“The door wasn’t locked.” The soft voice came from behind Kincaid and he turned, startled. A young woman stood there, dressed in jeans and anorak. Her corn-fair hair was tied back in a ponytail and she looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed. “I’m Leading Firefighter Kearny, Southwark station,” she explained, seeing their expressions. “My partner and I were first on the scene, BA crew.”

Farrell seemed to assess her disheveled appearance. “You’re just off your watch, then?”

“Yes, sir. Thought I’d make sure the relief had it all under control.” Kearny smiled but shifted on her feet, as if she felt a bit awkward under their scrutiny. “And I thought, if you had any questions, I’d save you waiting until the watch came back on duty tonight.”

“You’re interested in fire investigation?” Farrell asked with a trace of amusement.

“Yes, sir.” The girl met his gaze squarely, her chin up. Although her face was scrubbed pink, her bare neck still bore traces of soot, and the contrast struck Kincaid as rather endearing. Both Cullen and Martinelli were eyeing her with obvious interest, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Were there persons reported when you went in?” Farrell asked.

“No, sir. We were just doing a routine search, trying to lay a guideline for the hose. But it got really hot, and when Simms and I started to evacuate, I crawled into… it.” She made a faint grimace. “We could see there was no point in rescue.”

“Any smell of petrol before you went in?” Martinelli asked.

Kearny frowned, then shook her head. “Not that I remember. And then afterwards I had my mask on…”

“You said you found the front door open,” Kincaid said. “Is there more than one entrance?”