Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead - that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, an...
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The alarm on my phone went off as the firemen rolled up their hoses. Half past six in the morning, and instead of making myself a coffee and staggering to the shower to jack off over Rania, I was stroking her hair as the crew chief told her and Shannon there was nothing left of their flat. Neither of them even had a pair of shoes, for fuck's sake. At least the other occupants of the building had fared better. Their homes only suffered smoke damage.
A reporter snapped another photo, and I wanted to tear his bloody camera out of his hands and choke him to death with the strap. Damn ghouls. Even in the early hours on Christmas Day, I'd still spotted half a dozen of them. One even asked Rania for an interview, but thankfully Chris Turner wasn't around when I shoved the asshole back against his car.
A policewoman climbed into the ambulance and crouched in front of the girls. At least Aisling had fallen asleep in Shannon's arms, too young to understand everything that had happened tonight.
The WPC's radio crackled, and she silenced it as Rania looked up with glazed eyes.
"Have you got somewhere to stay tonight, love?" The woman glanced out at the sky. "Well, this morning."
"I don't—"
"She's staying with me. All three of them are staying with me."
I'd called RJ a couple of hours ago, and he was on his way back from his family's country pad in rural Somerset. He'd actually sounded relieved to have an excuse to leave.
And Rania didn't say anything, just stared back down at her lap. She was in shock. I tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders and dropped a kiss on her hair.
"It'll be okay," I whispered. "I'll take care of you. All of you."
Even the bloody cat. Somebody had put it in a kitty carrier, and it hissed and spat every time anyone got within six feet. And it was definitely in my bad books, seeing as it had nearly caused Rania to die. I gave it a dirty look as I left Rania with Shannon and went to find a cop who looked as if they knew what they were doing.
Nobody I recognised was there, but I spotted an inspector talking to a handful of the public at the edge of the cordon.
"Got a few minutes to spare?"
He looked at his watch, out of habit most likely, since he didn't have anyplace else to be.
"Sure."
"Any clue who did this?"
"We'll need to wait for the results of the fire brigade's investigation to prove it was arson."
"Don't bullshit me—I used to be a cop. My...my girlfriend saw petrol coming under the door. Smelled it too."
"Used to be a cop?"
"I'm a private investigator now. Will Lawson."
I held out a hand, and when the inspector didn't crush it or look disgusted, I figured he wasn't buddies with Chris Turner and I'd finally stopped being the subject of idle gossip at the station.
