Kindled Casket
https://www.walesonline.co.uk/
Here is the continuation of my Jewel Box story featuring Detective Constable Sparkle Anwyl of the North Wales Police. I posted the opening on April 17th as O for Obstructions – Part 15 0f Azure Spark: https://rolandclarke.com/2019/04/17/o-for-obstructions-azure-spark-part-15/
However, I revised it slightly when I edited ‘Azure Spark’ at the end of April – https://rolandclarke.com/2019/04/17/o-for-obstructions-azure-spark-part-15/ . I intended to continue the story for the June WEP/IWSG Challenge but have something else for ‘Caged Bird’.
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Rose Gold Pendant – http://celticandwelshjewellery.co.uk/product/rose-gold-pendant-26/
Kindled Casket
Saturday 1st August 2015 – Early Morning
Swimming settles hangovers.
Kama and I race out of the swell and
across the sands of Morfa Bychan beach.
“Your turn to make breakfast, cariad,” she says as I overtake her. “Your full Welsh to prepare us for work. Ffion will await us bright and eager.”
We sprint towards our cottage. “Even
if our DI was partying late at our party. I’ll have no excuse to not confront
my backlog.”
Resolved one crime – dozens more
emerging. Plus, the never-ending paperwork. Stifle the sinking stomach. This is
the price of criminal detection with CID.
Bacon, sausages, mushrooms, eggs,
cockles and laver bread sets up the day.
Cloudless weather boosts our motorbike
ride to Porthmadog.
The paper on my desk has spread
overnight. My Email in-box has overflowed again. Fight through this. Make space
for the arson.
In forty minutes, I can focus on
the case file.
Two conflicting reports on the
incident lead. Liam’s forensic analysis suggests arson. Although, Fire Officer
Anwyl’s notes claim it was a traffic accident. Did I count on any support from
my brother?
No.
Yet, both mention ‘excessive
petroleum splashes’. However, Liam detected traces of a silvery powdery crumb
that was not a firefighting residue.
P for Petroleum and Powder. A
reason to tackle Owen at the Caernarfon fire station.
I scan the ‘unrelated jewel
thefts’ – low value
pieces. There are mixed reports from uniform colleagues. Three statements are
meticulous, but the other two are vague. No arrests. Just familiar suspects –
including Poulsen Leach.
My tattoos set my skin tingling,
and my fingers tapping my bracer.
Hugh Arbuthnot, the gift shop owner,
accused his son-in-law of ‘mixing in shady circles’.
Poulsen’s record includes a spell
in gaol and fines. Further, it shares a name with uniform’s suspicions. Despite
this, we have not recovered any stolen items – yet. Not even at known fences.
A for Arbuthnot, Accusations,
Arson and Accomplices.
S for Suspects – and for
Suspicious. SAP.
Too S for Simple. Delve deeper
and search sideways. Interview Poulsen and his wife, Olivia as she ran Y Bocs. Check if someone stole the 4×4.
*
I power along the A487 towards
Caernarfon, gritting my teeth. Owen. Can I work with him, even with the approval
of DI Ffion Baines? I must. He agreed to meet on the phone. Since he wanted me
investigating. Why?
I park alongside the two-storey
fire station, answers vying for dominance. My head throbs in time with my
churning guts. Relax. Breathe. He’s like a fellow officer.
“Meinwen, let’s talk over a drink.”
He smiles as he meets me at reception. Relaxed and confidant. “We have a great
café nearby – not instant muck.”
He shows me back outside and nods
at the black motorcycle. “Still a biker. No changes then.”
“Another major incident resolved.
On to our burnt-out shop inquiry so I need your help. Why can’t we chat in your
office?”
“I’m done arguing in front of my
teammates.” He gestures to a red North Wales Fire and Rescue van. “Besides,
we’ve family issues to discuss.”
The conversation I don’t need
today. The usual blame. You were tad’s
favourite. Meinwen did this…
“As long as we still review the
arson case.”
*
The coffee is fresh brewed, and
the brownie is a decadent treat.
“Talk, brawd dewr,” I say, forcing a grin.
He continues in our mother
tongue. “Did our tad want you in the force
over me? I never knew.”
The question he should have asked
tad before he died. Owen buries his
anger – but it’s simmering.
