Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (12 page)

Chris nodded.
“Yeah.
Hospital had the fire marshal pick ‘
em
up today. I want to get the turnout gear cleaned up before I take this stuff to Kara.”

“You want me to hit the boss’s locker for you?” Football asked.

“Actually, no.
I got it. Martie needs to talk to you guys about the fire.
The rest of the squad here yet?”
Chris asked.

Football nodded.
“Yeah
.
Still got one of the
vols
here too.”

“H
e can stay then,” Chris told him as he started toward the back of the station where the bunkroom, kitchen, dining room, office and locker rooms were. “I’ve got some wor
k to do and we’re
gonna
need him
if there’s a call.”

Gracechurch’s
volunteer firefighters, referred to as
vols
by the full-time crew, weren’
t actually giving up
their
entire
day for nothing. They were each paid a generous wage, and most of them were more than willing to stay on extra hours whenever they were needed.
When the four of them entered the combination lounge and dining room, everyone stood. Terry came forward and pulled something from his pocket, holding it out to Chris.

“For Calvin,” he said simply.

Chris handed the box in his arms off to Logan, who stood to his right, and took the one-inch black elastic mourning band from Terry.
Because firefighters didn’t wear their badges on their uniforms
, he pulled the band up his left arm and settled it over his sleeve as each of the other men had done.

He then turned toward Martie. “This is Lt. Martine
Liotta
from the BFS. She needs to talk to everyone from B Platoon about the fire.”

One of the guys from A Platoon came forward then and took the box she held from her arms. Chris took the one he’d carried back from Logan and
,
nodding at Martie, he
left her to it. Jackson walked with him in silence to the laundry room, where there were industrial-grade front loading washing machines. The two of them separated the liners from C
alvin’s turnout gear
, closed up all the fastenings, and put them in one of
the machines along with the
detergent they always used. After turning the machine on, Chris thanked the younger man, who told him to think nothing of it.

When he was alone, he carried Calvin’s white helmet and boots over to the large sink along the wall,
and proceeded to scrub them
clean. The boots he took care of first, and when he picked up the white helmet, he looked at it a moment and studied the front. A steel shield was fastened over a hardened piece of black leather, both attached to the helmet itself. The leather was there so that the words cut into the shield could be read: at the top was the name of the city, Gra
c
echurch, and at the bottom were the words Fire Dept. In the middle was the rank of the wearer.

Captain.

Soon he’d be wearing one of these instead of his yellow lieutenant’s helmet. Chris couldn’t really picture it. He’d led the men on
B-Shift
plenty of times in the past when Calvin was absent for one reason or another,
and sure, he’d thought every so often of seekin
g a promotion to captain
. But damn it, he didn’t want it like this. Not because a man was dead and his position needed to be filled. As he’d told Martie and Dresden, he wanted to earn it. Chris didn’t feel like he had.

With a sigh, he scrubbed the helmet clean and set it on a rack next to the boots to dry, then reached into the box with Calvin’s SCBA gear. He washed the tank and straps a
nd
made sure the mask was as clear as glass. After taking the tank back to refill it, he carried it with him into the locker room
. He pulled the clothes out of Calvin’s locker and folded them, putting them in the bottom of the box, and placing Calvin’s personal items on top. The keys to the Bronco he placed in his pocket, as he was like to have to drive it over to his house later. Then he hung up the SCBA gear inside the locker and left the door open so that the straps could air dry.

He next carried the box into the office that was shared by the four shift leads and walked over to Calvin’s desk, clearing all of the personal items off of it and out of the drawers. Chris then took a pad of paper and itemized everything he had in the box per departmental procedure. After sitting the box to the side on the floor, he sat with his elbows on the edge of the desk and stared at the pile of folders on one corner, knowing that they were men and women who had applied for a position at the new firehouse.

Cleaning Calvin’s gear, clearing out his locker and his desk, Chris had done
it all
on autopilot. Except for that moment as he’d be
en about to clean hi
s helmet, he’d forced himself not to think. Not to feel. Just to act. Just do the job that needed to be done
because that was the only way he could get through it. He knew, of course, that business—that life—had to go on without Calvin, but looking at the pile and thinking that the responsibility was now his almost felt like a betrayal.

Like he was trying to pretend Calvin had never existed.

Which was stupid.
At thirty-six years of age, he knew better.
It wasn’t like him to think illogically because of how he was feeling. Despite the wildness of his teenage years, he’d long prided himself as always keeping a level head and being one of the most rational people in a group. So he was at a loss to explain why doing yet another
job that needed to be done made him feel like he was dishonoring Calvin’s memory—when in fact, taking over the job Cal had started out on was the
best
way he could honor his friend.

The heart knows reason which reason does not know
.

Chris frowned, then smiled and shook his head.
Trust his grandfather’s timeless wisdom to return to him when he needed it the most. It was one of the reasons he loved the old man so much—he always seemed to have the right words. He made a mental note to make time to get back to the reservation and see him soon
and reached for the first folder on the pile.

