Burn, Baby, Burn
The crackling was heard first, followed quickly by the smell of smoke and the feel of heat from the flames. The little wooden bridge, a reminder of days passed, was nothing but charred cinder when the fire department got there, only five minutes later. By that time the whole apartment complex was out in their front yards watching what was left of it burn to the ground. Some of the residents had tried to put out the flames with their garden hoses, but the fire had gotten too good a head start for any of them to be effective. A lot of the residents were crying; anyone who lived at Hilltop Manor possessed a great fondness for the small structure.
Gus Duncan, captain of Firehouse thirty-seven, pulled out his telephone and fulfilled a promise, made when the last bridge burned almost two weeks ago. I answered the other end of the call. “Rick Simon.”
“Rick, this is Gus Duncan.”
“Uh, oh. Another bridge burned? Which one this time?”
“The one at Hilltop Manor.”
“I take it the arson department didn’t have any luck tracking down the man doing all the destruction.”
“Nope, they were pretty ineffective, just like you predicted. I kept my word; I gave them another two weeks.”
“And they found . . . what?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“A big fat zero. Now I have an entire senior community standing around weeping. And the fire marshal no closer to the truth than he was two weeks ago. How soon can you get here?”
“Gus, you do know it’s three o’clock in the morning, don’t you? I’m not going to be able to see anything until it’s daylight. Can I meet you there at seven?”
“Sounds good, Rick. It’ll probably take a while to get everything ready to leave here.”
“Still drinking your coffee black?”
“You know it,” was his response. There was something akin to joy in his voice, realizing that meant I’d be bringing coffee with me.
“Alright, see you at seven.”
I heard the click and knew Gus had hung up. I hit the alarm on my phone for five and rolled over. Two hours was plenty of time to shower, get dressed, and drive to Santa Monica.
Five minutes later my alarm was going off. Could it be five in the morning already? I looked at the time and let out a groan. Then I forced myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later I was showered, shaved and half-dressed. When I found the black polo I was looking for I grabbed it off the hanger and pulled it over my head. No sense in wearing anything that would show the dirt and ash. I pulled on a pair of boots that came up over my jeans and headed for the front door. My keys sat on the bookcase next to the front door and I palmed them on the way out, slamming the door behind me.
I ran Sally through Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through and got two large coffees, one black, one with cream, and two plain donuts. Then I headed for Santa Monica.
The coffees were still hot by the time I got to Hilltop Manor. Gus was sitting in his car waiting for me; I parked next to him and swung the passenger door open. “It certainly did burn, didn’t it?” I asked, knowing he’d be too busy wolfing down his donut and drinking his coffee to answer me. He nodded instead, and I waited for him to finish.
“We were here in less than five minutes. It went up like crepe paper.”
“What can you expect from something that’s over a hundred years old? Our arsonist knows just which bridges to pick. This is no amateur, Gus.”
The fires started about three months back. The first two might have been an accident, just to be sure the fire chief had come out with the arson inspector and gone over everything thoroughly. The two men found nothing that indicated the blazes had been deliberately set. They changed their minds when the fires continued, every two weeks, just like clockwork. There were still a lot of old wooden bridges, or bridges that were a combination of wood and steel, left from the last century. Most of them were decorative at this point in time and, just like the one this morning, went up in a matter of minutes.
For the first four bridges the fire department tried to handle the investigation themselves. As more and more beloved structures burned, the public outcry became almost intolerable. The hardest part was no definitive signature for the fires; each one used a unique accelerant and started at a different time of day or night. The arson inspector called in the police after the fifth fire, and Gus Duncan insisted he would only wait one more week before bringing in a private detective. This was the seventh fire; that’s why I got the call at three a.m.
When we’d finished our ‘breakfast’ I asked Gus a question – “Mind if I call my partner in?”
“You replaced Eddie?” Gus asked incredulously.
“I had to. I can’t handle that business by myself. You might know him – he was a police officer in a previous life.”
“Who?”
“Sean Donahue.”
“Ran into him a time or two – don’t really know him,” was Gus’s answer.
I dialed Sean’s number at the office and he got it on the second ring. “You overslept,” he guessed.
“Nope, I’m in Santa Monica at Hilltop Manor.”
“Don’t tell me – the wooden bridge burned down last night.”
