Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [111]
“Yeah, well . . . it wasn’t your fault.”
After Tony left, Finney turned to Diana, whose hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her neck to facilitate the wearing of her dress uniform hat. The dull light from the sky made her face look radiant. He wished he wasn’t so angry with her, but he was. “I know you don’t believe me, but the fire was a trap,” he said, dully.
“I’m sorry about what I said to your parents.”
“Don’t ever regret telling the truth.”
“Just because the fire was set doesn’t mean it was a trap.”
“That civilian the night of the fire said there were victims inside when he knew there weren’t. Then somebody locked a door behind us. They killed Gary. You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Gary died. It happens to a firefighter every week somewhere in this country. Maybe every day.”
“What about our victims?”
“I heard Parkhurst talking before the service, and he said the man who told him about the victims hung around for about five minutes and then disappeared. Said he was probably one of those freaks who get off on lying to the fire department.”
“They torch a building in our district when I’m on shift. Get somebody to report trapped victims, so we’re taking chances and going deeper than necessary. I practically handed Gary to those firefighters, and still he died inside the building. You’ve never believed any of this, have you?”
“I can’t believe two firefighters would take Gary back inside.”
“It was dark. Maybe they thought they had me.”
“That’s just a little paranoid, isn’t it?”
Finney took a deep breath. A raindrop the size of a marble fell out of the sky and struck him in the forehead. Another fell on Diana’s shoulder. Clumps of mourners on the street began to disperse. Moments later the air was electric with the smell of rain. Finney said, “You don’t believe anything I’ve said, do you?”
Diana swung her wide-spaced gray eyes on him and brushed back a wisp of hair over her ear. A raindrop trickled down her cheek, or was it a tear? “It’s not that black and white, John. Besides, it seems to me you’re standing here imagining this is all about you, when Gary’s the one who’s dead.”
55. THE OZARK
Five hours after Gary Sadler’s funeral, Finney’s father answered his doorbell in West Seattle and found his son on the porch with a hot pizza and a six-pack of beer. Stepping inside, Finney deposited the cardboard pizza box on the kitchen table, while his father popped the top on one of the beer bottles; Finney put the rest in the refrigerator. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s got her ceramics class on Fridays. Take a seat. They got some great chopper shots of the fire. Interested?”
“Yeah.”
A devoted film buff, his father had thousands of still pictures chronicling his family and career. At last count, he’d cataloged over six thousand videotapes, many of which lined the shelves of four large bookcases he’d built in the family room. He’d collected hundreds of feature films, plus any television documentary involving World War II or firefighting or any other topic that caught his eye. He had one row devoted to real-life car chases and accident footage. When he played them, it became obvious he had all the crashes memorized.
As he led Finney into the family room, his father said, “Missed you at the funeral.”
“I didn’t see you either.”
“We were in back, old Ralph Marston and me. Marston was one of Gary’s instructors in drill school. He actually tried to get him fired. Said he was cocky. Can you imagine?” This last said sarcastically. “It was funny. I saw Gary just the other day. Sure you don’t want a slice of that pizza? It smells good.”
Finney noticed his father had barely sipped the Heineken. “No, thanks.”
“How’d you see Gary?”
“Oh, he dropped by. A lot of people are paying their last respects to the old bastard. It’s kind of nice, really.”
“Can we