cleanup’s going.” He left us and Rennie swallowed before smiling bitterly. “Your uncle thinks I tried to kill you.” “I thought you were trying to commit suicide.” “Guess I fucked up all around, huh?” Laura, still sitting nearby, laughed. Rennie took a sip of coffee and then looked at me more carefully. “Did he ask you what Dick said to me?”
“About the attic getting ready to blow?” “Yeah.” “Yup. Told him I didn’t hear it. But,” I added, “I also told him you decided to search the other room, instead of getting out.” “Over your objections?” “No, just that you decided and I followed.” He nodded. “Good. I told him I couldn’t hear what Dick was saying.” He smiled again. “It’s driving him crazy.” He laughed then and began to walk away. I stopped him with a question. “What made the hose go flat?” He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “They told me the portable pump froze. Didn’t have any oil in it.” He shrugged and filled his mouth with another huge bite, talking at the same time. “By the way, thanks for saving my butt.” “Least I could do for someone who tried to kill me.” He let out a grunt and continued on his way. Laura was looking at me with increasing concern. “What did happen in there?” I smiled at her. “It’s like Rennie said.” She shook her head in frustration. “You guys…” She stood up suddenly and waved. I followed her look and saw a pickup with a young man at the wheel pulled off of South Street. He waved back from the driver’s window.
“Gotta go. See you later.” I watched her run to the truck, her hair bouncing. She looked good in jeans, and I felt an unreasonable pang at her leaving. I also felt an odd sensation at her running toward another man, even though, presumably, he was her husband.
“I hear you’re a police officer.” I turned around, surprised at the sudden intrusion. It was Wirt, in full official splendor. “That’s right. Joe Gunther, out of Brattleboro.” We shook hands, although primarily because my hand was flapping in the breeze before Wirt reluctantly grabbed hold of it. “I was told you and Wilson were the first two in there. What did you see?” I resisted stating the obvious-like “a fire”-which would have forced him to step outside the Joe Friday imitation.
“One incinerated body at the foot of the stairs, wrapped around the remains of the wood stove, and four more upstairs, apparently dead from smoke inhalation. There were no puddles of flaming gasoline on the floor, but the four people upstairs were behind a locked door, with the key on the outside, on the floor.” He looked up from the notepad he was carrying. “What kind of key was it?” I knew what he was after.
“Old-fashioned, key operated from the other side. It wasn’t a dead bolt.” “And there wasn’t a key on the other side as well.” “Nope, not in the door.” “But there might have been one in the room?” “That’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely. I’ve never seen a lock key with more than one key. In fact, usually the one key’s been lost years ago and people use a hook and eye to lock the door.” He was scribbling feverishly by now. “Any idea what caused the fire?” I was beginning to tire of this. Also, I didn’t see much to gain by humoring him further.
I knew damned well all this would stop dead in his little black book.
With the locked-door problem, he was going to have to bring in BCI-the Bureau of Criminal Investigation. None of them would ask him his opinion on the case, and everyone would ask roughly the same questions of me and everyone involved a dozen ore more times over the coming week.
A street cop worth his salt could be an invaluable source and a good friend to cultivate; a disliked man. Wirt was best suited to directing traffic and nurturing his resentment.
I got up and stretched. The ice that had covered me earlier had melted in the morning sun, leaving me damp
“About the attic getting ready to blow?” “Yeah.” “Yup. Told him I didn’t hear it. But,” I added, “I also told him you decided to search the other room, instead of getting out.” “Over your objections?” “No, just that you decided and I followed.” He nodded. “Good. I told him I couldn’t hear what Dick was saying.” He smiled again. “It’s driving him crazy.” He laughed then and began to walk away. I stopped him with a question. “What made the hose go flat?” He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “They told me the portable pump froze. Didn’t have any oil in it.” He shrugged and filled his mouth with another huge bite, talking at the same time. “By the way, thanks for saving my butt.” “Least I could do for someone who tried to kill me.” He let out a grunt and continued on his way. Laura was looking at me with increasing concern. “What did happen in there?” I smiled at her. “It’s like Rennie said.” She shook her head in frustration. “You guys…” She stood up suddenly and waved. I followed her look and saw a pickup with a young man at the wheel pulled off of South Street. He waved back from the driver’s window.
“Gotta go. See you later.” I watched her run to the truck, her hair bouncing. She looked good in jeans, and I felt an unreasonable pang at her leaving. I also felt an odd sensation at her running toward another man, even though, presumably, he was her husband.
“I hear you’re a police officer.” I turned around, surprised at the sudden intrusion. It was Wirt, in full official splendor. “That’s right. Joe Gunther, out of Brattleboro.” We shook hands, although primarily because my hand was flapping in the breeze before Wirt reluctantly grabbed hold of it. “I was told you and Wilson were the first two in there. What did you see?” I resisted stating the obvious-like “a fire”-which would have forced him to step outside the Joe Friday imitation.
“One incinerated body at the foot of the stairs, wrapped around the remains of the wood stove, and four more upstairs, apparently dead from smoke inhalation. There were no puddles of flaming gasoline on the floor, but the four people upstairs were behind a locked door, with the key on the outside, on the floor.” He looked up from the notepad he was carrying. “What kind of key was it?” I knew what he was after.
“Old-fashioned, key operated from the other side. It wasn’t a dead bolt.” “And there wasn’t a key on the other side as well.” “Nope, not in the door.” “But there might have been one in the room?” “That’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely. I’ve never seen a lock key with more than one key. In fact, usually the one key’s been lost years ago and people use a hook and eye to lock the door.” He was scribbling feverishly by now. “Any idea what caused the fire?” I was beginning to tire of this. Also, I didn’t see much to gain by humoring him further.
I knew damned well all this would stop dead in his little black book.
With the locked-door problem, he was going to have to bring in BCI-the Bureau of Criminal Investigation. None of them would ask him his opinion on the case, and everyone would ask roughly the same questions of me and everyone involved a dozen ore more times over the coming week.
A street cop worth his salt could be an invaluable source and a good friend to cultivate; a disliked man. Wirt was best suited to directing traffic and nurturing his resentment.
I got up and stretched. The ice that had covered me earlier had melted in the morning sun, leaving me damp
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