Through the Fire

by Shawn Grady

  He turned. “How could you know that?”

  The line charged with water. And hence she beckoned.

  We crouch-walked in, Lowell tentative, stopping to pencil vagrant glows on the ceiling. He stretched his foot, sweeping for obstructions, checking for holes. Faint but familiar sounds came from above—the truck guys working to ventilate the roof. I thought of the hand light I’d left in the alley and how it wouldn’t have made much difference. This smoke swallowed day like a snake with white mice.

  My eyes saw blackness, but my mind made out four fiery beasts with pupils like predators, teeth to devour, claw-shaped appendages rising in flame.

  Ben’s voice echoed in my head. “Maybe you’re hearing the fire just fine.”

  Hissing sounds shot out overhead.

  A brilliant explosion erupted above us.

  Lowell shifted with the nozzle. Another blast let out behind us. Heat raged in torrid waves, and the fire pressed in, fore and aft. A third and fourth bright fireball burst deeper in. Our hose stream dissipated, swallowed by the glow and the toxic fog. The room went molten, and we stood on what felt like the one patch of solid ground. I gripped the hose and leaned my shoulder into Lowell’s back. He swirled the water stream, sweeping from side to side.

  It was BTUs versus GPMs, and we were on the losing end. The fire grew hotter, and closer. I felt my wrists and earlobes itching.

  Lowell scooted back. I supported the hose. And then the smoke shook and whirled upward, sucking from the corners and along the floor, up and around our boots and overhead toward two glowing squares cut from the roof. The thermal strata lifted. Two-by-six rafters manifested from the haze.

  Thank God for the truck crew.

  We caught our first glimpse of four vehicles suspended in the air, fire still blowing out from all sides.

  Lowell turned toward me, and through his ash-littered face-piece, squinted, disdain and suspicion lacing his expression.

  Flames shot out from car undercarriages and up through the engine compartments, working along to the ceiling joists. We advanced, hitting the ceiling before chasing the fire around and out of engine components and steel members. A backup line from Engine Three knocked down the fire in two of the vehicles, and the truckies set fans at the open garage door.

  With time the shop cleared, fire flickering down in charred vehicles, the last waving remnants of hazy gray slinking in the rafters.

  CHAPTER

  41

  A lgid air fanned the sweat on my brow. I tossed charred sections of cardboard on the pavement. The truck crew went to work with overhaul, opening walls, searching for fire extension.

  Sower held the thermal imager, watching the infrared screen for signs of heat. “Not there, Sortish. To your left a bit. A little more. Yeah, right there. Feel that wall with the back of your hand.”

  Operator Donovan stood with a pike pole. “Try taking off your glove there first, bud.”

  I grabbed an armful of debris from what looked like a desk in the corner. It looked as though there could be a few legible documents in the pile. Mauvain came in, conversing with a woman holding a clipboard and wearing a fire helmet, an unbuttoned turnout coat and rubber boots over a dark pants suit.

  Julianne.

  Outside I dropped the debris by the pile. Mauvain strode out, looking through me as if I were an office window.

  Julianne studied the license plate of the first elevated car. I could make out the E-X of a government exempt plate. Beside it, through the charred exterior, shone a fragment of the former paint job.

  Faded red. Same as her department vehicle.

  I came alongside and studied her profile. “Is this . . . yours?”

  She wouldn’t look at me.

  I took off my helmet and wiped my brow. “You going to give me the cold shoulder, too?”

  “Not here.”

  “Not what?”

  Chief Mauvain appeared at the entrance.

  She made a quick headshake. “That’s what I’m going to try to determine, Firefighter O’Neill.” Mauvain arrived. “Oh, hello again, Chief.”

  Radio traffic blared from his collar-mounted mic. He spun down the volume. “Aidan, would you mind making sure the Rescue crew shut off the utilities outside?”

  Knowing Timothy Clark and Waits had already taken care of it, I switched glances between the two of them. “Sure thing, Chief.” Thanks for the invite to leave.

