Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [34]
“They were practicing,” said Finney. “Leary Way? Sure, they could have burned that down anyway. They’re practicing for something they couldn’t burn down anyway.”
“Let me reiterate,” G. A. said, visibly angry. “The fire was accidental. You think somebody knew an electrical short was going to occur at three in the morning? There were no signs of flammable liquid. No witnesses. No threats against the building. No disputes between tenants and landlord. It was a goddamned accident. And if it wasn’t, what the hell were they practicing for?”
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?”
“No, the question is: Why don’t you leave this alone and try to put your life back together? That’s the question.”
Kub’s pager went off. An engine company in Wedgwood had a juvenile fire-setter in custody and was asking for a fire investigator.
G. A. looked at Kub and said, “Go ahead. I’ll take care of this.”
“They can wait.”
“No, you go ahead.”
After Kub left, G. A. leaned on the tabletop, the thick muscles of his forearms swelling as he pressed down. “You checked the alarm records for all the shifts between June and now?”
“I checked the alarm records for the past five years. We’ve all seen it happen in wildland firefighting. Somebody’ll start a fire and then drive down the highway and start another one until they have fire crews running around like cats trying to bury shit on a tin roof.”
G. A. fixed his hazel eyes on Finney, his bushy eyebrows lowering. “I don’t buy any of this.”
“I don’t know why not. You were already looking into it yourself.”
“Examined the possibility and dismissed it. These days all companies in the city are taking more alarms than when you and I signed on. It was only a matter of time before this started happening. That’s why we have mutual aid pacts with the outlying districts. Let me try to put this delicately, John. I know how hard you took Bill’s death. Sometimes transferring the blame to someone else tracks with reality. Sometimes it’s wishful thinking.”
Finney knew there was some truth to what G. A. was saying. He also knew that if he could prove the events of June 7 had been planned, G. A.’s official interpretation would look foolish, and the investigation would be reopened. It would mean G. A. had made a bad call. With a fire that big and a fire death involved, a department death, it would be embarrassing as hell. There was a good possibility it would ruin him.
“Here’s the deal, John. The department report, the Labor and Industries report, and the NFPA reports on Leary Way are all coming out any day now. Why don’t you sit tight and see what they have to say? This was a tragedy, but don’t try to link it up to the Kennedy assassination or Area Fifty-one.”
“Is that how I sound?”
“That’s exactly how you sound.” They were quiet for a moment. “Listen, I feel as bad about Bill as you. But we have to let it go.”
Oddly enough, G. A. Montgomery had been appointed chairman of the panel preparing the SFD report on Leary Way. Finney wasn’t convinced that putting the man who’d investigated the fire in charge of the panel investigating the department’s performance in extinguishing the fire was kosher, but apparently nobody else had any problem with it.
“You’re going to keep after this no matter what I say, aren’t you, John?”
“Absolutely.”
“I can tell you right now, when all is said and done, what you’re going to find is a series of coincidences.”
“Then you’ll be right and I’ll be wrong.”
As he turned to leave, G. A. said, “You still seeing that counselor the department set you up with?” Finney looked out the beanery windows at the corona the streetlights formed in the drizzle. “I’m just thinking you can use some help. Anybody in your position could.”
“I quit her. She was a little too neurotic for my taste.”
“One last thing,” G. A. said. “Give me the address of that vacant house. I’ll look at it. I can do that much.”
It was nearly midnight when Finney picked up his ringing phone. “Seven Avenue South and South Holden Street,