Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [117]
He realized there was a good chance he would never be allowed to put on the uniform again. Losing the uniform wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but for some reason it felt as if it were. So much of his identity was wrapped up in being a firefighter. It left him with a satisfaction he couldn’t imagine finding anywhere else.
He was almost finished with the kitchen. His checkbook was balanced, and his insurance and bank account information were neatly typed onto a single sheet of paper. He would ask Tony, who was allergic to cats, to keep an eye on Dimitri, and to put his personal effects in storage before renting out the houseboat.
At four o’clock a pensive group showed up on the dock: Charlie Reese, G. A. Montgomery, Oscar Stillman, as well as three uniformed Seattle police officers wearing black leather gloves and bulletproof vests.
G. A. Montgomery unfurled an arrest warrant, then stepped inside and bowed his head, a somber Stillman and Reese following. As if by prior arrangement, the SPD officers waited on the dock. Breathing through his gapped teeth with a whistling noise, Stillman gave him an avuncular look. With the moment upon them, G. A. seemed to have picked up a case of stage fright. In the tight quarters of the living room, G. A. seemed larger than life; his head looked as large as a bowling ball. Reese was the most chipper of the bunch.
“You’re under arrest, John,” G. A. said, almost apologetically from the back of the room. Without moving from the wall, he read Finney his rights from a printed card. He’d been crowing to one and all that he was going to put Finney away, and now his slow words and funereal tone were puzzling.
Chief Reese said, “Annie Sortland is finally alert enough that her doctors up at Harborview allowed G. A. to interview her. Says she saw you on Riverside Drive the morning of the fire. Right before somebody socked her upside the head.”
“A captain, a chief, and a scoundrel,” Finney said, looking around the group. “And you finally found your witness.”
“I never put anyone away who wasn’t guilty,” G. A. said, reaching for the handcuffs on his belt.
Reese said, “Hold up a minute. John gave the police some interesting theories yesterday. Maybe he wants to share those with us.”
“You want to say something, John,” added Oscar Stillman, not unkindly, “you go right ahead.”
Finney looked the trio over. “Yeah, I want to say something. I didn’t set the fire. It offends me that any of you think I did. G. A. framed me. He knows it and I know it and I’m beginning to think you guys know it, too.”
“Turn around and put your hands on the wall, asshole,” G. A. said, stepping past Reese.
“No, no. Go back over there,” Reese said. “You’re beginning to think we know what?”
“This is my gig, Charlie,” G. A. said, forcefully.
“No, I want to hear what he has to say.” Reluctantly, G. A. moved back. “Let him talk. Maybe he’ll say something else to incriminate himself.” Reese turned to Finney, his brown eyes teary with gloating. “You thought you were hot shit, didn’t you? Voted top of the class. And there I was at the ass end of things. It’s turned around a little, eh?”
“Is that what this is all about? A drill school that happened eighteen years ago? Jesus, get a life.”
“I have a life. Yours is the one going down the toilet. Leary Way is what started it for you, John. If that hadn’t happened, you’d probably be all right. But then, with guys like you, something like that is bound to happen sooner or