The woman nodded at them but kept her hands firmly in her coat pockets. “Maura Bell, Southwark CID.” Her voice held a trace of Glasgow Scots. She was dark-haired, thirtyish, with a thin, sharp-boned face and a less than welcoming expression. “I’ve been asked to help you coordinate the local area investigation. We’ll set up an incident base for you at Southwark headquarters.”

Bell might have been asked to assist, Kincaid thought, but that didn’t necessarily make her happy about having Scotland Yard on her patch. He’d have to tread carefully if he wanted more than minimal cooperation from her. She must have guessed why they’d been called in, even if she hadn’t been told outright – Southwark CID would have been responsible for informing Yarwood of the damage to his building.

Farrell turned to the uniformed firefighter. “This is Sub Officer Jake Martinelli, and Scully.”

“That’s a name to live up to,” Kincaid acknowledged, admiring the dog. She was black and tan, with dark comma-shaped patches above her eyes that gave her a quizzical expression. “Search and rescue, or explosives?” The Alsatian sniffed his proffered fingers, then went back to gazing expectantly at her handler.

Martinelli gave Kincaid a friendly grin. Olive-skinned and dark-eyed, he had broad cheekbones, which hinted at a dash of the exotic mixed with his Italian heritage. “Neither. Scully’s an accelerant detection dog. Her nose is a hundred times more sensitive than the mechanized hydrocarbon sniffers-”

“Don’t let him start,” broke in Farrell. “He’ll bend your ear till it’s blue. Not that Scully isn’t a good advertisement, but as I was just saying to Inspector Bell, we can’t take her in until the scene has cooled down sufficiently.” The dog whined and moved restively, as if aware her name had been mentioned, and Martinelli stroked her head.