Weather moved in three quick steps to the kitchen, pulleda fat semiprofessional fire extinguisher from under the sink, pulled the pin as she walked back to the living room, aimed the nozzle at the flames, and squeezed the trigger. Whatever kinds of chemical were in the extinguisher blew out in a fog, and the fire seemed to cave in, but just for a second, and then it was back: no matter how much of the chemical estinguisher she poured on, the fire would only retreat and spring up on another perimeter.
SKEEEEEEE, SKAAAAAAAA…
She stepped closer, working the chemical, felt it slackening in force. To her right, she felt the photo of her parents and grandparents staring down from the walls, black-andwhite and hand-tinted photos shed grown up with, memories shed imported from her former home in the North Woods. With the extinguisher chemical almost gone, she tossed the container behind her, turned to the wall, and started pulling down the photos. Behind her, the fire burned with new authority, and she could feel the heat on her back and legs. She ran with the photos to the kitchen, fought her way back into the living room, tore open the low buffet, and took out a half-dozen photo albums and a box of photos shed always meant to put in more albums.
And that was all she could do. The fire was growing quickly now, and she ran through the kitchen, well out onto the back lawn, dropped the albums, ran back insidethe smoke was heavy now, and she coughed, staggeredfound the framed photos, and carried them through the smoke out back.
SKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, AAAAAAAAA.
She could hear sirens: the nearest fire station was no more than three quarters of a mile away. She started back inside one last time, unaware that she was panting, that her hair was frizzing and uncurling with the heat, that shed taken spark burns on her hands and arms, that shed walked on broken glass and cut her feet. She felt it all as discomfort, but she wanted to save the last things, some dishes her mother gave her…
She couldnt reach them. The rug in the living room hadignited, and thick gray smoke was rolling through the house. She staggered back through the door just as the first of the fire engines arrived. She ran around the house as the firemen hopped off the truck, and yelled, The front room…
Weather sat on the curb and watched the fireman knock down the front door.
And after a minute, she began to cry.
TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING WAS AN EARLY HOUR for a man to be recalcitrant, Lucas thought, especially if he wasnt a cop, but Stephen Jones was recalcitrant.
Of course Id like to help, but I have the damnedest feeling that if I talk to you, its going to find its way into a gossip column.
Not from me it wont, Lucas said.
A piece of art hung from the wall behind Joness desk. The print was colorful and maybe even beautiful, though it resembled a woman hacked up with a pizza cutter. Lucas, who knew almost nothing about fine art, suspected it was a Picasso.
And the thing is, if it does, Id be severely damaged…
I can assure you it wont happen, Lucas said patiently.
Jones rubbed the back of his neck and said, All right. If somebody absolutely pushed T-Bone up against the wall, when the only option was kill or be killed, hed kill. But this situation isnt like that. Hes already got a lot of money, and hes good enough that he could go somewhere else in a top job. So I dont see it.
Assume that somehow, we dont know how, he waspushed to the wall. Emotionally, psychologically, or maybe he gambles and we dont know it.
Jones shook his head. Even then… hes the kind of guy whod always figure he could recover. Always get back. The thing is, he grew up poor. Did you know that?
No.
Yeah, some cracker family down south somewhere, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama. He made it all on his own. Hes a guy who figures he can always do it again. I dont think hed…
His voice died away.
What? Lucas asked.
You know… If you come at this from another angle… Were talking about whether hed cold-bloodedly kill someone because hed lose money or his job; and I dont think he would. But I can see him killing somebody if the other person had something on him, Jones said. Blackmail, for instance. If Kresge had something really serious on him, and threatened to use it, for some reason, I can see Bone killing him for that reason. Not to keep it from being used, but because the threat, or the extortion, would… besmirch his honor. He mused over the thought, then jerked his head in a nod: Yep. That would do it. Thats the only way I see Bone deliberately killing somebody. But it would have to be deadly serious, and it would have to be deadly personal.
What about Terrance Robles?
I dont know him well enough to answer. I really dont.
Susan ODell?
Susan couldnt do it. Shes crusty and calculating and all that, but shes got a soft interior.
Ive seen a deer that would disagree with you, Lucas said.
You mean the hunting? Thats cultural, Jones said. People from out there, out on the prairie, farmers, have a whole different attitude toward the life and death of animals than they do the life and death of people. I really dontthink she could kill anyone. Im not even sure she could do it in self-defense, to be honest with you. Nope. Youre barking up the wrong tree with Susan.
Wilson McDonald.
Jones frowned. I can see him killing somebody, but itd be in hot blood, not cold blood. If he was drunk and angry, he might strike out. Hes got a violent streak, and he can be sneaky about it. But as for pulling off a calculated killing… I dont think so. Actually, I think hed be chicken. Hed start imagining all the things that could go wrong, and, you know, being thrown in prison with a bunch of sodomites. I dont think so.
What about the moral equationwould it be…
Oh, it wouldnt be a moral problem for him. Hed just be chicken. Wilson McDonalds a classic bully, with all the classic characteristics of a bully: hes a coward at heart.
LUCAS MET SHERRILL IN THE SKYWAY OFF CITY CENTER, and she was shaking her head as she came up. Theyre all innocent, she said. What happened with Louise Freeman?
Louise Freeman was the gossip mentioned by Bones attorney friend Sandra Ollsen. She and her old man went to New York, Lucas said. Shes back on Friday. I talked to Jones instead.
How about Black? Did he get anything?
Havent talked to him yet. Hes supposed to call when hes done talking with Markham. So: Youll take Bennett, and Ill take Kerr.
Why dont we go over to Saks first, she suggested. You can buy me something expensive.
Ive got about twenty dollars on me, Lucas said.
So lets go to the bank and you can take out a bunch of money.
Give me a break, huh? I dont The phone in Sherrills purse buzzed, and Lucas said, Probably Black.
Sherrill fished the phone out of her purse, said, Hello, listened, and passed the phone to Lucas. Dispatch, looking for you.
Lucas took the phone: Yeah?
THE DISPATCHER SAID, LUCAS, A WOMAN NAMED Andi Manette is trying to get you. She says its about a personal friend of yours and its extremely urgent. You want the number?
Oh, Jesus, Lucas said. Andi Manette was Weathers shrink. Hang on. He patted his pockets, found a pen and a slip of paper, and said, What is it?
He copied the number, punched the power button, punched it again, and dialed.
Manette picked it up on the first ring: Yes?
Andi? This is Lucas.
Lucas, I need to tell you something, but I dont want you running off to help. Nobody needs help.
What? What?
Weather was… Somebody firebombed Weathers house last night. She was singed a little, and has some small cuts, but shes not badly hurt. Shes going to be staying with us for a while, until this is straightened out.
Firebombed! What do you mean, firebombed? Where is she?