  I worked my way around the south side of the building, walking through a narrow path between the wall and another fence. Mustard yellow leaves blanketed the dirt. I found the gas meter and knelt down to inspect it. As expected, the petcock was perpendicular, shut off at the inlet from the ground. An antiquated electrical panel was also shut off, the large breaker switch pointing to the earth. I leaned against the fence. The buildings old brick looked porous in places, and tiny recesses pocked the mortar. Eight-pane windows were inset every twenty feet or so, the glass soot-stained on the inside, cobweb-covered on the out. I caught sight of Julianne through two broken panes.

  She stood alone now, staring at charred rafters.

  I looked both ways, then spoke through the empty frames, keeping my voice subdued. “Hey, Julianne.”

  She swiveled toward the front.

  “Over here. By the windows,” I said a little louder, straightening in reflex, double-checking to see if I was noticed. I felt like a fugitive.

  She walked over to the window and held up her clipboard as though she were studying it. “Hey, yourself.” She moved from the window and exchanged a few unintelligible sentences with someone before leaning her face back by the frames. “You still out there?”

  “So you still think I—”

  “I’ve never thought that.” She put her cell phone by her ear. “I’m sorry I gave you that impression.”

  “Was that your department car?”

  She nodded, looking around. “This is getting a little close to home.”

  “Explosives?”

  “So far no evidence.”

  “Do you know how many car fires I’ve been on and not one of them has exploded? Your vehicle and those three others went off like bombs, right by our heads.”

  She scanned the ceiling and exhaled. “This building’s old, but it’s sprinklered. That would have kept the fire at bay.”

  “But it was tampered with?”

  She nodded.

  Leaves crunched as I shifted my weight. “What else do you have?”

  “A witness said they spotted a white van leaving in a hurry about five minutes before the fire was reported.”

  “Did they get plates?”

  She shook her head.

  “How about Mauvain. What’d he say to you?”

  She scribbled on her clipboard and then held it by the light of the window.

  “They’re looking for a scapegoat.”

  Out in the street, Kat walked past the engine. I crossed my arms and leaned on the brick. “They’ve got Blake.”

  “Blake’s been released.”

  “What?”

  She brought her hand up to her hair and tilted her head. “He’s on administrative leave. There’s not enough evidence to keep him.”

  “So now what? They suspect me?”

  “This isn’t the best place.”

  “That’s insane. How could I even? There’s so many—”

  “I don’t know, either. I don’t know what is going on. All I’m saying is that somehow you’ve dug yourself a hole, and there are people out there who want to bury you in it.”

  “It’s looking to me like someone is out for both of us.”

  A voice called from inside. “Inspector, you might want to take a look at this.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment. “I guess that means me.” She pocketed her phone and went to work with her pen. She strolled away, tilting the clipboard:

  “Lab tomorrow. 8 PM.”

  CHAPTER

  42

  I ’d have been worried about the security cameras
outside the arson lab if I hadn’t known that Dan, the building maintenance guy, had been inundated lately with higher priority projects. He said the props would have to do for now and that was good enough for him. It was good enough for me, too, as I saw Julianne emerge from the shadows of the foyer, her hair pinned up, eyes poignant against the night’s photo negative tones.

  She pushed open the door. “What’s the secret password?”

  I hesitated.

  “I’ll make it easy.” Then with a mock British accent, she said, “What’s your favorite color?”

  I knew where she was going. “Red. No. Blue.”

  “Kaboom.” She animated an explosion with her hands. “Come on in.”

  We worked our way down a dark corridor lit by green exit signs and red smoke detector lights. We walked across the main office area to the lab door Julianne had first taken me through. Inside, Ben Sower sat at an island lit by overhead can lights.

  I glanced at Julianne.

  “We spoke after the fire. I invited him.”

