Iâm insane? Even the firefighters couldnât risk boarding either of the boats until theyâd sprayed water on them, and they were wearing protective clothing.â
âAnd it was too late by then.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âEverybody was dead.â
âYesâ¦well, I tried to tell them how dangerous it was, living there. I suspect one of them must have had a dodgy heater of some sort, too, as well as the turpentine. I know itâs been a mild winter, but stillâ¦It is January.â
âMr. Hurst,â Annie asked, âwhat were you thinking when you saw the fireâs glow above the tree line and got on your bike?â
Hurst looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. âThat I had to find out what was happening, of course.â
âBut you said you already knew at once what was happening.â
âI had to be certain, though, didnât I? I couldnât just go off half-cocked.â
âWhat else did you think might have been causing the orange glow?â
âI donât know. I wasnât thinking logically. I just knew that I had to get down there.â
âYet you didnât do anything when you did get down there.â
âIt was too late already. I told you. There was nothing I could do.â Hurst sat forward, chin jutting aggressively. Helooked at Banks. âLook, I donât know what sheâs getting at here, but Iââ
âItâs simple, really,â said Banks. âDI Cabbot is puzzled why you decided to cycle a mileâslowlyâdown to the canal branch, when you already knew the boats were on fire and that the wood they were made of was so dry theyâd go up in no time. Iâm puzzled, too. And Iâm also wondering why you didnât just do what any normal person would have done and call the bloody fire brigade straight away. From here.â
âNow thereâs no need to get stroppy. I wasnât thinking clearly. Like I said, you donât whenâ¦when something like thatâ¦The shock. Maybe youâre right. Looking back, maybe I should have phoned first. Butâ¦â He shook his head slowly.
âI was waiting for you to say you hurried down there to see if there was anything you could do,â Banks said. âTo see if you could help in any way.â
Hurst just stared at him, lower jaw hanging, and adjusted his glasses.
âBut you didnât say that,â Banks went on. âYou didnât even lie.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âI donât know, Andrew. You tell me. All I can think of is that you wanted those narrow boats and the people who lived on them gone, that you didnât call the fire brigade the minute you knew they were on fire, and that as soon as you got home you put your clothes in the washing machine. Perhaps nobody can fault you for not jumping on board a burning boat, but the fifteen minutes it took you to cycle down the towpath and make the call could have made all the difference in the world. And Iâm wondering if you were aware of that at the time, too.â Banks looked at Annie, and they stood up, Banks grabbing the bag of clothes. âDonât get up,â he said to Hurst. âWeâll see ourselves out. And donât wander too far from home. Weâll be wanting to talk to you again soon.â
Â
Banks wasnât the only one who saw his weekend fast slipping away. As Annie pulled up outside the Victorian terraced house on Blackmore Street, in south Eastvale, blew her raw nose and squinted at the numbers, she realized that the fire on the barges, or narrow boats, as Andrew Hurst had insisted they were called, was probably going to keep her well occupied for the next few days. She had been hoping that Phil Keane, the man she had been seeing for the past few monthsâwhen work and business allowed, which wasnât all that oftenâwould be coming up from London for the weekend.
Mercy Walker, Eva Sloan, Ella Stone