“One incinerated body at the foot of the stairs, wrapped around the remains of the wood stove, and four more upstairs, apparently dead from smoke inhalation. There were no puddles of flaming gasoline on the floor, but the four people upstairs were behind a locked door, with the key on the outside, on the floor.” He looked up from the notepad he was carrying. “What kind of key was it?” I knew what he was after.
“Old-fashioned, key operated from the other side. It wasn’t a dead bolt.” “And there wasn’t a key on the other side as well.” “Nope, not in the door.” “But there might have been one in the room?” “That’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely. I’ve never seen a lock key with more than one key. In fact, usually the one key’s been lost years ago and people use a hook and eye to lock the door.” He was scribbling feverishly by now. “Any idea what caused the fire?” I was beginning to tire of this. Also, I didn’t see much to gain by humoring him further.
I knew damned well all this would stop dead in his little black book.
With the locked-door problem, he was going to have to bring in BCI-the Bureau of Criminal Investigation. None of them would ask him his opinion on the case, and everyone would ask roughly the same questions of me and everyone involved a dozen ore more times over the coming week.
A street cop worth his salt could be an invaluable source and a good friend to cultivate; a disliked man. Wirt was best suited to directing traffic and nurturing his resentment.
I got up and stretched. The ice that had covered me earlier had melted in the morning sun, leaving me damp and weighted down. I began to peel off the cumbersome and very dirty bunker coat as I answered his last question. My own body odor, finally released, damn ear made my eyes water. “Probably the wood stove. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll hit the hay.” I hung the coat on the truck’s tail gate and walked away. “‘Night.” “I have more questions.” The tone was supposed to freeze me in my tracks. “Don’t doubt it for a second. I’ll be around.” I didn’t need to turn round to see him glaring. The heat from his eyes on the back of my head was enough. The truth was, I had some questions of my own. As a rule, accidental fires have a way of explaining themselves, especially where dead bodies are involved. People either die in their beds, oblivious to what killed them, or they’re found along the way toward some hoped-for exit. When they appear behind a locked door, with the key on the outside, I have to wonder just how “accidental” the fire might have been.
I didn’t make a clean getaway. As I walked down South Street toward I-14, a red Mercedes pulled in, heading my way. The license plate was marked “QUNCY.” I moved out of its way and bent down to the driver’s window as it stopped alongside me. “I thought you drove a blue car.” Dr. Beverly Hillstrom, Chief Medical Examiner for the State of Vermont, smiled up at me. “I did. I traded it in. Big mistake. You should stick to the larger Mercedeses; these little ones just aren’t the same.
I laughed at that. “I’m lucky to be stuck to a rebuilt Toyota.
How are you?” She patted the back of my hand, which was resting on her door.
“In tip-top shape. What on earth are you doing here? You look terrible, by the way.” She wrinkled her nose. “And you smell awful.”
“Thank you. I’m staying with my uncle. I used to come up here regularly when I was a boy.” “And play fireman?” “How’d you guess?” “You should see your face in the mirror. You look like a chimney sweep. And your ear looks medium rare.” She gave me an appraising look. “It’s hard to imagine Joe Gunther on vacation.” “I’m supposed to be working with the local SA on a small job around here. If you came from Burlington, you made awfully good time.” “The local M.E.’s out of town and I was in Barton anyway. My husband and I are looking for property in the Kingdom. Pure serendipity. Who’s the SA-Potter?” “Very good.
She laughed. “Not really. I was told he’d meet me here.” There was a small pause. “So, what have we got here?” “I don’t know. I figure if I stay around long enough, maybe you’ll tell me.” I let her park and opened her door for her. As she swung her legs I saw she was wearing a dress and high heels elegant garb for an gant woman. “Lord.
You’ll have a tough time getting around in these.” She stood up and walked to the back of the car. “I used to. I’ve haven’t since.” She opened the trunk and pulled out a pair of dirty L.L. Bean boots with bright blue socks stuffed in them. “So, you suspect ‘foul play,’ as they say?” I watched as she slipped off her shoes. Beverly Hillstrom was in mid-fifties, maybe a bit older-tall, blond, and slim-but she looked thirteen years younger. I’d first met her on the case in Brattleboro that stimulated the local politicos to make a scapegoat of my boss and me on the hot seat for six months. She’d been the one person who’d supported my reopening what had seemed a closed case and had even plied forensic evidence she’d been keeping in the deep freeze for no reason.
And that, as Humphrey Bogart would say, was beginning of a beautiful friendship.
“I don’t know what I suspect-nothing specifically. It’s got several visible readings as I see it, bit of a surprise package.” “And I’m to unwrap it.” “If you would.” I glanced up at the sound of another car pulling behind us. A man in his late thirties, wearing a bad complexion, thin ir, a pot belly, and an ill-fitting three-piece suit got out and waved me. “Here’s Potter now.” “I should have known you’d be in the middle of this,” Potter said me as he approached. “I thought you were supposed to check into the office before you started trouble.”
His smile, in direct contrast with rest of his appearance, was infectiously childlike. He walked up to Beverly Hillstrom and introduced himself. “I’m n Potter, Essex County State’s Attorney.”
“Beverly Hillstrom, State M.E.” “Oh, yes, I know. It’s a real privilege. I was expecting the local.E.” Hillstrom’s tone was noticeably cooler now that Potter had arrived.
The warmth she showed me was a sign of friendship, which was something she did not dispense freely. “Pure chance-he was out of the way; I happened to be in it.” Potter nodded and turned to me. “Any ideas about the fire?” Hillstrom reached back into the trunk and pulled out a camera, a notepad, and a small shoulder bag while I told Potter, “It may just be a guy falling downstairs and knocking over a jury-rigged wood stove.” The three of us began walking toward the building. “Or it may be something else,” Potter added. “Maybe. There’s background for more-a fight last night, some bad blood between townspeople and the bunch that owns the house “Ugh,” Potter interrupted. “Don’t even mention it. I got two calls this morning already from newspeople, wanting to know if it’s arson or murder or God knows what. Shades of Island Pond.” “There may be something more. We found four of the bodies behind a locked door, with the key on the outside.” “Were you the one who found them?” Hillstrom asked. “Me and another guy, just before the whole place blew up. I’m not exactly sure what shape the building’s in.” We had just ducked under the police line when Wirt came jogging up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Hillstrom looked at him in amazement, her chilly Nordic dander up. “I beg your pardon?” “This is a police line. You can’t just ignore it.” The message was appropriate, but the tone was doing him dirt. I tried to smooth things over. “Corporal Wirt, this is Chief Medical Examiner Hillstrom and State’s Attorney Potter.” He looked at me with contempt, not accepting the social escape hatch I’d opened for him. “This scene is closed until the arson people look at it.” Hillstrom’s back straightened slightly. “Corporal, were your arson people here now, I might concede that point. But they are not and I am. It is my responsibility to examine those bodies, and I am not going to stand around for several hours waiting. Is that acceptable to you?” Potter chimed in. “As chief law enforcement officer of the county, I’ll take full responsibility.” Wirt stared at us for a few moments, his mind obviously crowded with options, some obstinate, some petty, and probably a few quite vulgar. But I guess he decided to pass on them all, or he remembered that his opinions had landed him here to begin with. He muttered, “All right, go ahead,” and left us on our own.