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‘Any more news?’
    They shook their heads.
    ‘Clara, go to the travellers’ amenity site. Find the local headman. Get him out here ASAP. We need to know whose van this is. Was,’ he corrected himself. ‘And how many were inside.’
    He turned to Curran. ‘Clara said you think it was arson?’
    ‘Yes,’ Curran answered heavily. ‘Caravan fires are very rare. The odds against one going up are long.’
    Nash looked across to where Curran’s men were playing hoses over the wreckage. ‘Anything more positive?’
    ‘We’ll have to wait on forensics, but come and have a look at this.’
    Nash followed Curran. Closer to the caravan, he could feel the heat from the smouldering wreck. Curran pointed to the ground. Nash could see a broad streak of scorched grass leading to where the gas bottles had been stored.
    Curran looked at him and was about to speak when he saw the faraway expression on Nash’s face. He’d never seen that look before, but had heard Mironova describe it. What was it she called it? ‘Thinking, do not disturb’, that was it. He waited in patient silence.
    For Nash’s mind’s eye, the darkness intensified. He crouched in the bank of bushes, waiting. He would have to wait, to avoid detection. As soon as the caravan’s occupants had switched the lights out, as soon as they were settled for a good night’s sleep; then he could move. He’d ensure their sleep was eternal. At last, the lights went out; his signal for action. ‘This is it,’ Nash murmured to himself. ‘You’ve waited; now you can do what you came here for. They’ve gone to bed. Now you must creep ever so quietly, closer and closer. Now for the tricky bit. You’ve to disconnect the fuel lines and open the valves on the cylinders, all without making enough noise to disturb those inside; your target, your victims. You’ve done that, now the rest should be easy. Sprinkle the petrol you’ve brought onto the ground. When you’re far enough back, simply strike a match and toss it onto the ground. Whoosh! Instant inferno! What now? Did you wait and watch? Enjoying the tragedy you’ve created? Glorying in it? Why? What had they done to hurt you? Was it a grudge? A dispute? Had they crossed you in some way? Or worse.’ Nash chilled at the thought. ‘Are you a psychopath? In which case, nobody’s safe.’
    Nash was closer to guessing the motive than he realized. Which, given the confused state of Billy’s mind, was quite an achievement. Not that it helped.
     
    Back at Helmsdale, Clara sat opposite Nash as he phoned Tom Pratt. They could still smell smoke from their clothing. ‘The van belonged to a family named Druze. The leader of the local tribe reckons we’re looking for three bodies. Druze, his woman and a girl; six years old.’
    ‘What’s Curran say?’
    ‘He says it’s arson. Mexican Pete and the brigade forensic team are on site. We’ll have to wait for their reports.’
    ‘Nothing we can do it the meantime?’
    ‘Appeal for witnesses, but that’s probably useless.’
    ‘I’d better tell our new DCC.’
    ‘You might ask him how he thinks closing Helmsdale would have prevented it.’
    ‘I would if I thought it’d do any good. How’s Clara?’
    ‘Pretty shaken. She was first on the scene.’
    ‘She’ll cope. She’s tough and professional.’
    Nash put the phone down. ‘Tom thinks you’re a tough old boot,’ he told her. ‘Reckons you’re like an old pro.’
    Mironova glared at him, distress in abeyance. ‘I bet he didn’t say anything of the sort,’ she snapped.
    Nash smiled. ‘Not exactly.’ He repeated Pratt’s actual words. ‘Now, would the tough old boot like a coffee?’
     
    Rathmell was watching the local TV news when his phone rang. ‘Carl, it’s Frank Appleyard. Have you seen the report about the incident at Helmsdale?’
    ‘I was watching it on TV when you rang; terrible tragedy. One I’m sure would never have happened if the family had stayed in the travellers’ site.’
    ‘My