Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [116]
“Wait a minute,” Finney said. “Just because somebody inspected the building’s life safety systems doesn’t mean something isn’t going to happen. You get one or two floors going in a building like that and it’s a grounder, systems or not. Somebody could get in there . . . somebody could . . .”
Reese’s voice grew smaller as they walked down the corridor. “Just like every other big city department, we have our resident two-twenties. This nutcase’s father was a dear friend of mine, so it’s particularly sad for me to tell you this, but if I could eject this poor bastard from our department, I would. Just like you guys, this is a civil service job, and we have to carry the deadwood. In case you didn’t recognize him, this is the same guy who survived Leary Way last June. A few days ago he managed to get one of our best lieutenants killed at that pig plant fire. We’re still trying to figure out how he did that. Also, and this isn’t for public consumption, we’re building a case against him for arson. Airtight. The trouble with—”
A door closed, insulating Finney from the remainder of the conversation. Now all Finney could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. It didn’t matter that the house he found prepped for arson had burned down the morning after he reported it, or that he’d discovered a replica of a city fire engine, or that somebody driving that engine had tried to kill him. It didn’t matter that Sadler had been dragged back into the fire building and left to die. It didn’t matter that these men, whoever they were—Oscar Stillman, Jerry Monahan, whoever—were going to do it again.
It didn’t matter because nobody believed him.
“You all right?” asked the officer in the doorway.
“Pardon?”
“You look like you’re having trouble breathing.”
“I’m okay.”
“Good. Because I think they want to talk to you again.”
Moments later the three men paraded back into the room, and Rosemont put his foot on the seat of a straight-backed chair. “Why don’t you run through this again?”
Finney got up. “I told you what I came here to tell you. Now I’m leaving.”
Rosemont looked at Reese. “Want us to dig up some charge to hold him on until you boys are ready with your own charges?”
Charlie Reese stepped forward. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, gentlemen. As you can see, he’s not much of a threat.”
Rosemont said, “If the Chief wants you out of here, I guess you’re free to go.”
A few moments later Reese approached Finney in the corridor. It occurred to Finney that if Reese was part of the conspiracy, it would make sense to keep Finney out of jail so he could absorb some or all of the blame for whatever was going to happen next.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, John, but I couldn’t go on letting you make a fool of yourself.”
“Who else inspected the Columbia Tower?”
“An engineer from the building and Lieutenant Stillman.”
“Oscar? Oscar’s part of it.”
Reese turned and looked at him. “You’re not kidding, are you? You really think this is going to happen. John, get a sound night’s sleep. In the morning make an appointment with a shrink.”
It wasn’t until he looked down the hallway and saw the redheaded officer who’d taken his report after his tangle with the fake engine that something became clear: Rosemont and Freeman had been eavesdropping on him and Reese. Eyes locked on Finney, the redhead began whispering to the detectives. Finney could imagine what she was saying. “Yeah, we found him in his truck all mangled up one night, raving about being run down by a fire truck. Nutty as a pecan pie.”
57. RIDING LIES LIKE A HOBBYHORSE
During the afternoon a carpet of fog rolled across the lake and began bunching up around the downtown skyscrapers.
At four o’clock Finney was in his kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing and scouring.