Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [44]
“You guys first in?”
“Twenty-seven’s was.”
“But this is your district?”
“We were out of service on an aid run when the call came in.”
Stepping close enough that Finney could smell cloves on his breath, G. A. produced a toothpick from somewhere and placed it in the corner of his mouth. “When you got here, you see anything?”
“Yeah. Fog.”
“I was thinking along the lines of civilian activity, maybe someone suspicious hanging around?”
“Just fog.”
“That’s what your lieutenant said. He also said you two had a difference of opinion.” He bobbed the toothpick between his fleshy lips.
“He wanted to make the rescue from inside. I told him the stairs were burned out.”
“How did you know the stairs were burned out?”
“I knew where they were. And I could see the volume of fire in that part of the house. This is the house I was telling you about last night.”
G. A. Montgomery raised his eyebrows. “We’re on Riverside Drive? I guess we are. Hell of a coincidence. But then, coincidences are your meat and potatoes, aren’t they?”
“What does that mean?”
G. A. used his tongue to relocate his toothpick. “You realize this is arson. No electricity. Nobody living here. There’s a smell of gasoline around back.”
“I said last night it was set to be torched.”
Kub and Finney exchanged looks, and Kub turned to assess the building again, effectively removing himself from the conversation. It was a head-in-the-sand move that surprised Finney.
G. A. was holding a large clear plastic bag containing an article of navy-blue clothing. “We got lucky,” he said, flashing a mirthless grin. “We went over to the ER on the way here and talked to the fire victim. She said somebody came up behind her and put a bag over her head, knocked her senseless. When she woke up, she was on the second floor in the smoke.”
“She see who it was?”
“A fireman.”
Finney paused. “She able to ID him?”
“Oh, she knows the jerk. Not his name, but she can pick him out of a photo lineup.”
“There’s always the possibility she’s covering for her own screw-up,” said Kub, without turning to look at them. “Say, she started a warming fire in there and it got out of hand. You know she was rambling. Some of what she said didn’t make sense.”
G. A. gave Kub a disapproving look. “She was in pain and on morphine. But she’ll be a credible witness. People get burned like that, you get them on the witness stand, the jury wants to hang somebody real bad. And look at this,” he said, holding out the plastic bag. “My guess is the perp took it off and forgot about it. People get so simpleminded.” G. A. removed a jacket from the bag, and as he unfurled it, Finney realized it was nearly identical to one he kept in his clothing locker back at the station.
He started to say something, but stopped himself as the scattered events of the morning began rearranging themselves in his mind. An anonymous caller had set up a meeting an hour before change of shift. The assignation had left Finney loitering near the fire location, where, but for the fog, he would have been seen by any number of early morning commuters. As far as he knew, the only person to see him was Annie, but what if Annie thought he was the one who’d mugged her? It would certainly explain the terrified look on her face when she saw him after the rescue, a look that he now realized was more than just pain.
“You recognize this jacket?” G. A. asked, reaching into one of the pockets. He pinched a small green ticket stub.
“That a laundry ticket?” Kub asked.
Finney’s mouth went dry. He’d had his jacket dry-cleaned just last week, and Emerald City Cleaners used green tickets identical to the one G. A. was holding. Finney scanned the right sleeve, and there it was, a tiny blemish where he had accidentally splashed a drop of bleach a year ago.
“Looks like mine,” Finney said.
G. A. turned