  The light gave the lab table the feel of a jeweler’s display, Ben, its curator, holding up a test tube in the light, studying it behind thin-rimmed glasses that hooked around his ears.

  “Hey, Ben,” I said.

  He refocused his eyes. “Evening, Aidan.” He placed the test tube next to five others on a rack. “This is a concise collection here.”

  I nodded. “Sometimes less tells more.”

  “Even as a lay observer, it seems obvious to me that the bulk of these fires point to a similar method.”

  Julianne stepped into the edge of a light circle. “And, subsequently, to a singular subject who has set them.”

  “Your name,” Sower said to me, “has come into question behind closed doors.”

  “I was starting to get that feeling.”

  Julianne sat on the edge of a stool. “Ben told me that Chief Mauvain now considers you the prime suspect.”

  “Mauvain isn’t even in Prevention.”

  Sower’s voice was calm and direct. “You have exhibited unpredictable and, at times, irrational behavior on fires recently.”

  “You disappeared right when these fires started going off,” Julianne said.

  I crossed my arms. “Here we go again.”

  “Just giving Admin’s point of view,” Ben said.

  “Devil’s advocate,” Julianne added.

  I shook my head. “Same difference.”

  “The icing”—Ben leaned on the table—“is that you’ve managed to cross both Mauvain and Butcher on the fire ground. You’ve been burning your bridges with them for some time, just for the spite of it. Then Hartman gets hurt and the hammer comes down.” He sat back and unhooked his glasses. “If I’m not mistaken, Investigator Williams also happens to be tight with those two, especially Mauvain. Given your current relationship with him, Blake may not’ve hesitated to set you up as a suspect during questioning, especially if it meant getting himself out of hot water.”

  “The city is desperate,” Julianne said. “The mayor’s public opinion polls have plummeted.”

  I scoffed. “Say that ten times fast.”

  “I’m serious, Aidan.”

  “Somebody’s gotta pay.”

  Sower interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on his thumbs. “And they’re determined that it will not be the brass.”

  I looked at the floor. “What about Lowell? What’s his agreement with Mauvain?”

  Ben shook his head. “I can’t see Lowell jumping in on a witch hunt.”

  “Then what’s his deal? He’s been looking at me like I’m a traitor.”

  “He’s in a tight spot right now.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He’s due for an interview when the next driver-operator position opens at the end of this year.”

  “They’re blackmailing him?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I heard Mauvain yelling at him.” I rubbed my neck. “I can see that. Quid pro quo.”

  Julianne folded her arms. “You scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours.”

  The pieces came together. “They want Lowell as a spy. That’s why he was switched with Timothy Clark on the engine. To keep an eye on me.”

  “Mauvain may have left him little choice,” Sower said. I looked at Julianne. “What about your department car?”

  “Seems like more than a coincidence.”

  “Is there anything else that would connect that shop with the department?”

  “Apart from being in District One?” She glanced to the side and shook her head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

  Sower folded his arms. “What are you driving now?”

  “My own Mini.”

  I rubbed my hands over my face and exhaled. “Okay . . . So now what?”

  “Now,” Julianne flicked on a microscope. “Now we get to work proving your innocence.”

  She lifted a small glass slide to the ceiling. Barely discernable gray specks sat sandwiched between the two transparent rectangular pieces. “Yeah, this is the one.” She inserted it under the microscope. “I took the liberty of breaking apart one of the small pieces of char.”

  “From Blake’s evidence boxes?”

  “Yeah.” She held her eye half an inch from the lens. A thin light circle shone on her iris, and her pupil constricted in a cerulean sea. “Take a look.” She stepped back into the shadows.

  I held her gaze, curious to know, before breaking off to stare into the microscope. At first I only saw bright light, and then an oscillating dark shaft that finally stabilized, allowing fine crystal-like granules to move into focus. “They’re angled, like a crystalline solid.”

  “Very good, Firefighter O’Neill.”

  I straightened and blinked. “They seem lighter in color than the char.”

