initial reaction?”
“Horror. I can’t even begin to describe…” He stopped suddenly, his eyes on me. “But I don’t really need to tell you that, do I?” he asked, his tone softer now. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “It was the kind of thing you hope you never see. Everything burned to the ground. Bodies and rubble swept up and cast to the side.”
The description triggered something in me—a memory buried so deep that I’d thought it would never surface again. Crawling through soaked grass, inching closer to the fire. Blackened bodies. A hand with fingers curled as though beckoning me.
“Ms. Solomon?”
“I’m sorry—I was just…” I shook my head. “Sorry. You said the bodies were swept to the side. That’s not the way they would have fallen though, would they?”
He smiled, just slightly. “Diggs said you were good. No—they wouldn’t have fallen that way. They hadn’t fallen that way. Sometime between when the fire was put out and the time we got there, Ashmont took it upon himself to clean things up a little.”
“He stacked the bodies?” The image sent a chill straight through me.
“He stacked the bodies, raked the debris, and didn’t take so much as a Polaroid to give to the investigative team.”
“How could he get away with that? He calls and blatantly lies to dispatch saying the Fire Marshal wouldn’t be needed on the scene, breaks protocol, destroys evidence… How did he not get in trouble for any of this?”
“He did get in some—they forced his resignation, from what I recall. But it was hard to prove intent… He said he’d just been confused when he put that first call in and hadn’t realized how bad things were, and then things got too chaotic to follow up.”
“And the others who were there—Hammond and Perkins, Dr. Everett… They all corroborated his story?”
“That was the major reason we never prosecuted. Between you and me, it was a bullshit story and everybody knew it, but you’ve got four respected members of the community insisting that that’s what happened. Short of an eye witness to say otherwise, there wasn’t much anybody could do.”
We spoke for another half hour before Flint had given me all the details he could remember, and I was ready to end the interview. Beyond his description of those first impressions of the scene, there weren’t a lot of surprises. The investigative team had set up camp on the island for several days, which I had known, with the ME conducting cursory exams of the bodies on site before the remains were returned to the mainland.
Before I said goodbye and prepared for an afternoon with the ME to follow up on their findings, I stood at the door with Flint and asked a final question.
“You said nothing could ever be proven, but you seem pretty clear on the fact that Ashmont and the others were hiding something. Do you think there’s any chance he or one of the others started that fire?”
Flint shook his head without hesitation. “No—we know what happened, Ms. Solomon. Ashmont was hiding something, no question. They all were, but I’d say that had more to do with covering their own asses after making such a mess of things. The toxins in the blood, the isolation of the community, the fact that there were almost no survivors…” He hesitated, and I could tell he was thinking of my father. “Isaac Payson set that fire, as far as the Maine State Fire Marshal and the law is concerned. That’s why the case was closed. There were no questions left to answer.”
I thought of the secret stash of photos Noel Hammond had kept hidden all those years. The false alibi I had provided for my father. The padlock on the door. The cloaked man chasing us through the woods.
If he’d known the truth, I was confident that Sergeant Flint would find there were, in fact, no shortage of questions left to answer.
Chapter Seven
Nothing new came up at my next stop, meeting with the Maine State Medical Examiner. Because
“Horror. I can’t even begin to describe…” He stopped suddenly, his eyes on me. “But I don’t really need to tell you that, do I?” he asked, his tone softer now. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “It was the kind of thing you hope you never see. Everything burned to the ground. Bodies and rubble swept up and cast to the side.”
The description triggered something in me—a memory buried so deep that I’d thought it would never surface again. Crawling through soaked grass, inching closer to the fire. Blackened bodies. A hand with fingers curled as though beckoning me.
“Ms. Solomon?”
“I’m sorry—I was just…” I shook my head. “Sorry. You said the bodies were swept to the side. That’s not the way they would have fallen though, would they?”
He smiled, just slightly. “Diggs said you were good. No—they wouldn’t have fallen that way. They hadn’t fallen that way. Sometime between when the fire was put out and the time we got there, Ashmont took it upon himself to clean things up a little.”
“He stacked the bodies?” The image sent a chill straight through me.
“He stacked the bodies, raked the debris, and didn’t take so much as a Polaroid to give to the investigative team.”
“How could he get away with that? He calls and blatantly lies to dispatch saying the Fire Marshal wouldn’t be needed on the scene, breaks protocol, destroys evidence… How did he not get in trouble for any of this?”
“He did get in some—they forced his resignation, from what I recall. But it was hard to prove intent… He said he’d just been confused when he put that first call in and hadn’t realized how bad things were, and then things got too chaotic to follow up.”
“And the others who were there—Hammond and Perkins, Dr. Everett… They all corroborated his story?”
“That was the major reason we never prosecuted. Between you and me, it was a bullshit story and everybody knew it, but you’ve got four respected members of the community insisting that that’s what happened. Short of an eye witness to say otherwise, there wasn’t much anybody could do.”
We spoke for another half hour before Flint had given me all the details he could remember, and I was ready to end the interview. Beyond his description of those first impressions of the scene, there weren’t a lot of surprises. The investigative team had set up camp on the island for several days, which I had known, with the ME conducting cursory exams of the bodies on site before the remains were returned to the mainland.
Before I said goodbye and prepared for an afternoon with the ME to follow up on their findings, I stood at the door with Flint and asked a final question.
“You said nothing could ever be proven, but you seem pretty clear on the fact that Ashmont and the others were hiding something. Do you think there’s any chance he or one of the others started that fire?”
Flint shook his head without hesitation. “No—we know what happened, Ms. Solomon. Ashmont was hiding something, no question. They all were, but I’d say that had more to do with covering their own asses after making such a mess of things. The toxins in the blood, the isolation of the community, the fact that there were almost no survivors…” He hesitated, and I could tell he was thinking of my father. “Isaac Payson set that fire, as far as the Maine State Fire Marshal and the law is concerned. That’s why the case was closed. There were no questions left to answer.”
I thought of the secret stash of photos Noel Hammond had kept hidden all those years. The false alibi I had provided for my father. The padlock on the door. The cloaked man chasing us through the woods.
If he’d known the truth, I was confident that Sergeant Flint would find there were, in fact, no shortage of questions left to answer.
Chapter Seven
Nothing new came up at my next stop, meeting with the Maine State Medical Examiner. Because
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