ll go after that,” another DC volunteered.
“We’ll want to learn about any unusual debts the owner might have,” offered the DCI. “Some unscrupulous lenders like to send nasty messages if debts aren’t paid. This might be one that went a bit too far.”
“I’ll check on that,” Blake said. “It’ll dovetail with my other phone records search. We’ll see if any threats were made against the victim.”
Patty thought a moment. “I’d better see if the victim has a will and if it contains anything interesting.”
“He can’t be very rich,” said the DCI, “making his family live like poor students.”
“That building is worth a lot,” said a constable. “Any property near Riversford center is. And the family might have had a nice income just from the renters.”
“Point taken,” said the DCI. “Okay, folks, carry on. Let’s get this nasty business resolved.”
***
Comments are always welcome.
Sleuthing, British-Style. Readers of this blog know that I’ve spent a lot of time reading during the COVID pandemic. In particular, I binge-read British-style mysteries, including entire series. A list can be found in this little collection of three stories introducing DI Patricia Clarke and DS Logan Blake, also British-style mysteries. You might also enjoy the stories as well. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold (including many Smashwords’ affiliates but not Smashwords itself).
In libris libertas!
