After the Fire

by Meredith Rae Morgan

  Chapter 9

  She called Casey from the lobby of the building. He was at a coffee shop across the street from the library. That was two blocks from where she was. “Stay put. Please order me a cup of coffee, black, and a slice of apple pie.”

  By the time she walked into the diner, the pie and an empty cup were on the table. The minute she sat down, the waitress appeared to pour the coffee. Bev looked up into the waitress's eyes and smiled, “Bless you!”

  While she wolfed down the pie -- which was so good she would have loved to savor it slowly -- they discussed what they would say to the police. She agreed to let Casey do the talking. While she finished her pie, Casey called the FBI to ask for an appointment. The agent in charge was in and agreed to wait for them. They drove to Cincinnati and parked in a garage near the FBI office.

  A receptionist escorted them to a conference room where the agent in charge was waiting with two other people, Tom Jackson from the crime lab and a man who identified himself as a fire expert. The FBI agent introduced himself as Ramon Anderson. He invited them to sit and, with no preliminaries, tell what they had come up with.

  Casey said, “We don't have anything concrete. Most of what we have is a lot of very confusing evidence and very similar gut feelings on the part of a number of experienced investigators ...”

  Anderson interrupted, “I know Ben Tucker's your fire investigator. I'm sure you have a PI. Who is it?”

  “Frank and Cecelia Rittenhaus from Dayton. They are very good.”

  Jackson nodded and commented in the general direction of the FBI agent, “They are the best there is.”

  Anderson motioned with his index finger, directing Casey to continue. Bev was impressed that Casey managed not to show any irritation. She was already gritting her teeth and thanking the stars that Casey was doing the talking and not her. Anderson was one of those superior, condescending asshole bureaucrats who pushed all her buttons.

  Casey laid out for the investigators the information they had, ending with, “It's not enough to make a determination either way, but we're coming to you for two reasons. One, we want you to know about the fact that this could be something completely other than either insurance fraud or an accident. We don't think it's an accident. Nobody who's talked to Mazzoli thinks he did it. I think we need to focus our investigation on other people, perhaps someone who may have had reason to want to hurt Prescott.”

  Anderson asked, “What about Mrs. Mazzoli. She had motive and opportunity. She served drinks to the table at the exact time the accelerant would have been introduced. She is a smoker who used a butane lighter. Why not her?”

  Casey considered his answer for a while. “I wondered about that, but I'm satisfied she didn't do it. I went to the funerals of both Mazzoli's granddaughter and her fiance. I talked with a lot of members of both families. And a day or so later, I talked to Mrs. Mazzoli again.” He looked at Bev and smiled, “Bev's going to kill me when she finds out that I took a second statement from Mrs. Mazzoli. I accused her of setting the fire. Her reaction convinced me she didn't do it.

  “Here's why: While Mr. and Mrs. Mazzoli may have been a bit on the outs over money, the family is a very close one. Mrs. Mazzoli is the mother of seven grown children, the grandmother of seventeen. She loves her kids and adores her grandchildren. She rattled off for me all their names, birth dates and their current grade in school as well as extracurricular activities. She's very involved in their lives.

  “The night of the fire, in addition to her husband working the front of the house, one son, a son-in-law and one of her daughters were working in the kitchen. One granddaughter was waiting tables. A grandson was busing tables. And one granddaughter was eating in the restaurant; she died.”

  “Where were the other two grandchildren when the fire started?”

  “The bus-boy was in the linen closet in the front of the restaurant getting clean linen and napkins because somebody spilled a glass of wine.” He looked at his notes. “The waitress was in the kitchen picking up an order.”

  He laid his hands on the table and leaned forward, “You can read their statements. Both Mazzolis admit that they considered and even discussed several desperate actions including but not limited to burning the building -- in the middle of the night when it was closed. Neither of them would not have set a fire with a restaurant full of people, who included six members of their immediate family.”

  Jackson nodded and so did the fire investigator. Anderson didn't react.

  The fire investigator asked some technical questions, which Casey answered. He asked, “Do you have a copy of Ben Tucker's report?”

  “Yeah. I'd like to get him back here to sit down and work through the data. I know it's been a few weeks but I'd like to go back into the building. I'm assuming you'll want Tucker to go with me.” He looked at Bev, “You got a problem with bringing him back here to babysit me going through the building?”

  She wanted to make a smart remark to the effect that if the FBI wanted Tucker on the scene the FBI should pay for him, but she also didn't want the FBI to take total control of the investigation. “Not a problem. I'll pick up the tab as long as he stays at the motel in Stanforth and not the Omni in Cincy.” She winked.

  The investigator laughed, “I'm staying at the Holiday Inn Express. Uncle Sam's generous expense reimbursement policies, you know.” There were a few smiles, but Anderson's dour expression prevented anyone from laughing out loud.

  Tom Jackson asked, “Bev, why are you coming to us with this now. You don't have anything concrete. In my experience, adjusters generally want to maintain total control of their investigations until and unless they uncover actual evidence of a crime.”

  She smiled, “Ordinarily I am that kind of control freak adjuster, too. But in this case, we're bringing it to you because our investigation is taking too long. People in Stanforth are starting to get squirrelly. The plaintiff's lawyers are circling, but they're waiting to see which way we are going to lean. As soon as I give an indication one way or the other, a bunch of lawsuits will be filed. The town is starting to divide into camps between those who think Mazzoli killed all those people and should be in jail already and those who think it was an accident and the insurance company is dragging its feet and trying to figure out a way not to pay the claim. I fear for my insured's safety, on the one hand. On the other, I fear for his financial future if we simply throw out policy limits and let the vultures pick the bones of the Mazzoli family's assets.

