Page 35 of Love Again

Carlson looks a little smug. His suit pants are a bit baggy, and he sticks one hand into a front pocket, jangling a set of keys. “Four hundred a month till it’s paid off, split between Keller and the department. Don’t ask me how I made it happen, I just did. Only a cursory training package, though. I hoped one of you would know how to work the camera and the program.”

Mateus shakes his head. “I’ve never used one, but I’ve analyzed photos of arson and other crime scenes in class. This is cutting edge stuff.”

“I know,” says Carlson, looking, if possible, even a little more smug. “There’s only one other unit that uses this kind of camera in all of New England, and that’s back in Connecticut. The tragic part is that the justification of purchasing it was that people have died in four fires in my district.”

Devon glances at me for a moment. “But, Carlson, you’ve been tracking this person, right? I mean you think the perpetrator has been doing this all up and down the coast for a while.”

Carlson looks at each of us. “There are five cities involved, twelve fires in all over the past three years. Lately, it has escalated. Sharply. The most recent four fires were in the last six months. That’s a lot, even for a large area.” There’s a map on a cork board, which seems dated, but it’s effective.

“It’s a lot if they were set by the same person. How did you flag these as one perp?”

Carlson points to the map. I follow the red pins as he speaks.

“York, Biddeford, Old Orchard Beach, Portland, and Rockland. One fire in York, two in Biddeford, three in old Orchard Beach, with one ending in a fatality.” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Three in Portland, with one fatality. And three in Rockland, with two fatalities.”

Mateus clears his throat. “You think Portland’s total fire count will be four and Rockland’s five?”

Nodding, Carlson swings his attention to the table with pictures laid out in rows, not by city, but by type of fire.

“That seems to be the pattern. Keller told us a few months ago he thinks this is a firebug.” Mateus’s gaze doesn’t falter as he assesses the photos, even when he comes to the bodies. Those photos are set aside in opaque envelopes. Now, he slides a few of them out to glean more information. There are tickets on the back with details.

“All due respect to your boss, but I don’t think so,” says Carlson. “Firebugs are notorious for setting fires because they like the rush. They hang around afterward. They like to take photographs and to be interviewed—and they’re often in the crowd. There are no crowds with these fires, that’s why there are so many fatalities. I don’t think there’s a sexual component to this, either. I think the person wants to make these look like a firebug set them.”

Sifting through a couple of the photographs, which look as though the perpetrator used rags as accelerant, my question is meant only to reveal a fact or two. “My brother knows all these things, so there must have been some reason he thought it was a firebug. He’s got good instincts.”

Mateus guesses it. “He didn’t see a connection between the scenes.”

“You nailed it. Nothing from the outside. There seems to be absolutely no connection between the fire in York and one of the fires in Rockland. Pick any of them. One was a trailer, there were six houses, a barn, a storage facility, and one was a boathouse.”

Devon flinches. “Jack. You’re leaving out a big piece of this.”

Carlson sighs and taps the photos of the houseboat, taken both at night and during the day—twisted metal, a ship completely gutted.

“It was my houseboat.”

“And—”

“And that’s enough,” says Carlson. “This isn’t personal, and we aren’t making it personal.”

“Thanks, but”—I’m confused—“you say it’s not personal, but, detective, if it’s also not a firebug, then there has to be some link.”

“That’s why I need help. I think I’m too close to it. I don’t have anybody on the force who specializes in arson. Keller lost his investigator he shared with Belfast and Ellsworth to Ellsworth. The guy wanted to live up there. We don’t have any local expertise to deal with this.”

He pauses and gulps some, no doubt, very cold coffee. “Devon has been to nearly every scene. No one firefighter has been to as many sites as she has. I also made her a promise, and I never go back on a promise. We’ve—well, I’ve—worked with Finn Colton’s men before”—he glances at Mateus with real appreciation—“and I trust you guys. You’re very good at what you do, and you actually have a few resources I don’t have.”

“We may have to get a camera.” Mateus holds the slender devise.

“And Keller says that you”—Carlson points to me—“just got certified as a fire investigator.”

“Well, it’ll take some time. I just completed the practical. I finished the test and—”

Carlson waves a hand. “Oh, pish. Forget it, it’s fine. You’re coming straight outta forensics courses. You’re showing up with all the new, cutting edge information. You’ll fit right in.”

I decide to let the “pish” go. It’s too reminiscent of Keller, as is the dismissive hand wave about credentialling. “Are there ever any threats? Any communication with law enforcement or fire units?”

Devon glances to Mateus and Carlson. “They aren’t threats, exactly. It’s stuff they leave at the scene. A talisman. A few of them,” she says.

Carlson goes on. “Devon found three pieces of evidence. I’d like for you guys to find out if there were any more found at any of the other sites, and, if so, get photos. If not, go investigate yourself. See if you can find anything like them. Some of these fires are old. The York fire, where it all started, is three years old at this point.”