SPR — Chapter 2

Ryan Hughes turned to see Paul Mendelssohn push under the police tape. The Richmond street had been closed off for safety. Smoke still escaped through the smashed windows of the Victorian terraced house. The heritage-listed facade had little left to be proud of. The heat from the fire had damaged what remained of the period architecture. Even still, in Richmond at today’s prices, a pile of burned rubble that used to be two downstairs rooms and a small kitchen with a semi-modernised bathroom and two upstairs rooms could bring over $1.5 million at auction. They said in real estate you bought the land and got a free house. Paul stood next to Ryan and looked that the charred skeleton of a building. He sipped on a strong black coffee. Single origin beans. Ninety-degree water added to steamed-pulled coffee.
‘Why the hell are we stood here, looking at this pile of shit at four thirty on a Tuesday morning?’ said Paul.
‘Because of that.’ Ryan pointed to an army surplus jerry can that had been left sitting on the front step of the house for all to see.
‘Fuck. Not another.’
‘Gets better. There’s three inside.’
‘Three more jerry cans?’
‘Bodies. We’re not allowed in yet. Fire chief hasn’t given the all clear. By my reckoning they’re squatters.’
Paul stopped for a moment. He stared at the flow of people in and out from the building, all carrying various firefighting equipment in and out as the building transitioned from a fire to a smouldering ruin. Something deep down inside his being shuddered. ‘That puts this in a whole other basket. Three dead? None of the others had fatalities. We sure it’s the same guy?’
‘Everything is identical. At this stage there’s nothing to suggest a copycat.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘No.’
‘Never bloody is.’ Paul was one of the unlucky people given the unenviable task of keeping control at the frayed edges of society. Some police officers get to investigate car thefts or shoplifting. His boss had instead chosen to give him a baptism of fire when he joined the Crime Investigation Unit by handing him a series of unsolved arson attacks involving multiple homicides. Although Paul was a man deeply into his thirties he looked and behaved like one twice his age. The transition from married father to single cop had not been an easy one.
Constable Ryan Hughes looked at leading senior constable Paul Mendelssohn. Neither showed any motivation to make the first move. ‘You know, as soon as one us picks up that can this case is firmly on our shoulders?’ Neither man was looking forward to the prospect that an arsonist had suddenly taken a turn towards barbecuing bodies.
‘This makes number seven. Six dead ends and then this bullshit. Time to start writing your resume Hughsie. Ever thought you’d be considering bank security as a profession?’
Ryan pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He stepped forward and delicately picked up the jerry can. ‘It’s still warm.’
‘Like my bed. Careful with that. There’ll be no prints on it like the others. Wouldn’t want to ruin the smoke patterns for the forensic anoraks. You hear that girl Shelley collects images of smoke damage? Reckons she can see the perpetrator in them. Fucking witchcraft if you ask me.’
‘Got to be special to be in forensics.’
From behind a fire truck the fire crew chief approached Paul with a clipboard. ‘Hi. My guys say there’s minimal structural damage. You can have access to the scene now. Just need you to sign — ‘.
Paul cut him off mid-sentence, pointing to the jerry can Ryan was bagging for evidence. ‘Our work here is done my friend. Call this number seven on the list of files that will end my stellar detective career’.
“Suit yourself. But sign this.”
Paul signed the paper. The Victoria Police Crime Investigation Unit were officially in charge of the scene. ‘Anyone touch or move the bodies yet?’
‘They’re all yours,’ returned the crew chief, ‘Our work here is done.’
Paul didn’t let the sarcasm volley get to him. He just sipped his coffee and stared at the old building. This wasn’t going to go down well with the boss. Not at all.
