Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Seventy-Three

Jesse stood in front of More Chocolate, the place burning up in front of his eyes, listening to the roar he knew a fire like this made, amazed that somehow the Paradise Fire Department and the trucks that were already on the scene from Marshport had contained it, at least so far, to just this one building.

He thought about the night when the old theater, rebuilt now, had burned like this, afraid that time that half of Main Street or more was about to go, too. But they had contained that one and were in the process of doing the same with the chocolate company, even though this part of Paradise looked as bright as the middle of the day.

The members of Jesse’s department who weren’t on the scene when he arrived had shown up by now, Molly and Suit and Gabe and everybody. They were containing the crowd that had formed at four in the morning.

Jesse saw Nicholas Farrell on the civilian side of the police ropes that had already been set up, his eyes fixed on flames still trying to reach to the sky even as the nozzle teams were hitting them hard with water, which only made the night louder.

In the distance, there was the sound of another siren, maybe one more truck from Marshport, whose fire department was bigger than the one they had here.

He didn’t know how they’d classify this one, how many alarms.

But two departments.

One candy company.

One big-ass fire.

Jesse walked over to Nicholas.

“I mean, what in the holy fuck, Jesse?” Nicholas said.

He stared up at the fire, transfixed, maybe wondering what was happening to his own life, right in front of his eyes.

“This has to be an accident, right?” Nicholas said.

“Not necessarily,” Jesse said, and told him they could talk later, and walked away.

Up the block Jesse managed to smile as he saw that Nellie was inside the ropes, pen and notebook out, talking to Bob Fishman, the fire chief in Paradise. Captain Gus Morello was as close to the building as he could get, barking out orders. Jesse knew the drill. Fishman was the chief, but Morello was the one in charge.

When Morello stepped back, Jesse walked over to him.

“Anybody inside?” Jesse said.

“Imaging says no,” Morello said, eyes watching the second floor.

“Any of your people inside?”

“If there’s nobody in there,” Morello said, “nobody goes in there.”

And went back to work.

Fishman stepped away from Nellie. When she started to follow, he turned and motioned with his hand for her to stop. Just then one of the windows suddenly blew out, and the roar of the fire got a little louder.

Bob Fishman shook his head.

“Oxygen,” he said.

“Feeding the beast,” Jesse said.

“It was a couple kids who called it in. They were walking through town, overserved, all the way from the Swap,” Fishman said.

He was tall, rope-thin, white hair, buzz-cut. He reminded Jesse more of a Marine. He had been working in the department since Jesse had arrived from Los Angeles.

“They heard it before they saw the flames and the smoke,” he said.

Just then there was what sounded like an explosion, and the second floor began to collapse on the first.

“Do you think this might have been set intentionally?” they heard from behind them.

Nellie.

Jesse put a hand on Fishman’s arm and walked him away.

“Hey,” Nellie said.

“Church and state,” Jesse said.

“Could this be arson?” Jesse asked Fishman when they were out of her earshot.

“If it is,” he told Jesse, “somebody knew what the hell they were doing.”

Nobody’s going to search the computers now.

Convenient, Jesse thought, at least if you had something to hide.

Jesse told Molly and Suit to fan out, ask people in the crowd if they’d seen or heard anything before the fire started, even at this time of morning.

Then he stared at the flames again, feeling the heat of them on his face, remembering the day that the makeover of the old firehouse was complete, and More Chocolate was ready to open for business, and Hillary More and Mayor Gary Armistead did the ribbon-cutting and smiled for the cameras.

“Paradise is open for business again,” Armistead said that day, even though Jesse knew it had never really been closed, even at the height of COVID, when most of the world had been forced indoors, and even the cop work felt as if it were somehow being done remotely. In Paradise, the money had held. But then it almost always did.

Something about the subject of arson was nagging Jesse, something he knew he knew. Just too much going on for him to come up with it right in middle of Main Street, middle of the night.

“Take your hands off me!”

A woman’s voice.

One Jesse knew.

He turned around and saw Hillary More, eyes wild, on this side of the ropes, having broken away from Gabe, who knew enough to let her go.

She came running for Jesse.

Now he was the one stopping her as she tried to get too close to the fire.

“My God!” she said. “My God!”

She shook free of Jesse, didn’t make any move to get closer, looking at what used to be More Chocolate.

Then she turned back to Jesse and said, “He did this.”