  “I need to show we're actively investigating. Bringing the FBI in will at least show that we are doing that.

  “Secondly, Cici Rittenhaus is good, but we need to be able to investigate medical records and confidential insurance information pertaining to Prescott. She may be able to find out some information to point us in a certain direction, but it won't be through the proper channels. I don't have subpoena power at this point, at least not until somebody sues my company. You do. I want you to take a close look a Prescott.

  “Thirdly, we also need to find out more about the waiter whose identity turns out not to check out. Again, you can do that. I can't.”

  Jackson nodded and made a note.

  She added, “We need to know if there was anybody in the restaurant, outside of the wedding party, with any connections to Prescott.”

  Jackson nodded again and said, “Sure. We can look a little more closely at the people in the room.”

  Anderson scrunched up his face and said, “Perhaps we might want to look at the members of the wedding party as well. Were both families happy about the match? Could there have been somebody in the party with a grudge?”

  Bev made a note. “I'll add that to the list of things for the Rittenhauses to check out.”

  Jackson said, “I'll do the same.”

  Anderson looked at Bev, “Have you issued a reservation of rights letter?”

  She shook her head, “I have it written. Actually I have sever
al versions drafted. I haven't mailed it because we're still actively investigating.”

  “How long can you hold out?”

  “There's no set time. I don't want to send it too soon because it will invite the plaintiffs' attorneys to run to the courthouse. But, I dare not delay too long once we have a good idea of what we are up against. We have verbally told the insured he has a serious limits problem, but I have to get that in writing as soon as possible.”

  Anderson nodded, “I'd appreciate it if you'd drag your feet on that as long as possible. Are you able to give me a heads-up before you send it?”

  Bev thought about making a smart remark, but she needed to stay on his good side. She simply nodded.

  Anderson asked, “You got lawyers involved yet?”

  “So far we've been handling this in house. My legal department is going to retain coverage counsel soon.”

  “Who?”

  “I'm not sure. I think they're running conflicts checks now.”

  Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, consulting notes. The fire investigator said, “I'll call Tucker and get him back here.” He looked at Casey and raised his eyebrows. “We'll pay you a visit.”

  Casey nodded. Jackson asked if his folks could tag along on that second pass through the scene, and both Casey and the FBI's investigator nodded.

  Bev closed her portfolio, and looked at Anderson, “I know the FBI doesn't like to share information, but in this case, Mr. Anderson, I would really appreciate it if we could work together. I've got a whole town on pins and needles, an insured whose entire future hangs in the balance and a multitude of lawsuits about to rain down on my head. I need to be kept in the loop if you don't mind.”

  For the first time during the meeting Anderson showed a glimmer of humanity: he smiled. “I understand your predicament, Ms. Deller. I agree with you that this one is complex enough and has so many arms and legs, we need a whole team on board. I think we should approach it in that way. To that end, I'd like to schedule another meeting next week. I'd like for your PI's to be present at that meeting.”

  Bev nodded, “You got it.”

  The meeting broke up about 6:30 PM. Casey drove in silence. Bev leaned back in the passenger's seat, feeling grateful for his presence. She was so exhausted she didn't think she could have driven home. She said, “Pick your favorite restaurant and let's grab dinner. On me.”

  They had a quick dinner and Casey pulled in the driveway at nearly 10:00 PM. “We've had a long day. Your daughter will be worried.”

  “I've been keeping her informed of my whereabouts by text message. That being the only effective way to communicate with a teenager.”

  He sighed, “I think I'm glad my only son is a priest. I don't have to worry about trying to learn to type with my thumbs in order to keep up with grandchildren.”

  Bev got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side. She shook his hand and thanked him again for playing chauffeur. “I'm sleeping in tomorrow. If you need me, don't call too early.”

  Emily was in the living room, sprawled out on the couch watching TV. Bev said, “You waiting up for me?”

  “Yep. And before you ask, yes, I finished my homework.”

  Bev smiled and sat down beside her daughter, putting Emily's feet in her lap. “How was your day?”

  “Totally sucky.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Well it's looking more and more like I'm not going to make the cheer-leading squad.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that. Why?”

  “Well, it evidently has nothing to do with my abilities. I've picked up all the routines really fast and I'm doing great with improving my athletics. It's all catty 'mean girls' shit.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Bev noticed the puffiness and redness around Emily's lashes and the redness around her nostrils. She massaged her daughter's feet and felt first a wave of sympathy pain followed immediately by the stabbing hurt of being unable to protect her child. She said nothing.

  Emily opened one eye and looked at her mother. “You are not going to say 'screw them' or something like that?”

  “Would it help if I did?”

  Emily thought about that. “Probably not.”

  “I didn't think so. Therefore, I thought it better to just be with you while you figure out a way to cope with your feelings.”

  They talked about Emily's feelings for a while and then, realizing they were powerless to control the forces working behind the scenes, they ventured into other subjects.

  A little after eleven, Bev yawned and leaned back against the couch. Emily said, “God, Mom, you look whipped. Go to bed.”

  “I think I will. You should do the same. Our problems will still be with us in the morning, but maybe they won't look so awful if we're not so tired.”

  The next morning after dropping Emily at school Bev was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper when the phone rang. Paul Morehouse wanted to know if she had time to see him. She didn't want to talk to him, but she knew she had to face him sooner or later. She promised to stop by his office in an hour.