White Fire

30

Even with liberal goosing of the siren and repeated yelling through the squad car’s external megaphone, Chief Morris couldn’t get closer than a block to the station, so thick was the press of cars, media, and people. And it wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning. With this second arson, the story had gone national — no surprise, given the identity of the victims — and the crime feeders were all there, along with the network news shows, CNN, and God only knew who else.

The chief now regretted he’d driven himself; he had no one to run interference, and his only option was to get out of the car and scrimmage his way through these jokers. They had surrounded his squad car, cameras rolling, microphones waving at him like clubs. He’d spent all night at the scene of the fire, which had started at eight in the evening, and he was now filthy, stinking of smoke, exhausted, coughing, and hardly able to think. What a state to face the cameras.

The chief’s car was jostled and rocked by the unruly crowd of reporters. They were calling out questions, hollering at him, jockeying with each other for position. He realized he’d better think of something to say.

He took a deep breath, collected himself, and forced open the door. The reaction was instant, the crowd pushing forward, the cameras and mikes swinging dangerously, one even knocking his hat off. He stood up, dusted off his hat, replaced it, and held up his hands. “All right. All right! Please. I can’t make a statement if you keep this up. Give me some room, please!”

The crowd backed off a little. The chief looked around, acutely aware that his image was going to be broadcast on every nightly news show in the country.

“I will make a brief statement. There will be no questions afterward.” He took a breath. “I’ve just come from the crime scene. I can assure you we are doing everything humanly possible to solve these vicious crimes and bring the perpetrators to justice. We have the finest forensic and crime-scene investigators in the state on this case. All our resources and those of the surrounding communities have been brought to bear. On top of that, we have brought in as a consultant one of the FBI’s top agents specializing in serial killings and deviant psychology, as it appears we may be dealing with a serial arsonist.”

He cleared his throat. “Now to the crime itself. The scene is of course still being analyzed. Two bodies have been recovered. They have been tentatively identified as the actress Sonja Dutoit and her child. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims, their families, and all of you who have been touched by this horrible event. This is a huge tragedy for our town and, truthfully, I can’t find the words to express the depth of my shock and sorrow…” He found himself temporarily unable to continue, but quickly mastered the constriction in his throat and wrapped things up. “We will have more information for you at a press conference later today. That is all I have to say for the moment. Thank you.”

He barreled forward, ignoring the shouted questions and the forest of microphones, and within five minutes managed to stagger into his office. There was Pendergast, sitting in the outer office, dressed in his usual impeccable style, sipping tea. The television was on.

Pendergast rose. “Allow me to congratulate you on a most effective appearance.”

“What?” Morris turned to Shirley. “I was on the tube already?”

“It was live, Chief,” she said. “And you handled it very well. You looked like a hero, with that determined voice…and those streaks of soot on your face.”

“Soot? On my face?” Damn, he should have washed up.

“A Hollywood makeup artist couldn’t have done a finer job,” said Pendergast. “That, combined with the disheveled uniform, the windswept hair, and the evident emotion, made for a singular impression.”

The chief threw himself down in a chair. “I couldn’t care less what they think. My God, I’ve never seen anything like this. Agent Pendergast, if you heard what I said on television, then you know I just elevated you to official consulting status.”

Pendergast inclined his head.

“So I hope to God in heaven you will accept. I need your help more than ever. How about it?”

The man responded by removing a slim envelope from his suit and dangling it in front of Morris by his fingertips. “I’m afraid I beat you to it. I’m not just consulting — now I’m official.”