What had been the offices of Thanet’s Voice was now blown-out windows and blackened bricks. It appeared the fire had been mainly confined to Noble’s residence. The buildings either side — a charity shop and a cash converter — and the Chinese takeaway below were largely untouched. The smell of smoke was thick in the air.
Gray stood aside as a fire engine drove away, leaving one remaining on site. At the cordon, Gray showed his warrant card, asked for whoever was in charge. The uniform pointed towards a fireman clad in fluorescent gear standing in the shadow of the engine with two of his colleagues. Gray walked over and introduced himself.
“Marchmont,” said the fireman in response. He looked Gray up and down. “Been to a funeral?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“I was passing by. Have you been in yet?” asked Gray.
“Just about to. The blaze was set by the time we arrived. All we could do was put it out before it spread. What’s your interest?”
“The person who lives here has been involved in a case I’m investigating.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, knowing William Noble,” said Marchmont.
“Can I take a look?”
“As long as you stay with me.”
Gray followed Marchmont down the alley. The door to Noble’s flat stood open. The vent which usually spewed out hot air from the takeaway was silent. The aroma of Chinese food was replaced by the stench of burned wood and plastic. Marchmont led Gray up the stairs. The Chief stopped Gray on the small landing. “This is as far as you go.”
Gray leaned inside the single room which opened off the landing. Gray coughed, the residual fumes getting into his lungs. On the far side of the space was another doorway to the second area. There were firemen in there too. The flames had scorched every surface.
“Can you smell that?” said Marchmont.
Gray sniffed. Clearly Marchmont expected Gray to detect something over the burning. “Petrol?”
“Well done, Sergeant.”
“So the fire was deliberate?”
“That would be my assumption.”
“Sir!” A shout from one of Marchmont’s men. He beckoned Marchmont from the back room. Marchmont disappeared inside for a few minutes. Gray stood impatiently, keen to know what they’d found. The Chief returned, a grim expression on his face.
“There’s a corpse,” he said.
“I need to see.”
“It’s not pretty.”
“I’ll survive.”
Marchmont led Gray through, pointing out where to put his feet. Crammed into the corner of the back room, by a window, was the charred remains of a person. By the size of the body it appeared to be Noble, but the white hair was gone, as was most of the clothes revealing blackened skin like a piece of chicken overcooked on a barbecue. The sight made Gray feel like throwing up. But he made himself go over. There was the gold ring. It was Noble for sure.
“I’ll get forensics,” said Gray.
Gray pulled out his mobile and went downstairs to make the call in the fresh air. Before he could do so his mobile rang. It was the custody sergeant, Morgan. “Got a lad in one of the interview rooms we’ve just arrested, says wants you.”
“Who is it?”
A pause while Morgan flicked over a page, the sound loud down the phone. “Ray Quigley, tattoos everywhere. Know him?”
“I’ll be there shortly. Look after Quigley for me, will you?”
“He isn’t going anywhere,” said Morgan and disconnected.
William Noble only had one more journey to make. To the mortuary. There was nothing more Gray could do.