A matter of time

'Smith, watch the stairs. Tucholski, cover us from the basement door while we go down.'

Nothing again.

'Okay, we go up.'

The second floor looked as though it had just been cleaned for the benefit of company. Gone were the bits of dust Cash had spotted during his previous visit. Hank looked puzzled. Cash's fear began welling up anew. It was too late. Way too late for John…

'Third floor now. Be damned careful.'

Cash began shaking. Once again he crouched in a dark and dusty corner while Death stalked him across a cruel French December morning…

He didn't know he had fired till Hank grabbed the shotgun. 'What the fuck's the matter with you?'

Feet pounded up the stairs.

Smith shoved past, hurtled into the room ahead, yanked curtains aside. 'Ah, shit. A cat. You of fed a goddamned cat, Norm.'

Old Tom, Miss Groloch's sidekick, was splattered all over the bronze-flowered wallpaper.

Cash threw up.

What else could he do to screw up?

'Hey, you guys,' Beth called from below. 'You all right? Come on down.'

'What're you doing in here?' Railsback demanded. 'Get back down there and see if anybody heard that shot.'

'We've got an emergency call.'

'Nothing in the attic,' Tucholski reported. 'Looks like she's cleared out. Took the body with her.'

'We'd better get out too. Hope nobody's noticed us yet.'

That would be too good to be true, Cash thought.

'What is it, Beth?' Railsback demanded.

'Dispatcher called. They want us at that fire. They turned up some bodies, and the fire department says it looks like arson.'

'Bodies?' Cash asked, finally calm enough to talk and think. 'Doc Smiley lived by himself. Didn't have any relatives or anything.'

'Another one?' Smith asked.

'Another what?'

'Old loner.'

'Naw. This guy was weird, but he was okay. A doctor.

Refugee. Came over from Europe someplace when the Russians took over… Hmmm.'

'What is it?' Railsback asked.

'Just wondering if there is a connection. The old lady disappears just when Smiley's house burns down… Nan, couldn't be. That's too far out. She was a lot older than him. Been here eighty years longer…'

'Worry about it later. Let's show over there before somebody starts wondering what we're up to. Hey, Dad. Come here a minute.' He had everyone turn in their raid gear. 'Put that stuff in Tucholski's car, then move it around front. Then keep an eye on the place till we get back. Let's go, you guys. We might as well walk. We won't get a parking place much closer.'

He was right. The fire-chasers had parked up everything from Russell on south.

It was bad.

The firemen were still hosing the rubble to cool it. Though most of the brickwork remained standing, the house was a complete loss.

The battalion chief led them around to a basement entrance his men had wrecked. 'In there.'

Half the wooden parts of the structure had collapsed into the basement, carrying with them furnishings from all three floors. Charred floor joists and wall studs lay tangled like giant pickup sticks. Smoke and steam still rose, and the bricks still held a lot of heat. A man couldn't spend much time close enough to look inside.

There had been cities in Germany and France that had looked like this.

Had Cash not thrown up already, he would have now. Smith did. Iron-gut Tucholski, who claimed to have seen it all, gagged. Hank refused to let Beth close enough to see.

Parts of two bodies, burned till little but steaming skeletons remained, protruded from beneath the wreckage. One seemed to be that of a child.

'Smell's enough to gag a maggot,' Hank observed. He held a wet handerchief over his face. To the battalion chief, 'How long before you can start digging them out?'

'Going to be a couple hours before we're sure it's cool enough, and that it won't flare up again. And we'll have to scare up a crane… Jesus, it's going to be a job. Somebody really torched it. Whole place must've been soaked down with gas, it went up so fast. We're just lucky this was a corner lot and the one next door was vacant.'

'You sure it was arson?'