Don’t feed it. “No. He was scared
whoever followed him into the police might have family problems like—”
“—him and mam, but that came later. In your mid teens, you were talking about
joining—”
“—the force? I was only a
vigilante.” I sip the rich brew, searching for a path around the sleeping
flames. “That’s what tad called the Goth Patrol – before he inspired us. He
must have dropped hints to your class too.”
He sputters. “Community service
lectures – from every single emergency service. I never realised tad was behind those.” His turn to bury
himself in his mug, then take a final swig.
I order more coffee – without
tempting chocolate brownies. Will our chat end the sibling rivalry?
“That road traffic accident might
not be arson. I presume you read my exhaustive report.”
I switch into case gear. “Yes. Our
forensic guys agree with the ‘excessive petroleum splashes’. What could cause
those in your experience?”
“A leaking petrol container.” He hesitates,
rapping his knuckles together. “If the vehicle reached the right-hand side of
the shop. I’ll run a test back at the station. Maybe a simulation. A smash-raid
requires speed to damage the fuel tank.”
“Although, wasn’t it half inside
the shopfront?”
Owen nods. “And not all the
splatters were there. The raiders might have incinerated the car to destroy its
identity.”
“We can still trace it.” If someone
from NWP hasn’t yet run a search. “Our senior forensics guy, Liam Rhys detected
the remains of a white dust. Not drugs or a harmless household product. Did you
take a sample?”
My brother stares at me, eyes
ablaze. “You accusing us of missing evidence? The powder is our dry chemical
agent, stupid. I will send your Rhys what he needs to strike that off your
suspicions, Meinwen.” He drains his coffee and stands. “I need to get back and
investigate other incidents – pressing ones.”
Dismissed again. I follow him to
the van. We don’t speak until we reach his workplace.
He smoulders as he parks, then
slams his door when he gets out. “Thus, a smash-raid gone wrong. Your thieves torched
the vehicle and caused a fire – not arson. I’ll put your forensics guy right
and you can close your file.”
No fond farewell. He stalks away
as if renewing our absurd rivalry.
R for Rivalry and Ram-raid. A for
Arson and Anger. P for Petrol and Powder.
RAP sheet or PAR for our relationship?
If I add E for Evidence and Excuses,
then PARE. Shave off the distracting details, for now.
I dial Forensics as I walk to my
Kawasaki Ninja.
“Thanks Liam, for the detailed report
on Y Bocs – The Jewel Box crime scene. I’ve just talked with the Fire
Investigator – my evasive brother. He insists that the crumb was their chemical
agent.”
“A chemical, but an unidentified
incendiary.”
Why is Owen ignoring blatant
evidence? To provoke or obstruct me? Petty most likely. Does he expect us to do
his work? Although, he’s a professional.
“He’ll send you a specimen. Can
you help find the actual powder?”
He chuckles. “On it. I’ll email
you my conclusion.”
The station doors open and one
appliance leaves heading towards town.
“Any identification found on the vehicle
used? Or was it too badly torched?”
“The perpetrators tried to erase
the plates and other marks. But not thoroughly enough. The 4×4 was a 2012 Dacia
Duster registered to Poulsen Leach – reported stolen a week before the fire.”
My heartbeat rises, but tattoos
sting. More convenient evidence – more questions for Poulsen and Olivia.
*
Half-an-hour weaving through
lunchtime traffic focuses my racing mind.
Kama points at the new row of
post-its across my desk. “Compliments of your friends stuck in this hot office.
Enjoy.” She winks and takes half. “I desire you home early tonight.”
“For one of your tasty Tamil
treats. As you’re cooking.”
More emails too – including
Liam’s analysis of the crumb.
Material is an industry standard pyrotechnic flash powder composed of
aluminium dust and potassium perchlorate. The natural colour is dark grey, but
someone doctored this composition. Hence, it simulates the dry fire suppressant.
Look for a pyrotechnician.
As Executive Producer of Oriole
Productions, Hugh B Arbuthnot has the special effects contacts. So, the means
to frame the son-in-law he belittles.
Too obvious?
R for Ram-raid and Relations. U
for Unreal and Used. F for Flash and Film. A for Accusations and Arson. D for Dacia
Duster and Deception.
FRAUD. By who?
**
