You do it two ways.
First, you accelerate the fire. You generally take some fossil fuel and ignite a fire that's more hare than tortoise. The other thing you do is you set more than one fire. An arson fire is usually not a single fire but several fires, because it has more than one point of origin. You need more than one because even a highly accelerated single fire is not going to do the damage you need before it runs out of clock.
You need several accelerated fires to (a) get to the areas you want destroyed and (b) to increase the total amount of BTUs to get your convection effect working for you. Get enough heat going in the structure so that the flames don't necessarily have to spread the fire — the heat will reach the ignition point of the materials in the structure and then WHOOSH.
Flashover phase.
The fire out of control.
The alligator in a feeding frenzy.
Orgasm, as Fuller would have put it.
Of course, Jack knows that the convection effect doesn't always happen that way. A guy sets two or three fires and one or two of them die out before they get the necessary heat going. So what a lot of arsonists will do is connect the fires so the flames move through the structure. So they pour accelerant from one place to the other, or sometimes they make what's known in the business as 'trailers,' often bed-sheets twisted up and run through the house from pool of accelerant to pool of accelerant.
A little highway for the fire to get up some speed.
And the evidence burns itself up.
Unless you speak fire, in which case the evidence is there — like a hole in the flooring and a splatter pattern on the joists.
Showing that the fire burned down instead of up.
Physics, Jack thinks, never lies.
The laws of nature are laws that even plaintiff attorneys and judges can't overrule. You throw a ball up in the air, it comes down. You get under a wave, it rolls you on the bottom. Fire ignites and burns up unless it has a physical reason to burn down.
Jack kneels there, sweating inside his white paper overalls, the smell of ash penetrating his sinuses, and part of him wishes he were out in the cold blue water under a cool blue sky instead of knee-deep in ash in a closed black room that smells like fire and death.
He goes through the whole photography process again, lighting and shooting the V-pattern, the hole, the joist, and the closet as a whole. In color and black-and-white. Records the information on his notes and into the microphone.
When he's done with all that, he takes out a plastic evidence bag from the overalls. Some guys like to use paint cans, but Jack worries that the metal in the cans could contaminate the samples. Likewise, your basic grocery store Ziploc bags. So Jack buys special evidence bags which have been treated and sterilized. They're more expensive, but he figures that in the long run they're a lot cheaper than having your samples kicked out of court. He scoops some char out of the hole and places it in the bag. Seals the bag and then labels it, giving the date, time, description, and exact location where the sample was taken. Then he signs the label.
He records the same information into his notebook and speaks it into the tape recorder.
Jack being a belt-and-suspenders kind of guy.
He repeats this process several more times, taking a small chunk of the joist, the flooring itself, and then a char sample from a different part of the closet, away from the V-pattern and the hole. He takes material from an area he thinks will be clean in order to get a comparison sample, hopefully one that doesn't contain an accelerant. Otherwise, if the samples do test positive for accelerants, the argument can be made that they're inherent in the wood itself. Pine flooring, for example, can have a lot of turpentine in it. So you try to get a 'clean' sample to show the difference.
He takes samples from several locations around the room.
I'm going to have to do a dig-out, Jack thinks.
The whole room.
Literally dig out all the char in the room to expose the flooring to see holes, potential pour patterns, spalling on the concrete slab below the floor — all 'indicia,' as they say in the trade, of an accelerated fire.
He picks up his shovel and starts to dig.
Beginning in the closet. Figures he'll start in that corner, where he knows that there's a problem, and then work his way out across the whole bedroom. He scoops up char and tosses it into one of the large plastic garbage cans he brought with him. He'll need the char later when he goes to do the sift.
As he digs he sometimes scoops up larger pieces of material — partially burned clothing, pieces of appliances, remnants of furniture. He sets aside the larger pieces — some brass cabinet handles, copper hasps, a claw handle foot — but records all of them in his notes. He sketches the location of the larger pieces on his floor plan, photographs them, and puts them into plastic evidence bags.
All of this takes time.
When he's done digging out the open floor space, he's exposed what's left of the flooring.
Stands back and takes a look and the fire is really talking.
The pour pattern that starts in the closet leads to the bed.
'Go figure,' Jack says.
If Bentley had done his fucking job, he might have traced it back the other way, from the vodka pour back to the closet. But he didn't — Jack did — and to Jack, what he's looking at now is like reading a book.
Someone poured a great deal of accelerant in the closet. Jack knows this because the flooring is burned clear through, exposing the concrete pad beneath. Then someone poured a trail of accelerant from the closet over to the bed. Jack can see the pour pattern, a pale spalling on the wood. Here and there a hole where the fire burned the hottest.
But there's no hole beside the bed where the remnants of the vodka bottle were. Whoever poured the juice was careful not to pour it there.
Jack lifts up the charred mattress and spring and moves them over. What he'd expect to see underneath would be a relatively undamaged floor. Again, you're talking about the fall-down effect. If the fire started on the floor beside the bed, it would have ignited the wood frame of the bed. When the frame collapsed, the mattress and box spring would have dropped down, shielding the floor beneath.
But that's not what he sees.
Not what he hears, either, because the fire is talking to him again.
Yapping at him, chirping at him, I did her right here, baby. I did her right in her bed. Blew through the freaking roof, baby.
Because there's heavy ash where there shouldn't be.
Jack digs through the ash.
Underneath it there's a big hole. Irregularly shaped, but roughly the size of the bed. Wider, in fact, on the side opposite the bottle remnants.
Jack keeps digging.
Digs right down through the flooring to the concrete pad beneath.
Scoops the char off the pad, and what he sees is a white stain where the concrete was scorched.
Spalling.
It's another sign of a set fire, because, once again, fire burns up unless it has a reason to burn down. You have spalling like this, you have juice dripping down onto the concrete, luring the alligator down for a snack.
So Jack's standing there and he has the hole beneath him, and above him, there's the hole in the roof.
'Jesus Christ,' Jack says.
The fire is screaming at him.
Feels like it's coming from inside his soul.
Whoever set the fire poured accelerant under the bed. Then doused Pamela Vale with it. Doused it from her hips down her legs. Then lit a match.
No professional arsonist does that, Jack thinks.
Not on a strictly business fire, anyway. You douse a woman in a bed like that, it's personal. It's sexual. It
