Chapter 12

After finishing my somewhat bizarre doctor’s appointment, I headed back toward what was left of the barbershop. It was an easy walk, but if I was going to do this, then I’d need to at least go up to Summersville to see Mr. Cooper, and probably a few other stops as well, which meant I needed a car. I could borrow Mom’s for a little while, but there was a limit to how long I’d be able to do that before Mom started making snarky comments about not being able to go anywhere.

Maybe I could rent something, although that would cost money and I’d still have to go up to Summersville for the closest car rental place. Getting my own car was out, since I’d just have to sell it again when I moved.

I was still working that problem over when I got close to the barbershop and noticed someone sitting in a lawn chair in front of the burned-out building. I couldn’t imagine why someone would decide to set up in front of the charred ruins, and I was worried it meant they’d also gone through the scene, maybe out of curiosity or looking to see if anything valuable was there to take. Either way, they could destroy any evidence before I had a chance to see it.

Getting close to him, I realized I recognized him, although his name had completely slipped from my head. He’d been retired from the mine when I’d been in school, which meant he was pretty ancient now. If he’d been going through the building, he was more in danger than the building would be from him.

I’d asked Orville to have Al watch the building until I got here this morning, and I was a little annoyed that he hadn’t.

“Henry Brewer,” he said as I speed-walked up to him. “Orville said you’d be the one comin’ by to look at the buildin’ here, but I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m sorry, but this is an active crime scene. You can’t be here.”

“I know it’s a crime scene,” he said, annoyed. “Orville called me up early this morning and asked if me and Jimmy could babysit this place till you came out and took a look at it.”

“Jimmy?”

“Jimmy Sanders. He’s round back, making sure no one messes with your precious crime scene.”

Thinking back, I might have not been specific about who needed to watch the place till I got here. Considering there were only two of them on the police force, it made sense to use a civilian to watch the building, freeing Al up to go about his normal job. It was unorthodox, but then out here everything had to be. This wasn’t New York City and Orville didn’t have hundreds of officers on the clock at any given moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I didn’t realize Orville had asked you to watch the place. Let me change the ‘you can’t be here’ to ‘I appreciate you guys watching everything this morning.’”

The old man gave a chuckle.

“It’s all right,” he said, pushing himself out of the tattered lawn chair with its red, white, and blue, and very frayed strands still holding the shape of his body even when he wasn’t in it.

“Jimmy, let’s go,” he yelled as he folded up the chair, before tipping an imaginary cap at me. “Good luck on your policin’.”

I watched him do a kind of slow shuffling walk down the sidewalk away from main street as another old guy came between the burned-out barbershop and the partially damaged pawnshop, joining him on the shamble back home. I shook my head at the antics and began going over the building, trying to remember everything I’d learned in the academy about how scenes were processed and what I’d heard from the arson investigator.

Most of the damage was caused as the fire spread. I knew the fire started in the back room, since that was where it was coming from when I got here the night before. What bothered me was how fast it had spread from there.

Everything was charred and I didn’t know enough about burn patterns in the wood to tell if anything in the blackened mess meant it was just regular burning or if something else had happened. The only thing I could say for sure was the fire had been more intense in the back of the building than it had been in the front. I could still make out the basic frame of the front of the store, to the point where I could tell where the big front window had been, where the front door had been, and the corners of the building from blackened but still standing pieces of wood.

The rear of the building above where the back room had been had quite literally burned to the ground, with nothing but charred and twisted pieces of metal left behind where shelving had once been. I could make out a little bit of the framing from the stairs where it had been close to the front door, but the rest of it was completely gone. Everywhere else there was electrical wiring and pipes that had been in the walls or run through the ceiling, with the metal wires and some of the metal and PVC from the pipes surviving.

I took pictures of as much of the scene as I could with my phone, not really sure if I was getting anything useful, but wanting to have something to refer back to in case I needed an expert to look at the damage later. I also made sure to get pictures of the charred wood closest to the backroom area, just in case there was some kind of burn pattern someone smarter than me could recognize.

