on holster for his service weapon.
I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t put up with an asshole like me, either.
Fortuitously, and yes, coincidentally, I looked over the young detective’s shoulder to see a familiar figure walking up the street. I held up my palm to Woller and said, “Look, I’m sorry, Detective, but before you arrest me, you’ll have to deal with my lawyer, who’s right behind you.”
To his credit, Woller did not turn to look. He held my eyes until he heard Billy’s voice.
“Detective Woller, I presume,” Billy said in his pleasant greeting voice. “I come with t-tidings from your sergeant, Ray Lynch. M-May I and my investigator, Max Freeman, be of s-service to you, sir?”
Deferring to Billy, I took a step back. Woller put his hands back in front and clasped them, but watched me suspiciously.
“And how is it that you know Sergeant Lynch,” the detective said to Billy. “Mister, uh…”
“Manchester,” Billy said. “William Manchester.” He offered his hand, and Woller shook it. “I’ve known Sergeant Lynch for s-several years and sp-spoke to him this morning on the way here.
“He informed m-me that you had b-been dispatched due to the deaths of three people. Apparently, it is st- standard to send a detective is such circumstances.”
I watched Woller looking into Billy’s face. If he was put off by the stutter, it didn’t show. Whether he believed Billy had a connection with his boss, that didn’t show, either. But I had to give him props for holding his tongue when most people would have started responding to Billy’s statement.
“And…?” he said simply.
“And we are here to offer any help we m-might,” Billy said, gesturing to include me in the offer. “One of the victims was essentially a cl-client, a Mr. Andres Carmen. Mr. Carmen was the apparent target of a recent gang sh- shooting, an attempt that was, in fact, thw-thwarted by Mr. Freeman.”
Again, the detective did not immediately respond. I was only a little disappointed when he gave in.
“And you told Sergeant Lynch all of this?”
“Yes,” Billy said.
“That’s weird because it’s always hard to get Rich in the morning. He’s usually taking his kids to school,” the detective said.
“I don’t know about Rich, but Sergeant Lynch’s first name is Ray, and his t-twin girls are in college up in Gainesville,” Billy said, maintaining his stoic face, even though the detective had essentially just called him a liar. “If you are skeptical, Detective, you should call the sergeant and verify who I am rather than try to game me,” Billy said, and offered Woller his cell phone. “His p-private number is at the top of the recently dialed list.”
Woller kept his hands clasped. I figured he was probably new to the squad, unsure about bothering his boss. He wanted to show he could handle such simplicities on his own.
“OK, Mr. Manchester,” he said. “We removed the bodies early at sunup. The ME here is very good, and with all due respect to the dead, we didn’t want to have to take them out with the news helicopters and shit birds clustering around.”
Shit birds-I’d heard the term before. Cops used it to refer to the rubberneckers and ambulance sniffers who always show up when there’s ghoulishness in the air.
The detective nodded toward the pile of ash. “The marshal determined they were all in their beds in the back when the gas exploded.”
“Gas?” Billy said.
“It’s an old-style trailer, with a propane gas tank and line to the interior heater. The marshal is going on the theory that the connection rusted out or separated with age and filled the back end of the trailer with gas,” Woller said. “Someone inside lit a cigarette, and boom!”
I thought of the girlfriend, recalled the bobbling Marlboro on her lip.
“The ME didn’t find anything obvious before they carted them off to the morgue, but then they were burned pretty badly,” Woller continued. “If they don’t find any sign of these people being tied up or shot or bludgeoned or of the gas line being tampered with, they’ll end up calling it accidental.”
“Even if there was a recent attempt on Andres Carmen’s life?” I said, jumping in for the first time.
“Forensics, Mr. Freeman,” Woller said, now looking at me. “Unless you get someone to talk, it’ll sit for months on the crime scene backlog. Unless someone high up the line takes an interest. Shit, you know-you were a cop.”
I matched his look, searching his face, maybe letting the surprise show on my own features. “That obvious?”
“Pretty much,” the detective said. “You’re working as a PI-probably retired from up north somewhere. Hard to cover up the look of a man out of uniform.”
“So you’ve already ditched the lead that the little girl gave you?”
“What little girl would that be?”
“The one who said she saw me poking around last night.”
He shook his head, looked away, and smiled a little.
“Can’t blame me, man. You gotta take what you can get.”
“I’d have done the same,” I said, and finally offered my hand. As he shook it, I looked over his shoulder and watched Billy walk gingerly toward the fire marshal. I tried to hold the detective’s focus for another few seconds to give Billy the chance to ask his questions.
“Anybody see any other suspicious strangers in the night?” I asked. “Maybe a couple of gangbangers tossing flaming bottles through a window?”
“No. And nobody heard anything, either, until they were nearly blown out of their own beds at four in the morning.”
“Lucky,” I said, taking another peek at Billy.
But the detective picked up on it and turned. “Hey,” he yelped. “Hey, Manchester, you can’t go in there.” As he started toward Billy and the marshal, the detective turned and gave me an appropriately dirty look.
Twenty minutes later, Billy and I were standing at his Lexus out beyond the entrance to the trailer park. Billy had gotten little from the fire marshal. Woller was pissed enough to tell us both that if we wanted any more information, it would have to come through “your friend Sergeant Lynch,” and that we would be banned from the fire scene unless we were in the sergeant’s presence.
“Was it worth losing a good source in the sheriff’s office,” I said to Billy, who was scrolling through a contact list on his cell phone.
“It won’t be a loss,” he said without looking up from the screen. He punched in a number and looked out at the tree line. After a couple of seconds, he said, “Yes, I’ll wait.”
“The marshal was more helpful than he w-wanted to b-be,” Billy said, twisting the microphone end of the phone away from his mouth while keeping the earpiece near.
“He was still tracing the gas p-piping to the outside tank but hadn’t reached an end point. He’s going to have to f-find the outside f-fixture and then determine if it was tampered with. He said it’s p-possible it could have rusted loose or simply fallen apart. The salt in the ocean air down here p-plays havoc on anything whether it’s copper or aluminum or even wood.”
“So at least they’re looking at the possibility that someone blew up the place,” I said.
“Yes. Jim Fisher, please,” Billy said into the phone. Then to me, “I’m not s-sure how hard they’ll look. But yes, they are entertaining the p-possibility.”
“So what did he tell you that he didn’t want to tell you?” I asked.
But Billy was back on the phone. Usually, I find this kind of cell phone etiquette rude, but Billy can get focused. And after all, he’s my friend, not some dork talking to his girlfriend while having a conversation with me.
“Yes, Jim. Fine, how are you? Yes, well, I’ve got a bit of a job for you. Right up your alley, my friend. There was a trailer home fire out in Lantana, and the remains of a dog have been left at the scene.
“No, actually, the known family are all dead. The authorities have no interest in dead dogs, but I do.
“Yes, you will have permission to remove the remains. Are you able to do that?
“No. I need the results of the necropsy as soon as possible. Yes. Yes. I’m sending you a text with the address right now. Thank you, Jimmy.”
Billy folded the phone and looked out at the tree line, thinking.
