Page 123 of Fire Must Burn

The constable nodded, still coughing and rubbing his throat.

‘Go find yourself a doctor,’ ordered Parham. Then he turned back to Iris. ‘That’s Miss Lowle you’re sitting on.’

‘It is,’ said Sparks. ‘I’ll hold her until you get the cuffs on.’

Parham squatted by Lowle and handcuffed her. Sparks got up, and Parham hauled Lowle to her feet.

‘Take her to Serious Crimes,’ he called, and one of the constables with him removed her.

He turned back to Sparks.

‘One of them,’ he said. ‘There are more?’

‘One other,’ said Sparks. ‘Hang on.’

She retrieved her bag from where she had dropped it before coming into the room, then pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him.

‘The man you want is Kenneth Lonsdale,’ she said. ‘One of our clients, the one Lowle dated before Danforth. That’s his address. Send someone to pick him up and search his place. I’ll explain everything on the way to your office. Oh, did you happen to see Mrs Bainbridge on your way in?’

‘Yes, I was going to mention that,’ said Parham. ‘There was a commotion going on in the lobby. There was some talk about arresting her for knocking out a porter.’

‘Talk them out of it, please,’ said Sparks. ‘I suspect the man won’t be pressing charges.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Parham. ‘Ah, there’s the syringe you mentioned. I’d better take that.’

He pulled a small manilla envelope from his coat and placed the syringe inside. Then he looked down at Danforth.

‘This chap slept through everything that happened,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Sparks. ‘Whatever they gave him, I’d like to get some to take away.’

FIFTEEN

Inside the Curtis Green building at Scotland Yard, Parham led the two women to a small room in the basement level with a pair of speakers mounted on the wall and a small table with four chairs around it.

‘You’ll be able to hear everything in here,’ said Parham. ‘I don’t want them to see you. I’ll come back if I have any questions.’

He walked out, closing the door behind him, then walked down the hall to another room with a padded door. He entered it without knocking. There was a constable sitting at one end, a police stenographer sitting at a desk at the other, and in the middle, seated behind a desk and handcuffed by one wrist to a bar bolted into the wall was a man with a sour expression.

Parham sat across the desk from him, then glanced at his watch. He nodded to the stenographer.

‘My name is Philip Parham,’ he said to the man. ‘I am Detective Superintendent at the Homicide and Serious Crimes Command. Is your name Kenneth Lonsdale?’

‘Yes,’ said the man.

‘You are being charged with the attempted murder of Anthony Danforth of Grenville House, as well as with arson and related charges for the use of an incendiary device in the commission of that crime,’ said Parham. ‘We have matched your fingerprints to some found on the door to the roof of that building. An eyewitness who was across the street at the time has identified you as having followed Mr Danforth into the building carrying a fishing pole and a tackle box, and we have recovered from your flat a set of sketches of the building with handwritten estimates of the distance from the rooftop to the window of Mr Danforth’s flat. We believe that you introduced a petrol bomb from the rooftop through his open window by means of the fishing pole. Do you wish to say anything in answer to the charge? You are not obliged to say anything unlessyou wish to do so, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.’

Lonsdale slumped in his chair, pounding his free hand on his knee. Then he sighed.

‘Have you ever done any fly fishing?’ he asked.

‘When I was young,’ replied Parham. ‘An uncle used to take me when we visited out in Shropshire.’

‘Ah, out on the Severn, I suppose,’ said Lonsdale, nodding. ‘I’ve taken some good-sized trout out that way, twenty-five pounds and up.’

‘Have you?’

‘I have.’