At least whoever did it isn’t a killer. He waited for Mr. MacReedy to leave. He must have done it while Mr. MacReedy was with us in Walnut Creek.”
Lindsey looked at the old man. While Lindsey watched, he lifted his coffee cup to his lips and held it for a long moment, then lowered it to its saucer again. He had still not touched its contents.
“They tried to put it out with fire extinguishers. Then they called 911 and the fire truck got here in a couple of minutes and doused the flames. Didn’t seem to do much real harm, except burn up Mr. MacReedy’s possessions.”
“How can you be so sure?” Lindsey had pulled a chair from the next table. He leaned toward Ms. Wilbur. “I mean, how can you be sure it was arson? Maybe it was just an accident. Somebody smoking or starting a fire in the fireplace or using a heater.”Ms. Wilbur shook her head. “The investigators are here already.”
“Who?”
Ms. Wilbur said, “A fire lieutenant, Vince D’Onofrio, and a police arson squad sergeant, Olaf Stromback.”
Lindsey pulled out his pocket organizer and jotted down the names. Ms. Wilbur never wrote anything down and never forgot anything. Lindsey made notes.
“They still here? I saw their cars outside.”
“They’re in Mr. MacReedy’s room. Come on, you want to see this.” She patted Mr. MacReedy’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right here. Mr. Hendry can see you. He’ll get you anything you need.”
Mr. MacReedy lifted milky eyes. “I don’t need anything, but thank you all the same.” He lifted the coffee cup to his lips once more, then lowered it.
Mr. MacReedy’s room was at the end of a ground-floor corridor. Lindsey could detect the smell of fresh ashes and cold watered embers before he got there. The door frame showed a few areas of charring and smoke had discolored the ceiling just outside Mr. MacReedy’s door, but those were the only signs of fire.
Inside the room everything was different. The air stank. The walls and ceiling were black. The single bed had been badly burned, large sections of water-soaked black showing on the mattress and pillow. An old wooden dresser, a sofa, a ladder-backed chair and a four-drawer file cabinet were all wrecked. All beyond hope of repair. Worst of all were the remains of a couple of corrugated cardboard file boxes. Those were barely recognizable. There was no fireplace, no visible space heater, not even a television set to start the fire.
So much for Mrs. MacReedy’s death certificate and Mr. MacReedy’s claim. Well, he could get a duplicate death certificate easily enough.
D’Onofrio and Stromback were talking in undertones when Lindsey and Ms. Wilbur arrived. Lindsey could tell them apart by their uniforms. They’d brought in a small, folding metal ladder and set it up. D’Onofrio had laid a notebook on one of the rungs. He was leaning on the ladder with one elbow. He said, “Who’s this?”
Ms. Wilbur started to reply but Lindsey stepped past her and handed International Surety business cards to both men. “Insurance,” he said. D’Onofrio and Stromback both looked at the cards, then slipped them into their pockets. Like Hope and Crosby in another Road picture.
Lindsey said, “Was this arson? Ms. Wilbur says it was arson but I want to know what you think.”
Stromback said, “No question. See these marks?” He pointed to some black smudges near the doorway. “Look at the feathering. Somebody threw an accelerant in here and tossed a match in after it. Even found the match. Must have done a good job—looks as if he only needed the one.” He pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket and showed it to Lindsey. The cellophane baggie contained an ordinary paper match. A cardboard information tag identified the location and circumstances of the great discovery, and carried Stromback’s scrawling signature. Fat chance of ever discovering the origins of a charred match.
D’Onofrio said, “You smell that?” He sniffed, as if Lindsey might not know what smell meant. “You smell that stuff?”
Lindsey said he did.
D’Onofrio said, “It’s gasoline. Everyday gasoline. Perpetrator soaked the bed, the file cabinet there, these cardboard boxes. Then he laid a trail back to the door. Then he threw in a final shot of the stuff, tossed in a match, and closed the door behind him.”
“Must have wanted the fire to do its job before anybody even knew about it.” That was Stromback. They picked up for each other perfectly. Like Dan Rather and Connie Chung. “Would have been a lot worse if he’d left the door open, or if he’d thrown something through the window on his way out. Could have got a nice cross-draft. Really made a nice fire. As it was, the oxygen got depleted pretty fast. Didn’t save this room but it saved the building.”
Lindsey frowned. “You’re sure this was set? It wasn’t just an accident?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He went on, “We’re near the university, aren’t we? Do you think this was connected to that fire at the art museum?”
D’Onofrio turned his face to the ceiling. “I don’t know about politics. They’re all crazy, for my two cents. But I saw the report on that fire. Didn’t look like this one. Don’t go seeing patterns just because there were two fires.” He had a green pen in his hand. He pointed it at a fire sprinkler.
Lindsey hadn’t even noticed them before this. “How come the sprinklers didn’t open and douse the fire?”
“See for yourself.” D’Onofrio took Lindsey by the elbow, guided him to the folding ladder. Lindsey climbed a couple of rungs. Near the ceiling the stench of gasoline and burned paper and fabric was stronger. D’Onofrio said, “Look at that sprinkler.”
Lindsey spotted it at once. “Somebody plugged it.” He craned his neck for a better look. “May I touch it?”
Stromback yelped, “Don’t! That’s evidence. Mustn’t touch.”
“Okay.” Lindsey climbed another rung. He was just inches from the sprinkler. “Looks like putty. Some kind of fast-drying putty. He climbed up here and plugged the sprinkler? Look, there are two of these in this room.”
“Got ’em both.”
“Was this ladder here?”
Stromback said, “Nope. Borrowed it from housekeeping. Whoever set the fire was tall—meaning, seriously tall—or more likely he dragged something under each sprinkler when he plugged it. Maybe the bed. Might even have brought a little folding ladder along, and took it away afterward.”
“In other words, it could be anybody.”
Stromback looked up at Lindsey and rubbed the back of his neck. The sergeant’s neck was beefy, and when he turned his face up it made an extra fold of flesh against his uniform collar. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll get him.”
Lindsey climbed back to floor level. “I hope you do. The sprinklers at the museum were plugged, too.”
“Very observant.” Stromback grinned.
“Then there is a pattern, isn’t there?: Lindsey pursued.
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t call that conclusive, but we’ll analyze the putty and see if it’s the same. If it is, that could mean a lot. Do you carry the fire insurance on this building, Mister, ah.…”
