After the Fire (44 page)

I might have been the same way myself, if it had happened to someone else.

‘No one will think about that soon. They’ll forget.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, because it didn’t. I deserved it. I wished I could suffer more for what had happened to Mal.

I would have given a lot to change what had happened, and I couldn’t, and it killed me.

‘I’m going to go, I think,’ I said.

‘You’re not coming for a drink? We’re all going to the local pub in a bit. Just – you know. To honour his memory.’

To reassert that we were alive, I thought. To laugh after crying. There was nothing like the sense of release after a funeral: it was part of being human. I didn’t grudge them the beers or the instinct to gather together. There had already been a police wake for Mal a couple of days after he died, but I hadn’t gone to that either. I hugged her. ‘Raise a glass for me.’

I walked to the car park, taking smaller steps than usual thanks to the narrow skirt of my smart black suit. Derwent was there, standing beside his car, staring into space. As I watched, he dragged his tie off, pulling at it savagely. Then he held it, irresolute.

‘On.’

‘What?’ He turned.

‘Put it on. You don’t want to look too casual.’

He flipped up his collar and put the tie around his neck, adjusting it so the ends were the right length before he began to knot it. ‘Too casual for what?’

‘For Melissa.’

He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t deny it. ‘How did you know?’

Because you need, above all else, to be needed. Because you want more than anything to be loved.

I shrugged. ‘Just a guess.’

Derwent finished with his tie and smoothed it down. Almost to himself, he said, ‘When you spend your time looking into the shadows, you have to remind yourself there’s light too.’

I reached up and adjusted his tie for him, loosening it a fraction, tweaking his collar. ‘There. You’ll do.’

He looked down at me. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Come back to work soon.’

‘I will.’

He got into his car and I watched him drive away. People were beginning to drift to their cars or head to the pub. No one spoke to me as I walked back to the church.

It was dark inside, and empty, and the air smelled like the churches of my childhood: the sweet odour of incense and furniture polish. The sanctuary lamp glowed red in the gloom. There was a stand of candles near the door, in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary. I dropped a pound coin into the slot and took out a candle, holding it to one of the other flames until the wick caught. I set it into a place near the front, the little flame dancing in the draught from the open door, a light in the darkness that somehow wasn’t enough to push the shadows away. I stood there for a minute, thinking about Mal. I wanted to pray for him. I wanted to tell him how I would miss him. I wanted to say goodbye.

I just couldn’t find the words.

Huge thanks as ever to the usual suspects at Ebury and United Agents, particularly my editor Gillian Green for her dedicated hard work, and my agent Ariella Feiner for her superb guidance. I must also thank my wonderful family and friends for their unfailing support, and the great community of crime writers, bloggers and readers for their generous enthusiasm.

I could not have written this book without reference to
Blaze: The Forensics of Fire
by Nicholas Faith,
The Dark Net: Inside the Digital Underworld
by Jamie Bartlett, and
Stalking a City for Fun and Frivolity
by Brendan O’Connor. I am also very grateful to my husband, James Norman, for his encyclopaedic knowledge of all things legal and police-related.
After the Fire
is, of course, a work of fiction. Any mistakes in this book are mine (and some of them may even be deliberate).

Finally, my thanks to Shirley Brooke for her winning bid in a charity auction to name a character in
After the Fire
. Her son, Charlie Brooke, gave me some suggestions for how he’d like the character to be and I hope my version of a Charlie Brooke lives up to his expectations.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Epub ISBN: 9781448117772

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Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

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Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at
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Copyright © Jane Casey, 2015

Jane Casey has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

First published in 2015 by Ebury Press

www.eburypublishing.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780091949693