my cheek lightly.
“She’s not the unburned victim.” “Thank God,” Mrs. Wingate whispered.
Her husband pocketed the photograph. “Can we see the other…
victim?” “No. That’s all off-limits until the powers that be arrive to investigate.” “When will that be?” “Several hours, I would guess. They come from far and wide.” He looked concerned. “You make it sound like an army. “Sometimes is, depending on what you got. Usually it’s just the State troopers-there’s one here already that I’ve seen-but in cases like this an arson investigator, the medical examiner; sometimes the State’s Attorney and the State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation get involved if they suspect something.” “Do you think it was arson?” I looked at him for a couple of seconds. He seemed so removed, if his mind was being overworked, concentrating on other things. “I don’t know. I guess time will tell.” The State trooper I’d seen stringing a brightly colored plastic bond labelled “Police Line-Do Not Cross” around the house came walking up to us. He was thin and carried himself stiffly, as if on parade.
This was helped somewhat by his green and gold uniform, which somehow looks more official than most state-trooper getups, especially the green ribbed commando sweater with the matching elbow and shoulder pads.
He nodded quickly at me and Laura, before addressing the couple before us. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Wingate?” “Yes, we are,” Wingate answered.
“My name is Corporal Wirt. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” Wirt glanced at us again and gestured down the street, away from the fire trucks. “Let’s step over there.” They all three moved away.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Laura murmured.
“Cousin Brucie had a fight with one of the unfortunate people in that building.” “He did?” Her eyes were bright with interest. In the midst of all this destruction, the air thick with unanswered questions, only Laura seemed fresh, youthful, and enthusiastic, yet somehow fragile. It was a beguiling combination. Her face had a way of completely altering itself as she shifted from one emotion to another, the way gusts of wind disturb a still body of water.
“He thought his daughter was staying there, so he went in last night and got himself thrown out the window for his pains. small group of us trooped down to cart him away. I would imagine Corporal Wirt finds all that of some interest.” “If anything interests him. He walks around like he’s got all the answers. Rumor has it he was banished up here because he stepped on some toes. We all call him Corporal Jerk.”
“Where’s he work out of?” “Island Pond. He makes no secret about hating this place. I think it’s silly they posted him here. The guy the State Police had here before was wonderful-knew everybody’s name, used to come by when he was off duty and shoot the breeze. He made the State Police look good, you know? Of course, that was before the Island Pond thing.
Wirt was transferred here right after that..
The “Island Pond thing” rang more than one bell for me. Island Pond, a town about twelve miles north of Gannet on i-14, was host to a Christian sect called the Northeast Kingdom Community Church. Some years back, over one hundred State troopers and social workers invaded the town, armed with a warrant, and rounded up some two hundred and twenty members of the church, including one hundred and twelve children.
The charge was child abuse. It was alleged that adult members beat their children to discipline them. But before anything could be made of the case, a judge declared the raid unconstitutional and ordered everyone returned to their homes. That left a lot of egg on a lot of official faces. To this day, if you wanted to see a Vermont State official start looking for the exit door, all you had to say was “Island Pond.” No doubt, all of that was going through Corporal Wirt’s
“She’s not the unburned victim.” “Thank God,” Mrs. Wingate whispered.
Her husband pocketed the photograph. “Can we see the other…
victim?” “No. That’s all off-limits until the powers that be arrive to investigate.” “When will that be?” “Several hours, I would guess. They come from far and wide.” He looked concerned. “You make it sound like an army. “Sometimes is, depending on what you got. Usually it’s just the State troopers-there’s one here already that I’ve seen-but in cases like this an arson investigator, the medical examiner; sometimes the State’s Attorney and the State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation get involved if they suspect something.” “Do you think it was arson?” I looked at him for a couple of seconds. He seemed so removed, if his mind was being overworked, concentrating on other things. “I don’t know. I guess time will tell.” The State trooper I’d seen stringing a brightly colored plastic bond labelled “Police Line-Do Not Cross” around the house came walking up to us. He was thin and carried himself stiffly, as if on parade.
This was helped somewhat by his green and gold uniform, which somehow looks more official than most state-trooper getups, especially the green ribbed commando sweater with the matching elbow and shoulder pads.
He nodded quickly at me and Laura, before addressing the couple before us. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Wingate?” “Yes, we are,” Wingate answered.
“My name is Corporal Wirt. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” Wirt glanced at us again and gestured down the street, away from the fire trucks. “Let’s step over there.” They all three moved away.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Laura murmured.
“Cousin Brucie had a fight with one of the unfortunate people in that building.” “He did?” Her eyes were bright with interest. In the midst of all this destruction, the air thick with unanswered questions, only Laura seemed fresh, youthful, and enthusiastic, yet somehow fragile. It was a beguiling combination. Her face had a way of completely altering itself as she shifted from one emotion to another, the way gusts of wind disturb a still body of water.
“He thought his daughter was staying there, so he went in last night and got himself thrown out the window for his pains. small group of us trooped down to cart him away. I would imagine Corporal Wirt finds all that of some interest.” “If anything interests him. He walks around like he’s got all the answers. Rumor has it he was banished up here because he stepped on some toes. We all call him Corporal Jerk.”
“Where’s he work out of?” “Island Pond. He makes no secret about hating this place. I think it’s silly they posted him here. The guy the State Police had here before was wonderful-knew everybody’s name, used to come by when he was off duty and shoot the breeze. He made the State Police look good, you know? Of course, that was before the Island Pond thing.
Wirt was transferred here right after that..
The “Island Pond thing” rang more than one bell for me. Island Pond, a town about twelve miles north of Gannet on i-14, was host to a Christian sect called the Northeast Kingdom Community Church. Some years back, over one hundred State troopers and social workers invaded the town, armed with a warrant, and rounded up some two hundred and twenty members of the church, including one hundred and twelve children.
The charge was child abuse. It was alleged that adult members beat their children to discipline them. But before anything could be made of the case, a judge declared the raid unconstitutional and ordered everyone returned to their homes. That left a lot of egg on a lot of official faces. To this day, if you wanted to see a Vermont State official start looking for the exit door, all you had to say was “Island Pond.” No doubt, all of that was going through Corporal Wirt’s
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