One group of firemen was in the house, while another group climbed ladders, smashing out upper windows, having already done so on the first floor. They seemed somewhat scattered in their efforts, with many of the younger men frantically asking older ones what to do next. The battalion chief to whom Ness had spoken seemed to be the only one with authority, and he was busy directing the outside hoses.
The fire fighters had decided the building was now empty. A fortyish, rail-thin woman was in charge, but it had not yet been pinned down if she was the owner or not. Mrs. Winters proved to be as cold as her name.
"This'll cost me a pretty penny," she disgustedly told Ness, who had inquired after the old people, getting from the gray-robed woman an exact count of the number of "patients" at the home.
"If you're thinking of repairing this place," Ness said, "I wouldn't count on it."
Her witch's face contorted. "You think the damage is going to be that bad?"
"I think your 'home' is an obvious fire trap and you're out of business."
She scowled and moved away, disappearing into the crowd of neighbors.
The Salvation Army contingent showed up in a beat-up truck and an old flivver. From the truck the uniformed men and women began dispensing doughnuts and coffee to the elderly victims, and using the flivver to shuttle them to a nearby hospital. It disturbed Ness to see that the Salvation Army was better organized and more efficient than either of the public departments under his command.
Chief Grainger showed up when the fire was well under control, a second hook-and-ladder and another truck already on the scene. A sturdy blue-eyed, white-haired man of fifty-five, Grainger was in full uniform and looked pretty spiffy. Ness wished the department had a single fire truck that looked so fit for duty.
"My men have got things in hand, I see," the Chief said proudly as he approached Ness, where he stood in the middle of the street watching the fire.
"They do," Ness admitted. "On the other hand, I think the neighbors putting together a bucket brigade might have done about as well."
The two men were bathed in the shadowy flickering of smoke and flames from across the way.
Chief Grainger bristled, but kept his tone respectful as he said: "My men are dedicated public servants, Director Ness."
"I know they are. I'd like to see what they could do with equipment manufactured after the turn of the century."
Grainger shrugged, and smiled humorlessly. "We do what we can with what we're given."
Despite the truth of that, it struck Ness that Grainger was copping out. "It's going to take more than new equipment to overhaul this fire department, Chief. I've seen less than a crack team at work here tonight. More training is obviously needed. I may not be an expert about firefighting, but I know that much."
"Training takes money, too," Grainger said.
"Agreed," Ness said tersely. "And I want your detailed budget request as soon as possible. Make that part of it."
"First thing Monday soon enough?" Grainger asked.
"That would be helpful."
"You think we'll get what we ask for?"
"We'll know in a couple of months, won't we?"
The Chief nodded glumly and tipped his cap to the safety director as he left to join his men, not pitching in, just observing and cheering them on.
Ness checked his watch. It was almost midnight and he hadn't even called Eva. Damn.
He was heading for his car when the mayor's limousine pulled up, sliding a little on the glassy street, iced over from the fire fighters' hoses. His Honor, dressed in a tux, an expensive gray topcoat draped over his shoulders, stepped out of the back seat, as the police driver held the door open. Mrs. Burton remained in the car, a vague shape in a white stole. The crowd of neighbors began smiling and chattering; a few hollered hellos to the mayor, and he smiled tightly and waved back at them.
"I was on my way home from a banquet at the Hollenden," Burton explained to Ness. The mayor, in white tie and tails, was an incongruous figure in this neighborhood, standing in an ice-slick street before the burning ramshackle frame house. "I heard an old-age home had caught fire. I thought I should check it out…"
Just yesterday Ness had ordered a police radio installed in the mayor's car, at His Honor's request. He had also presented Burton with a gold Safety Department badge, which had pleased the mayor, who seemed to have a childlike enthusiasm for cops-and-robbers stuff.
"Fire's under control," Ness said.
"Fatalities?"
"Two," Ness said, and gave particulars, as many as he knew, anyway. "And thirteen more inhaled a lot of smoke. The Salvation Army's helping us get them to Mount Sinai and Glenville General."
Burton nodded gravely. He looked over at the burning house across the way. "When I heard an old-age home was on fire, I envisioned something else."
"Me, too. I wonder how many of these rattraps are passing for nursing homes."
"We'll have to find out."
"And we will. You know, we have to talk money."
The mayor snorted. "Is there any other subject?"
"The fire department's in sad shape."
Ness began giving details, but Burton interrupted, saying, "Let's get away from the smell of smoke." He gestured down the street, past the thinning crowd of gawking neighbors. "Let's walk and talk.
"You've obviously seen why my overriding concern is getting our budget past the council," the mayor said, as they strolled down the dimly lit streets lined with ramshackle frame houses.
"I can certainly see why we need money for the police department," Ness said. "Money other than the graft some cops are pocketing, that is."
"You've spent the past two days on the prowl, haven't you, Eliot?"
It was the first time Burton had called Ness by his first name.
"I spent most of the afternoon in my office. But yes, I've been out and about. Went on a sorry excuse for a bookie-joint raid this morning. Toured some of the precincts."
"What have you seen?"
Ness shrugged. "A bunch of sloppy, poorly trained cops who are low in morale, to say the least, some of whom-perhaps many of whom-are so corrupt they make a Chicago cop look like St. Francis of Assisi."
"These are rank-and-file cops you're talking about. Any sign of corruption higher up?"
"Not specifically, but I heard an interesting rumor."
He told Burton about the so-called "outside chief."
"Damn," Burton said, his voice breathy. "If such a man exists, and you could nail him…"
"You'd have your top-ranking corrupt cop for the papers, and at the same time we'd knock the pins out from under our 'department within the department.' We'd accomplish something substantial."
Burton had started to smile just thinking about it. "The city council wouldn't dare withhold your budget requests."
"I'd think not. And all I have to do is turn that rumor into a man. And find him, and arrest him, and make it stick."
"And do it by early March," Burton added, the dreamy expression gone. "Sorry you took this job?"
"No."
"You seem less enthusiastic than you were in my office Wednesday. What do you propose to do at this point?"
Ness stopped. "Well, to do anything much, I need money, now."
Burton's face tightened. "I thought you understood that we don't get any money until you produce."
"I'm not talking about money on a budget level."
"What level, then?"
Ness gestured in frustration. "I need to be able to hire men outside the department. I need to be able to bring people in when I need to."
"Men? People?"
"Investigators. Including private detectives. I know some pretty good operatives. A friend of mine in Chicago might come in handy now and then. I can't get this job done if I have to draw from the police department for my staff."