Heatwave Oliver Davies (story reading .txt) 📖

I ran a hand over my hair and was briefly glad that my ribs didn’t twinge too badly as I made the movement. My hair was collecting fine particles of ash that left my hand slightly grey, and I grimaced to look at it, knowing that my clothes and skin would reek of smoke for days after this, even after multiple showers.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I was wound tight enough with worry that I startled, twisting around like a cat taken by surprise. A younger officer looked up at me, clearly surprised by my reaction.

“Hi, can I help you?” I said when she didn’t speak.

“Uh, are you DCI Mitchell?” she asked. At my nod, she pointed through the gathered people to a couple of firefighters standing not far away. “The firemen want to talk to you, something about this being your case?”

“Yes, it is,” I said, already moving towards the men she’d pointed to. “Thank you.”

The firefighters looked up as we approached, and one of them looked familiar. I’d seen him before, maybe at the headmaster’s house or maybe at the barn fire, I couldn’t remember. Still, I reached out to shake his hand, and he clasped mine in a firm grip.

“I’m guessing this links to your case, so thought you ought to be filled in,” he told me, getting directly to the point.

“We’d appreciate that. How’re your efforts going?”

“The fire’s big and spreading. I’m guessing that a good deal of fuel was used to get it started, and it’s well and truly got going now.”

I flinched at the mention of the fuel and rubbed a hand over my face.

“Alright. Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah, there was some clear graffiti on the back of the building, which is still mostly intact. We were hoping it would mean something to you.”

“Show us.”

The firefighter took us around the side of the building at a jog, staying well away from the fire. The heat was tremendous even at this distance, and I was sweating heavily, my hair and shirt clinging to my clammy skin. Stephen didn’t look much better, though his buzzed-short hair looked the same as it always did.

“Here,” the firefighter said, gesturing up the brick wall of the school.

“Oh god,” I murmured as I read it.

Splashed across the building at about head-height was a word written in bright green spray paint: Traitor.

“What’s wrong?” the firefighter asked, catching the fear on my face. I wasn’t sure that Stephen had realised the implications of this yet either, but I didn’t have the time to talk.

I scrambled to get onto the phone to Mickey’s mum, pacing back and forth over the parched grass despite how overheated I already was. My fear for the teenager made me unable to keep still.

“Detective? Have you fo-?” Ms White started.

“Listen. What’s Mickey’s school? What’s the name of it?”

“What? Oh, it’s Rose Heath, it’s down near-”

I barely stopped myself from swearing, taking the phone away from my ear and covering the speaker.

“There’s a child in that school, I’d bet money on it,” I told the firefighter urgently, my words spilling out over the top of one another. “His name is Mickey White. He’s the traitor the graffiti means, and this is his school.”

Both Stephen and the firefighter stared at me.

“Are you sure?” Stephen asked.

“No, I’m not sure,” I snapped. “But I reckon there’s a strong likelihood that Mickey’s tied up in there, don’t you?”

Stephen and I stared at each other, and finally, Stephen nodded. But the firefighter was frowning hard, and I braced myself for his disagreement.

“Look, if I send my team into there, they could get hurt or die. I need you to be straight with me about how likely it is-”

“He’s been missing since this morning, or possibly last night. And this gang has a serious reason to be vindictive against him. I don’t want your people to get hurt, of course, I don’t, but I seriously believe a child is inside that building.”

I turned to look at the burning school for a second, my heart in my throat as I thought about Mickey possibly being locked up inside there. It was a gamble to think that the gang would actually try to murder the boy, but my gut told me that I was right. I was sure that Alistair and the rest were cold enough and ruthless enough to do something like that to someone they considered a traitor, someone who’d taken information to the police.

The firefighter had been looking at the school too, and he pressed his lips into a grey, thin line before nodding.

“Okay.” He got on his radio to call his team, and I got back on the phone with Mickey’s mum, who’d been panicking while I kept her waiting.

“Ms White, I believe your son may be in danger. I need you to stay home, and if he returns, you must let me know the second he arrives, okay?”

“In danger?” she said weakly.

My gaze flicked over to Stephen, who was watching me. He gave a grimace of sympathy as I tried to decide how much to tell her. If Mickey was my kid, would I want to be here, watching the school burn and not knowing whether or not my child was inside? If I turned out to be wrong, I didn’t want to terrify her into fearing her son was dead. But if the worst did happen and Mickey was in there, and we couldn’t reach him in time, shouldn’t she be here?

“What kind of danger? Where’s my son?” Mickey’s mum demanded as I hesitated, split with indecision.

“Tell her,” Stephen said quietly. I gave him a small nod, trusting his decision, especially because he had children of his own.

“I’m worried that your son is caught in a fire,” I started before going on to explain further, keeping my voice as even and reassuring as I could.

I repeated multiple times that Mickey may not be in the