Martie sat at one of the round tables in the dining room with the other four members of Chris’s platoon. The men from A Platoon and the volunteers filling in for Calvin and Chris had all moved out into the garage to give them some privacy.

Whether by accident
or design, Rick, Terry, Logan
and Football appeared to have glued themselves together—they
were like a big block of muscle,
ha
ving
moved their chairs to face her instead of sitting evenly around the table. Perhaps they were just making a statement of solidarity, perhaps they thought to intimidate her. If that were the case,
then
they were in for a surprise, as growing up in her family (which was full of cops, firemen,
lawyers, doctors,
and the occasional Mafia
hitman
—or so the rumor went) had given Martie quite the backbone. No man had ever intimidated her, and she wasn’t about to let these four break that record.

As with Chris,
she
pulled out a digital voice recorder and asked them if they minded being recorded. They all agreed. This recorder was, of course, one of her spares, as she’d left
the one she normally used with Chris the night before. He hadn’t mentioned it or given it back to her yet, but she was okay with waiting. Hopefully the reason was because the words she had spoken in her message meant something to him. They had certainly meant a lot to her.

Beginning the interview, she asked each man to speak one at a time, telling her his own version of the events at the
Breckon
Apartments. She started with Football, whom she had learned from Chris was the man who actually found Calvin. Terry spoke next, giving a nearly identical story, as he’d gone in with Football to pull out the elderly couple as well as Captain Mayna
rd and the little girl. Logan
spoke of encountering Jessica’s mother, whose name he didn’t know, and of spending much of his time on the ladder
, until he’d been the one to carry an unconscious Jessica down to the EMS team
. Rick had spent all his time on the ground just a few feet from Chris, and his story was much the same as his had been.

“The reason you asking us these questions is because BFS thinks there was some sort of negligence involved?” Terry asked her.

“No, Mr.
Richards,” Martie said
. “
The purpose of these questions is to see if any one of you reme
mbers something, saw something,
heard
something, that the others did not. It helps me establish a timeline for the incident, which can become an essential component of the prosecution’s case should any fire be determined a case of arson.”

“If this is arson, does that mean whoever set the fire
could also be
tried for Calvin’s death?” Rick asked.

Martie nodded. “Captain Maynard’s death was a direct result of the fire, so yes. The arsonist would also likely be charged with numerous counts of endangerment, at least one for each of the residents, and possibly even attempted murder, if it can be proven that he or she intended for the residents of the building to die.”

“And Calvin?”
Football pushed. “
What charges might the
fuckhead
face for his death?”

“I can’t say for certain, but based on my experience, the charge would likely be negligent homicide,” she answered. “Of course, if the target was the first responders, the prosecution could push for a murder charge.”

Martie glanced at each man in turn. “Despite this discussion of what could happen if this turns out to be arson, I want each of you to prepare yourselves for the possibility that it was an accidental fire.”

“No way,” Logan said with a shake of his spiky blond
head. “It took us maybe ten
minutes to get to that building, if that long. No way a little accident like a lit cigarette sparks a few flames that become an inferno in that short amount of time.”

“The building is fifty years old, Mr.
Kilbride
,” Martie pointed out kindly.

Football shook his head. “Nah, I’m inclined to agree with Airborne,” he said.
“
That fire was burning a while before we got there. We’d probably have
heard about it
sooner had more than half the residents not been out at the time.
There were only the old couple, Jessica, and a couple of kids from the first floor home when it started. The old couple can’t move too well on their own, Jessica was hiding in her closet because her mom had stepped out, and the kids had their music up, from what I heard. They didn’t know the place was burning down around them until smoke started creeping under their door.”

Martie made a mental note to talk about that with the two young people when she interviewed them. “That’s an interesting point,” she said slowly. “Why do you think the businesses around the
Breckon
Apartments didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”

“How often do any of us?” Logan countered. “
That dentist’s office behind the
Breckon
building was already closed I think
, but there’s a McDonald’s right next door, and they didn’t even know the building was on fire.”

“Perhaps I will just have to ask them about it,” Martie said then.

She turned her head when the four men from Chris’s unit looked up at someone coming in. Another firefighter, blond and probably early 30s, she noted.
He also wore a mourning band on his left arm, despite being clad in a t-shirt and jeans.

“What’s up, Simon?” Logan asked.

Simon looked around,
then
queried, “Chris called me.
He in the office?”

Logan nodded and Simon turned to head into the office. Then the bell rang and an announcement came over the station loudspeakers.

“
Dispatch to City Fire—Engine 14, Ladder
12
. Fire
reported at 200 South Madison Road.
Respond Code 2
.”

The members of A P
latoon hurried through the lounge and into the locker room
even though the men of B Platoon were on the clock
. Chris came out of the office,
watching as they
ran back through the lounge,
loaded into the two vehicles
,
and headed out of the garage. Afte
r a moment he looked over at Martie
with a slight smile,
then
turned to Simon. “Let’s go into the office.”