  “They’re the remnants of what was inside, what wasn’t fully burnt.”

  Sower came beside me.

  “Here,” I said. “Have a look.”

  He held his head about half a foot from the lens, blinking and squinting. Julianne put a hand on his and set it on the focusing knob. “Here.”

  He smiled. “Oh, thank you.” The tray adjusted downward, and Ben leaned in. “Okay. I see.”

  I folded my arms. “So what is it?”

  She pocketed her hands. “I can’t say specifically, but I was able to narrow it down to a family.”

  “It’s a flammable solid.” Ben feathered the microscope dial.

  “Yes.” Julianne cocked her head. “Exactly. How did you know that?”

  “Ben was on the Haz-Mat team.”

  He leaned back, opening his eyes wide and then blinking. “Yes. But that was some time ago.” He walked over and sat on a stool. “I just remembered something Aidan told me about the look of the flame in James’s fatal fire.”

  A flammable solid. It hit me, like the sudden heavy heat of a summer day. The bright white flame, the lightning-like appearance. I described to Julianne what I’d seen.

  She leaned against the counter. “The white flame—that’s hotter than most.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hot enough to separate hydrogen from oxygen.”

  Hydrogen plus oxygen. Water. “Right. We see it a lot in old Volkswagen engine fires. Super bright flames. When you spray water on them, the fire explodes brighter and bigger.”

  “Water reactive,” Ben said. “Those engine blocks have a good amount of magnesium in them. The fires burn hot enough to break the chemical bonds in the water.”

  “Exactly. The hydrogen burns and the oxygen accelerates the process.” I pointed at the microscope. “What do you bet this is magnesium?”

  Julianne nodded. “There are a number of reactive metals it could be.” The can lights circled her hair. “I’ll hone my testing tomorrow and see what I find.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be in?”

  “Early. I want to make as much progress as possible before lunch. Mauvain wants me down south at Station T
hree for a meeting in the afternoon.” Subtle dark lines had taken up residence beneath her eyes. She covered her mouth and yawned.

  Ben stood. “It’s getting late, and I need to get on home.” He patted me on the shoulder. “You two be extra heads-up. Whoever is doing all this isn’t blind to the fact that they’re being followed.”

  “Thanks, Ben,” Julianne said.

  He gave her a hug. “Be safe.”

  Patting my arm, he said, “Take care, Aidan,” and walked down the hall. I heard the front door swing shut.

  Julianne tilted her head. “Are you on shift tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t go picking any fights.”

  “Seems like they’ve been picking me.”

  She nodded. “You know, it’s worse than Ben suggested. Somehow that arsonist knows it’s us on his tail. By being here, by doing this, we’re going down a road that we can’t turn back from.”

  That road started for me five years ago. I would ride it to its end. “It’s easy to say ‘Be safe,’ isn’t it?” Test-tube shadows stretched long and narrow. “But there’s not really a safe way right now.”

  “Not until this is finished.”

  I rubbed my eyes. Not until . . . It is finished. I extended my right hand to Julianne. She placed hers in it, the pads of her fingertips running back and forth over the scar in my palm. In that dim light we drew close. Our fingers intertwined. I felt her warm breath on my neck, her lips hovering by my jawline, her temple meeting mine.

  We simply stood like that, guarded against time or threat, heart ties weaving bonds beyond words. And in that quiet, perfect moment lingered the unspoken understanding that with the new day nothing would be the same.

  CHAPTER

  43

  T he workday brought a lull in chasing phantoms.

  I spoke little with others, methodically moving through the motions of the day. Rig checks. Morning chores. EMS training. I finished my afternoon workout and climbed the stairs, thinking of Julianne and wondering if she was back from her meeting at Station Three.

  Outside, the clouds formed a soporific ceiling. Once-colored trees now stretched bare branches, wet fallen leaves plastering walkways. A quick chirp let out from the ceiling speakers.