Where did it start?”
“You mean where was it started? Kitchen, of course. Grease trap.”
Wearing hard hats, they made their way into the scorched, fallen remains of Sammy Rae’s.
“Careful,” Rollins kept saying, nodding and pointing, stepping over debris, his big utility flashlight spearing the dimness.
“Phew,” Luke said once, “stinks to high heaven.”
“Yeah, the whole thing stinks.”
The fire chief showed Luke what was left of the grill and the ventilation hood, then pointed out the grease trap on the side of the fire-twisted grill. He showed Luke the so-called hot spots, which had burned too easily and too quickly, at the same temperature and for the same amount of time as the fire source, indicating that the hot spots and grease trap had all gone up in flames together. Of course, modern forensics would no doubt turn up the starter fuel. Nowadays, fires were creating a whole new field of science and a whole new set of problems for the average fire starter, who merely wanted to collect on his insurance.
“Think I can tell the suits over at Metropole they can keep this out of court?”
“Oh, I’m sure. In fact, we’ll probably have enough to press charges on old Sammy.”
“Well, then, I assume I can have copies of the lab reports when they’re done?”
“No problem. I’ll sign the requisition.”
They made their way back out into the sun, and Luke took off his hard hat and handed it to Rollins, dusting off the sleeves of his jacket. “Thanks for your time, Chief,” he said, turning to go.
Then Rollins spoke. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he said.
Luke pivoted. “I, ah, no, not really.”
“It was ten, twelve, years ago.”
Luke shrugged.
“A waterfront fire down on Third Street.”
“Sorry, but I…” Then it came back to him. Sure. Rollins. He’d been a fireman then, and some real junked-out dudes had been playing chemist at home and blown up their rat hole of an apartment. Luke and his partner had been on a Vice surveillance two buildings down. They’d raced to the scene only seconds after the explosion, and Luke had helped Rollins drag an entire family of illegal immigrants from the blazing second story to safety.
Sure, now he remembered. Back then, Luke had been a hero.
“The fire,” Luke said, nodding. “We both got some good press that night.”
“Yeah,” Rollins said. “Well, anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your…job. Your resignation and all that.”
“Mmm,” Luke said.
“I saw your name in the papers last year, and well, I felt real bad for you and all the others who, ah, resigned. I just wanted to tell you that.”
“I appreciate it,” Luke said, and he lifted his hand, gave Rollins a short wave, turned and headed to his car.
No one, he thought, was sorrier than he.
CHAPTER FOUR
GRACE PACED in front of the main entrance to the Avenues Mall in Oakland and gripped Charley’s hand. She’d wanted to meet her parents at their house, somewhere familiar and comfortable, for Charley, but, as Bob had told her, it was a bad idea. The feds would be nosing around once she was declared a fugitive, and one of the first things they’d do would be to stake out their house. An ex-cop’s home, she thought, cringing, knowing what this action of hers was doing to her father, her law-abiding father.
Charley was being an angel, looking forward to seeing Gramma and Grampa, but he was bound to wear down soon. So much traveling. A new bed every night, new faces, hours and hours stuck in the hot car. It wasn’t fair.
She tugged gently on Charley’s hand and moved to the curb, where the valets were parking cars. She looked up and down the crowded parking aisles. Where the heck were her parents? Her nerves scratched beneath her skin. It had been Bob’s idea to meet at the Oakland mall. One o’clock, he’d said, at the main entrance where the valet stand was located.
She looked at her watch. It was almost 1:05.
Calm down, she told herself.
“Mommy?” Charley kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. “Where are Gramma and Grampa? I’m hungry.”
“I’m sure they’re just parking their car, honey. They’ll be along.”
“Can we have pizza?”
“I think you’ve had enough junk food to last a lifetime, young man.”
“Pizza is not junk food, Mommy. Ice cream is junk food. You said so last night.”
“Well, yes, I did. And it’s true.”
“Where are Gramma and—” But before he could finish, Bob Bennett had swooped him up from behind and was giving him a big kiss on the cheek. “Grampa!” Charley squealed in delight, and Grace felt tears press against her eyelids.
Big Bob Bennett was a bear of a man, barrel-chested, tall, grizzled hair poking out of the open collar of his shirt. His face was heavy featured and sagging, but it was a good face, strong and kind.
Her mother, Sally, was petite and adorable. A mismatched couple, one would say to look at them, but they’d been married for forty years and were still going great guns.
Sally hugged Grace tightly, then took Charley from Bob. “Look at this boy, how big you’ve grown since last Christmas. Oh, stop squirming and let Gramma have all the hugs and kisses she can get.”
“God, I’m so glad to see you both,” Grace breathed. “I’ve got so much to tell you and—”
“I’m hungry,” Charley announced to his grandparents, the only grandparents he’d known. “Mommy says pizza is bad for me, but I bet Gramma wants pizza. Are you hungry, Gramma?”
“The boy sure is learning,” Bob said, grinning, giving Grace a big hug.
“Oh, pizza, yum yum,” Sally said, taking Charley’s hand, “that’s exactly what Gramma wanted, too. How did you know? Did a little elf tell you?”
Charley shook his head and laughed and held on to Sally’s hand, half dragging her into the mall.
Grace and Bob followed a few paces behind, Grace tucking her arm into Bob’s, laying her head on his shoulder as they walked. “Oh, Dad,” she said, “what have I done?”
“The only thing you could have.”
“But you were a policeman. How can you say that? It’s wrong. It’s just that I…”
“You believed you had no other choice.