“More like this morning. Can you come over here?”
“I’m on my way.”
I put the phone away and turned back to Gus. “He’ll be here in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Give me what you know about the fire.”
“We got the call at 0208. We were here by 0212. The structure was fully engulfed and we had what remained of it out by 0215. The accelerant used appeared to be charcoal lighter fluid, petroleum based. Something that resembled a melted Bic lighter was found near the far end of the bridge. Also, there was one very burned shirt button in the rubble. No animal or human remains in the debris. That’s about all I can give you.”
“You’re real helpful, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Hey, this is the first time we’ve found even a button. Be thankful for small favors.”
“Button from a man’s shirt or a woman’s blouse?”
“I couldn’t tell. Here, you decide,” and Gus pulled out the button and handed it to me. Since there wouldn’t be any fingerprints left, I took it and examined it.
“Man’s shirt. Long sleeve,” I told him after a couple minutes. I was still looking at the button when Sean pulled up.
“That’s the proverbial piece of toast, isn’t it?” Sean asked. He stuck out his hand to Gus. “Hi, I’m Sean Donahue.”
“Gus Duncan. I’ve seen you at the precinct before.”
Sean nodded. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“Couldn’t take anymore of Lieutenant Chesterfield?” Gus looked like he already knew the answer.
“How’d you guess?” Sean replied.
“That glazed look in your eyes when I said precinct.”
“What’s that?” Sean pointed at the button.
“Three guesses,” I told him, knowing he’d probably get it in one.
“It used to be a button. Off a man’s shirt, unless I miss my guess.”
“Nope, I agree with you.” I waited for him to tell me the rest.
“Long sleeve, probably.”
“You two are beginning to think alike,” Gus laughed.
“Beginning to?” I asked.
“Is this the first time you’ve found anything like this?”
“Yep,” Gus answered.
“What was the accelerant?”
“Charcoal lighter fluid, petroleum based,” Gus and I said in unison.
“A crime of opportunity?”
Gus shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think this was planned just like the others.”
“Any hint of a signature?”
“None. That’s the most frustrating thing. Each one has been different.”
Sean looked at me. “No wonder they wanted you in.”
“This one is going to be tough, until this yahoo starts making mistakes. All we’ve got to go on is a button.” I was hopeful, but not optimistic.
“And a burned one, at that.”
“How many more wooden bridges are left in L.A.?”
Gus had to answer that one. I had no idea. “Considering both useable and ornamental? Somewhere around four hundred.”
Sean whistled. “That’s too many even for a partnership.”
My mouth got the better of me. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Both of the men I was with burst out laughing.
XXXXXXXX
It was almost one when we arrived at the office. We spent some time going through the rubble of what remained before returning to the Fire station with Gus. There he gave us copies of all the arson reports, looking for anything the firemen or the arson investigator had missed. I’d have Robin make two extra copies when we got back so all three of us could check them over and see if there was anything we could catch that had been missed by the so-called experts.
“Little boys out playing?” Robin asked as we came through the door.
“Nope. Been working on the latest arson with Gus Duncan since five this morning,” I told her. I peeled a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to Robin, plus five from my pocket. “Go get the three of us some lunch, would you? Ham and turkey with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise, iced tea and a bag of chips for me. Sean?”
“Make it two,” Sean told her.
“Well, that’s easy,” Robin answered. “Three Simon & Donahue specials. To go.”
“Give me the arson reports. I’ll make the copies,” Sean volunteered.
“Yes, sir,” I replied happily.
While Robin was at Subway and Sean was at the copier, Dani called. “Couldn’t make lunch today?”
“Sorry, no. I got a call from Gus Duncan at three this morning. Another bridge fire. And now we’ve got arson reports to go over and see if we can find anything.”
“Do you want to skip dinner tonight? I was going to make spaghetti.”
“No, ma’am, I do not want to skip your spaghetti. But I do need to go home and shower before I come over . . . I smell like burned bridge.”
“Can you be here by seven?”
“If you’ll have a martini with me when I get there.”
“Have one?” she asked. “I’ll even fix it.”
I had to laugh. Dani got a kick out of shaking the martinis. “You’ve got a deal.”
“See you at seven.”
“Bye.”
When Robin got back with lunch, Sean had the copies made, and the three of us sat down to read.