Finishing with the inside, I carefully made my way out of the mess, looking at all of the soot and dirt on my boots and knowing they’d be hell to clean, and made my way around to the rear.

I’d taken a few scrapings the night before, but I wanted to get a better look at the burned area I thought I’d seen. It had been really dark back there and the flashlight I’d borrowed from Al had thrown enough shadows to make everything look different, but I’d had the distinct impression it looked out of place.

Looking at the area now, I was sure it didn’t look right. The cement behind the building was burned in an irregular cone shape that reached back a good fifteen feet to a point well clear of the building. There wasn’t any debris back here, and there had been nothing like that on the front or either side of the building. I hadn’t been to a lot of fire calls in New York City, but the few I’d gone to I didn’t remember seeing this extended blackened area, especially going so far from the building itself.

The first thing that came to mind looking at it was someone had poured something very flammable, and it had burned hot enough to discolor the gray pavement, going right up to the back of the building. I already had scrapings from the night before, but I took a bunch of photos of it now that the area was visible, both up close to it, from a distance, and from every angle I could reach.

It seemed pretty obvious, just by looking at the burned mark, that this fire had been set on purpose. Of course, that was just step one. I still had to figure out who set the fire, which was a lot harder.

Although I’d spotted the burn pattern to the door the night before, I’d missed that the back door, or half of it at least, was lying off to one side a few steps from the building, partially between the damaged pawn shop and the barbershop. Its positioning was strange, as was the fact that it was at least partially intact, since the front door was completely gone except for the metal hardware, which was warped by the heat of the fire.

My best guess, looking at the way it was laying, was that it had been open during the fire, and when the wood around the hinges burned enough, the door fell backward, away from the building. Besides half the door being burned off, probably caused by being on fire itself as it fell, the bottom of the door close to the barbershop was also burned. All that would have been just an oddity, except that it meant the doorknob itself was still intact, and I was pretty sure it showed that the door hadn’t been locked when it fell away from the building. It was always possible the heat had warped the lock, making it unlock itself, but I didn’t think so. I’d looked at the hardware from the front door that had fallen loose when the rest of the door burned, and it was still set into a locked position, despite the fact that the metal itself had warped under the heat.

Besides, the door had to have been open, for it to fall like this. The burn trail clearly ran into the back of the shop, so it all fit the pattern. It was possible, of course, that Mr. Cooper had left the back door unlocked, but that was something separate I’d have to check out.

I was just taking pictures of the door when I heard a car pull to a stop by the curb. I made my way around the burned-out building as Orville climbed out of the brown sheriff’s SUV.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure it was arson. There’s a burn pattern from an accelerant leading up to the back door, that was standing open, which fits with what I saw when I showed up, since the fire would have started in the back room. We won’t know for sure until we get an analysis of some of the residue I scraped. I also can’t say if they’d put any of the accelerants inside the shop or not, although it would explain how quickly it moved. I took some scrapings from several points that I’d like to get tested along with the scraping from where the accelerant burned the pavement.”

“Give them to me. I’ll send them to the lab,” he said, reaching his hand out.

“Do you have evidence bags I can put these in, so we can label the chain of custody?”

“Ohh,” he said, pausing. “Sure. Sorry, I sometimes forget about stuff like that.”

It wasn’t unusual for sheriff’s departments, especially those in smaller rural counties, to be lax on what would be standard procedural steps for larger police forces. Unlike urban police departments, sheriffs were elected positions that, as often as not, brought in popular or politically connected candidates as they did law enforcement professionals. While some sheriffs’ departments required some law enforcement experience to be eligible to run, this wasn’t one of those counties. When Orville beat the previous sheriff, it had been because people were fed up with his corruption and most people liked Orville. It was not because he was well qualified for the job.