Slaughter - Lutz John (читать книги без txt) 📗

“I thought I saw somebody, a small man, climb out of a basement window.”

“Getting away from the flames,” Anna said. “Did he make it?”

“Yes. He seemed to have plenty of time. Seemed . . .”

“What?”

“To know what he was doing. It was very strange, Anna.”

She moved to sit nearer to him on the hard concrete step. “This whole night has been very strange.”

“There’s something else that’s strange,” Emilio said, staring at the water from the fire hoses running like a small creek toward a storm sewer. “I see them directing their hoses to put water on the lower floors of the building, but not the upper.”

“It looks as if the streams of water won’t reach that high.”

“There are standpipes on the landings of the high floors. All they have to do is carry the hoses up and attach them.”

“That’s where the fire seems to have started,” Anna said. “Maybe they already decided they couldn’t save it.”

“Maybe.” Emilio looked again at the gurgling stream of water hugging the curb. “It seems that for such a big fire, we’ve seen very little water.”

Anna shook her head. “Water, fire, they both ruin things.”

Emilio snaked an arm around her and hugged. “Not everything.”

9

Seven people were dead. Thirteen more were still hospitalized, most of them the victims of smoke inhalation.

The morning after the Off the Road hotel fire, Quinn and Fedderman stood in the building’s ruined basement. Most of the ashes were soaked, and the acrid smell of the fire, which was still smoldering here and there, was enough to sting noses with every breath. There was a lingering, nauseating smell that Quinn recognized from other fires and their aftermaths. He wouldn’t eat steak for a while.

An Arson Squad investigator stood near the collapsed stairway, near a blackened furnace that was the origin of the fire. His name was Hertz, like the car rental company, but he wasn’t family, or what would he be doing analyzing fires? He was in dark blue uniform except for oversized green rubber boots that came almost up to his knees. He was carrying a clipboard with a thick sheaf of paper, which he now and then jotted on with a stubby yellow pencil. All three men wore yellow hard hats. Hertz’s had his name stenciled on it and it looked as if afforded more protection than the helmets on Quinn and Fedderman.

“We don’t wanna stay around too long here,” he said.

Fedderman glanced around nervously. “This place about to fall?” he asked, obviously trying to stay calm.

Hertz laughed in a way that was a kind of snort that aggravated Quinn.

“I wouldn’t be here myself if I thought it was dangerous.”

Fedderman looked at him. “You just said—”

“We believe in every measure of precaution,” Hertz assured him.

Quinn wasn’t sure what that meant but let it pass. “You sure the fire was deliberately set?” he asked. Already knowing the answer.

Hertz nodded his helmeted head. “Look at this.” He moved over a few steps to his right and pointed at a blackened, half-melted mass. “See that?” He pointed at a charred arc of metal, and something else, a tiny black arrow. “That’s the top of a minute hand. This is what’s left of a wind-up alarm clock. When it rang, a key rotated and wound some string that pulled two wires together and triggered an incendiary blast.” He gestured with his hand. “See how the alligatoring starts here and moves out in all direction? The floor looks that way, too, only on a larger scale. There was some kind of accelerant on it that caught fire and spread flames fast. People wouldn’t believe how fast.”

Quinn believed. He’d seen the results of fires set by clever arsonists.

“This guy know what he was doing?” Quinn asked.

“Judging by the results, he knew enough.”

“I mean, was he a pro?”

“I don’t think so. The timing device is jerry-rigged, but good enough to strike a spark. But it doesn’t look like the work of a really skilled arsonist. I’d describe this guy as a clumsy but talented amateur.” Hertz jutted out his chin and looked out to the side, thinking. “Unless. . .”

“What?” Fedderman asked.

“Unless he was an expert pretending to be an amateur,” Quinn said.

Hertz looked at him, obviously miffed that Quinn had been a step ahead of him and had stolen his line.

“Exactly,” he said, smiling. “Very good, Captain.” As if Quinn were an apt pupil. “But there’s also the sabotaging of the coiled fire hoses.”

“We didn’t know about that.”

“When there are fires higher than our ladders and hoses can reach, there are standpipes installed at each landing. Fire hoses are coiled in glass front cases near them. They’re usually not long enough to reach very far along the halls, so extension hoses carried up by the FDNY are coupled to them. Improvised steel clamps are used to pinch the standpipe hoses about seven feet from the standpipes, where they couldn’t be seen when the hoses were coiled. They backed up the water and the crimped hoses burst under the pressure. It took valuable time to replace them, especially considering that the brass on them had been beaten out of round. Amateur work, but effective.”

Quinn understood now why the flames had so fiercely ravaged the building’s upper floors. A simple shortage of water.

Hertz grinned in a way that wasn’t pleasant. “He’s a clever arsonist, our firebug.”

“A clever killer,” Quinn amended.

Hertz snorted. “That, too.”

Something shifted above them, making a loud groan.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fedderman said. “Before the place falls on us.”

No one argued with him.

Back across the street from the burned-out building, the three men removed their helmets and smoothed back sweat-drenched hair.

“You need a shower after each of these inspections?” Quinn asked.

Hertz laughed and emitted his peculiar snort. “That’d be nice. ’Specially for my wife.” He looked from Fedderman to Quinn. “So, what’s next for you guys?”

“We’re going to interview the super,” Quinn said. “We’ll copy you.”

“Vice versa,” Hertz said. “Supers know everything in these buildings. See if he’s missing any alarm clocks.”

He was smiling again, obviously enjoying his work. Quinn liked him for that.

“His wife, Anna, is not to be taken lightly, either,” Hertz said. “She’s the beauty and the brains.”

10

Quinn and Fedderman found out from Hertz that Emilio and his wife Anna were staying temporarily in an apartment that was owned by the proprietor of Off the Road.

They were both home and both looked nervous when Emilio opened the door and invited them in.

“More questions,” Emilio said. He was a short, mustachioed man and seemed more tired than annoyed. “I’ve already told my story more than once to the police.”

“We’re fussbudgets,” Fedderman said.

Anna, a handsome Latin woman with a profile that belonged on a coin, smiled wearily and motioned for them to sit down. Quinn and Fedderman sat in uncomfortable modern wooden chairs of the sort that rigid religions might use to guarantee discomfort during sermons. Anna offered them water.

“We could have used more of that last night,” Quinn said.

“Yes,” Emilio said. “We found that out too late.” He and his wife sat down side by side on a sagging, stained sofa. It looked as if it would open and become a backbreaking bed. Anna absently reached over and patted Emilio’s thigh. Quinn saw that these two were actually in love. And the arson investigator wasn’t wrong about her being beautiful. Emilio wasn’t going to do any better.

“We read your statement,” Quinn said. “You saw someone who might have been the arsonist emerging from a basement window.”

Emilio said simply, “Yes,” as if testifying in court and a stenographer needed brief words from him rather than images.