"So, who are we speaking to and why?" Gene swung the Audi around a corner, barely missing two cyclists on Boris Bikes.
"Jesus Christ," Sarah swore, gripping the door handle. "I know we're already dead, but I'd like to get there in one piece."
"Who's dead?" Gene put more weight on the accelerator, throwing them back in their seats.
Sarah had noted that, in the days since her arrival, Gene had been very clear on where he stood on the whole 'afterlife' situation. They were alive. He was alive. Have a whisky. The topic is not for debate. End of discussion. Where's my cup of tea, woman?She could see her presence disturbed him. It must be strange, she mused, trying to ignore the old woman who had just dived out of the path of Gene's speeding vehicle, having someone around who knows why they're here. To be accurate, Sarah actually knew more about why she was there than Gene did. He obviously still expected the usual; she would hang around for whatever length of time, and eventually he would help her along to wherever he helped people along to. A nice idea, but it was never going to happen. Not this time.
"Just some interesting files I pulled up on the arson case," Sarah explained. "A few characters with prior. One or two with mental illness."
"Great, a whole morning talking to scumbags and nutters. " Gene brought the car to a screaming halt, halfway in a parking space. "Couldn't we have called them into the station?"
"They're not official suspects, just persons of interest," Sarah unclipped her seatbelt and began to get out of the car. "Let's go softly, softly on this."
"I don't do 'softly, softly'," Gene stepped out of the car. "Right, who's first on the list?" An approaching Toyota Prius caught his attention. "Oh joy."
"What?" Sarah asked.
"See for yerself."
The Prius executed a textbook parallel park and its engine died. The door opened and a figure in shiny black shoes, a grey suit, long grey coat and glasses appeared.
"DCI Keats, to what do we owe this great and almighty honour?" Gene spat.
"DCI Hunt. No need for ceremony. I'm just along as an observer," Keats smiled, tapping the clipboard he held. "See how your new DI is coming along."
"You don't normally take such a personal interest in my new recruits," Gene strained to look at the clipboard, which Keats moved protectively to his chest.
"Well DI Jenkins is a special case," Keats moved closer to Sarah, leading Gene to instinctively step between them. "We have her earmarked for great things when she transfers to D&C. Great…things."
"My DI is not up for transfer."
"Yet."
"For Christ's sake!" Sarah picked up her files and stalked off in the direction of their first house call, leaving Keats and Gene to trail in her wake.
The morning was not entirely productive. Of the eight people they had down on the list to talk to, four had apparently watertight alibis, one appeared to think he was living on the moon and two weren't home. Keats was making tsking noises with each blank they drew, and Sarah was worried that Gene was about to attempt to physically insert the clipboard into a quite personal area of Keats' anatomy.
"Okay, last stop," they paused outside a car repairs workshop. Sarah looked at her notes. "Ross Graham, thirty two years old, prior conviction for arson as a minor, set fire to his father's car aged fifteen."
"One way to get daddy's attention," Gene muttered.
"Eighteen months at a young offenders' institution. Clean record ever since," Sarah continued. "He's a long shot."
"Access to plenty of petrol, and a fondness for combustion," Gene started towards the door. "Looks like we have a number one suspect."
"Great policing there, Gene," Keats murmured. "Looks like you've got this case all wrapped up."
Sarah shot him a warning look. "Do you really have to antagonise each other all day?"
"Yes," Keats smiled. "After you."
Sarah rolled her eyes and stepped into the garage, followed by Keats. Gene was already at the counter speaking to a stocky man.
"So, where were you on these dates?" Gene handed him a sheet of paper.
The man took the paper and looked at the three police officers, bemused. "What's this all about?"
"We're just making routine enquiries following the recent arson attacks," Sarah reassured him.
Ross screwed up the paper and threw it to the ground. "And what? Because of one stupid thing I did seventeen years ago, you're knocking on my door?"
"Listen to me sunshine," Gene growled. "I've 'ad all morning with Miss Marple and the four eyed freak there, and my last nerve is about to break. Do not get mardarse with me."
Keats scribbled something on his clipboard and tsked. Gene picked up a heavy wrench and glared at him.
"Guv!" Sarah hissed. Gene reluctantly put the wrench down. "Mr Graham, do I have your permission to take a look around?"
"You won't find anything," Ross shrugged.
Sarah wandered to the other end of the garage, trying to avoid the dirty engine parts which littered the floor. She didn't really know what she was looking for, but there was nothing of any great note that she could see, other than a couple of tyres and some welding gear.
"Anything?" Keats strolled halfway up the workshop.
"Nothing here, sir," she replied.
"This is a complete waste of time," he turned towards Gene. "Another blank."
At that moment there was the sound of breaking glass and an object flew past Keats and landed on the floor. There was a whoomph and flames broke out, fuelled by years of spilled petrol and oil.
"Firebomb, get out!" Sarah yelled.
Ross ran for the door, meanwhile Gene spun around wildly. "Extinguisher! Where's the extinguisher?"
"There," Ross yelled. "But the canisters!"
Sarah looked over just in time to see the flames reach the welding equipment and begin to lick around the silver metal tanks.
"Get down!" Gene screamed.
Sarah stood frozen. Gene started forward, but Keats was already moving. He dived at Sarah, knocking her to the ground and covering her with his body just as the canisters exploded. Gene threw himself down as the explosion tore through the garage, ripping it down around them.
"Now! Out, out," Keats scrambled up, pulling Sarah with him and hurrying her through the smoke.
Gene clambered to his feet and followed until the three of them were slumped, coughing, on the pavement outside.
"Are you okay? Are you burned?" Keats demanded, examining Sarah.
"No, no, I'm fine," she replied, dazed. "You alright? Guv?"
"A bit crispy, but I'll survive," Gene coughed.
"I'm calling for back up," Keats pulled out his mobile as he walked a distance away.
"What the hell just happened?" Sarah whispered to Gene. "Did you see that?"
"Yes, I did," he murmured. "Jimbo isn't usually given over to heroics. What was that all about?"
"No idea, but that was weird."
Gene stared at Keats talking on the phone. He didn't know what game he was playing at, but he didn't like it. He could deal with Keats being a prick, obnoxious, supercilious, slimy, rude and all the other Keats traits he'd come to know and despise, but Keats being selfless? Something was seriously wrong with that picture.
Keats leaned heavily against the tree. He clutched the phone to his ear, but the call had ended moments ago. He simply wasn't in the mood to deal with Gene's sarcastic barbs, or even to look at Sarah and see the confusion and concern in her eyes. What did I just do? It had been instinct. He'd seen the flames hit the canisters and his body just reacted; this body, this weak human form. Why? He ran his hand through his hair. It was obvious, when he thought about it. He couldn't risk something happening to her while Gene was there. Her soul was his; his pet project. He couldn't take the chance that Gene might swoop in at the end and steal his prize from out under him. He was simply protecting his investment. If she was going to die, again, she could do it somewhere nice and private, where he could savour his victory and where no one would disturb them. He heard the distant sound of approaching sirens and straightened up; Hunt could deal with this mess. He walked towards his car, a snarl creasing his face. He needed a distraction and he knew precisely where to find one.
