Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins

54

Tess O’Hara stood on the sidewalk, wrapped in two fire department blankets. She just stood there, staring, immobile, her face empty. When Jesse and Molly approached her, all she could say was “Mary Kate’s all gone now. She’s all gone, forever.”

The sad and sagging house Jesse recalled from the day he and Molly had come to notify Tess that Mary Kate’s remains had been found was totally engulfed in fire, the flames snapping in the breeze in seeming defiance of the endless water spray shot into their midst. The firemen did what they could, but Jesse had been around long enough to know a lost cause when he saw one. All the water and foam in the world wasn’t going to save Tess O’Hara’s house.

The firemen were trying to contain the blaze so that none of the burning embers could ride the cold winds and spread the fire to the houses on either side, or worse. Pictures, Jesse thought, never did fires justice. For as dramatic as pictures were, they failed to capture the intensity of the heat or the smells. The acrid chemical stench of melting plastic and burning rubber. The choking stink of steam from floor joists and wall studs turned into charcoal and ash.

Jesse spoke to Stan Dolan, Robbie Wilson’s deputy.

“What do you think?” Jesse asked.

“Arson. There was definitely an accelerant used. You could smell it in the air when we arrived on scene. The place went up like that.” Dolan snapped his fingers. “Wouldn’t have happened that fast without a chemical assist. And the garage was involved, too. No reason for a detached garage to be burning like that before the fire could spread. Nope, someone made this happen. The old lady was lucky to get out.”

Jesse wondered if Tess O’Hara thought she was lucky to get out.

He asked, “Have you talked to Robbie? What about the other house?”

“Same deal,” Dolan said. “Went up like the sun.”

“Thanks.”

Jesse stood next to Dolan for another minute, watching as the O’Hara house crumpled into a pile of burning sticks and memories. Unlike the building that collapsed on Trench Alley, there was no groan or shudder. It just collapsed, as much from grief and mourning as from fire.

“What do you think it means, Jesse, these two fires at once?” Molly asked when he got back to the cruiser.

“It means my plan’s working and that someone’s scared.”

“Who?”

Jesse just smiled, sure that he knew the answer. The smile lasted only the time it took to call Healy. According to him, Jesse was wrong.

“Dragoa’s been working on his boat all day,” Healy said. “My man’s been on him from before five this morning. He’s still with him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jesse, this is one of my best men. He’s got photos of Dragoa taken every quarter-hour. You want to see them?”

“Forget it,” Jesse said, watching the firemen roll up their hoses.

Healy asked what the fuss was and Jesse explained about the fires.

“Anybody hurt?”

“No. Tess O’Hara made it out of the house and the family that lives in the old Connolly house wasn’t home.”

“Could they salvage the houses?”

“Both are total losses.”

“Well, you scared somebody into covering all his bases,” Healy said. “Didn’t want you poking around in the girls’ old rooms looking for stray hairs or fibers that might be matches for him.”

“Problem is I think it’s more than one somebody and the one somebody I thought I had is the wrong one.”

“We all get it wrong. In baseball you get it right only three times out of ten and you’re the batting champ.”

“Batting three hundred in homicide gets you fired, not the batting title. And I’ve been guessing wrong a lot lately.”

“Hey, look at it this way, you may be wrong about who, but the misinformation is working and that’s what counts, no? The press stirred the pot for you. You catch the firestarter and maybe we’ll finally have the murderer or murderers.”

“Maybe. These fires do confirm at least one thing. One of the killers is still here.”

“Your John Doe turning up where he did told you as much,” Healy said.

“Now there’s no doubt about it. Coincidence is totally off the board.”

“About your John Doe, any progress there?”

“None. We’re not even getting any crazies calling in.”

Jesse looked back at the pitiful remnants of the O’Hara house and clicked off.

“You hungry, Crane?”

“Sure, Jesse.”

“Daisy’s? We haven’t been there for a while.”

“Good idea,” Molly said. “You don’t want her to think you don’t like lesbians.”

“I never met a person less insecure about their sexuality than Daisy. I’m more worried she’ll think I don’t like her food.”

“Good point.” Molly put the cruiser in gear.