A Cast of Vultures by Judith Flanders Read Free Book Online Page B

investigated murder; I published books. The people he came into contact with were violent. Or criminal. Or sociopathic. Or, often, all three. However many jokes publishers make about the lunacy of their authors, mostly we like them. In Jake’s job, there wasn’t much to like. I was, I knew, better off not knowing what he was doing, to whom he was speaking, where he was spending his time and, especially, how dangerous it might be.
    This was different, though. It wasn’t something that would land on his desk, and so he might be willing to pass on some basic information. I texted: Can you find update on fire? Word is someone died .
     
    The first thing I did when I got home was open the windows, in the hope that the temperature inside would drop from ‘sauna’ to merely ‘tropical’ by bedtime. I looked in the fridge, but in the heat dinner seemed like too much effort. Then I reconsidered, and threw some tomatoes, cucumbers and peppers in the blender. Voilà , gazpacho. I put it back in the fridge to chill and went upstairs.
    Mr Rudiger and I played a formal, if unspoken game whenever I visited, and now I knocked on his door and served my standard opening volley. ‘Would you like to come down for supper?’
    We both knew that this meant, If you want company, I’m here to provide it . That evening, he didn’t even bother to reply, just stood back and opened the door wider. ‘The terrace is cool at this hour,’ was all he said, before leaving me to find my way in while he went to the kitchen, asking, ‘White or red?’ as he went.
    ‘Have you got something non-alcoholic?’ The previous night hadn’t done any damage, but I didn’t need to go looking for trouble.
    He reappeared with two glasses of iced coffee. I’d introduced him to this heathenish North American practice, and he pretended to drink it only because I liked it, but – I put my hand on the glass – the coffee had been cold for a while. He’d had it already made, and in the fridge.
    I didn’t comment, though, and we sat on the terrace and caught up. As always, Mr Rudiger had the news, even if he’d never seen any of the people we were discussing. He knew about the fire, and the body, but as with the group in the street, no more than that.
    He’d been an architect, though. He might be able to answer a question that had puzzled me. ‘What do you suppose the owner meant when he said that the building was going to be redeveloped?’
    ‘Turn it into a proper shop, a modern one?’ he suggested.
    That was the most likely solution, but even then, ‘I don’t know if you could. It’s on a corner, the turn between two rows of terraced houses. And it’s tiny – less than half the size of this.’ I gestured around us, indicating the house we were in. ‘Maybe not even a quarter the size. I’ll take a picture for you tomorrow as I go past.’
    He nodded, as if to acknowledge a subordinate who wasdoing some research for him. We never talked about why he didn’t go out. He just didn’t, like some people don’t eat meat. If you don’t ask vegetarians why they don’t want a steak, why would I ask Mr Rudiger why he didn’t want to go for a walk?
    But that subject got washed aside as I heard my phone. Jake. From the sounds, he was outside. He didn’t waste time. ‘I asked to be notified of news on the fire. They’re leaning towards arson, and the man who died was most likely the arsonist, who got trapped as he was setting the fire: there were traces of accelerant on his hands.’
    I thought of Mo and Dan and their kids, sleeping while someone crept about spilling accelerant.
    ‘In the meantime …’ Jake hesitated, as if searching for a way to phrase what he wanted to ask. Then, ‘Did you know there had been a series of fires in your neighbourhood?’
    ‘Really? Where? When? And how many is a series?’
    ‘All within walking distance. One up past the school, the others further east. And all very small until last night. Empty shops a couple of