The Smoke Room (26 page)

40. THE ONE-EYED MAN HAS A BLIND DATE

“HEY, GUMBALL,” TRONSTAD
said, grinning as if we were meeting at a train station to pick up a mutual friend. “What’s goin’ on?”

Tronstad was on the side of the road behind the medic unit, an aging bottle-blonde under his left arm. He wore motorcycle boots, leather pants, and a leather jacket, his long hair pulled into a ponytail. A black eye patch covered his injured eye, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. The guys on another shift had told us he’d come in to shit, shave, and shower, but he hadn’t come in on our shift.

“You set fire to this house.”

“Gum, you need to see a shrink. I was afraid something like this was going to happen.”

Chief Polson moved beside me. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but be careful what you say here, Gum.”

The blonde had her arms wrapped around Tronstad’s waist and appeared to be drunk. I said, “Were you with him all night?”

“’Cept maybe for when I hadda pee.”

“Don’t be interrogating my date, Chiclet. I’ll ask the questions.” He looked down at her. “Where’s your husband, honey?” He laughed.

“Were you with him all night?” I persisted.

“I dunno. I fell asleep.”

Beside me, Polson shuffled nervously. “Gum, let’s get back to work.”

“You set fire to this house. You put those fishhooks in the rhodie.” The blonde leaned into him drowsily, and he kissed the top of her head. “You killed those two people last shift.”

“Whoa. Whoa,” said Chief Polson. “I thought we were talking about tonight.”

“We are. But last shift we had a car fire. Two people died.”

“Gum went berserk and attacked me,” Tronstad said, addressing the chief. “I almost lost an eye. I didn’t press charges, Chief, because I felt sorry for him. Just between you and me, I think he needs to go into Admin for a couple of weeks and get some rest.”

“Did you see him set either of these fires?” Polson asked. “You have any proof?”

“No, but—”

“You tell the police?”

“No. Well, yes. One of them. I don’t know if the . . . I’m not sure.”

“Whoa, now. Whoa. If you go around accusing people of things you can’t prove, you can be sued for slander. And you don’t seem to have your story straight. Did you tell the police or didn’t you?”

“Jah, you vouldn’t vant to be sued, vould you?” Tronstad asked, slipping into his phony Scandinavian accent, which I’d always found hilarious until now. He thought it was funny that he’d fried the Browns. That he’d set this fire tonight. That he was getting away with it.

“You stupid bastard!” I said.

Before I could step forward and hit him, Polson wrapped her arms around me from behind. She was fifteen years older than me and I could have thrown her off easily enough, but too many people had been hurt already. Within moments, three other firefighters stepped out of nowhere and took my arms, pulling me away from the chief and holding me like I was some sort of lunatic.

“He set this fire. I think he killed Sears’s wife, too. I’m almost sure he did. She came here to see him a week ago Friday night.”

“Did you see her here?” one of the firefighters asked.

“I saw her truck. Sears’s truck.”

When I peered around at Chief Polson and the others, I could see this was more than a case of simple disbelief—they thought I’d gone insane.

“I believe he’s having a nervous breakdown,” Tronstad said.

“He killed Heather Wynn because she was looking for the money! And he set this fire. He was here—inside this house. Ask Johnson. He was with us.”

Chief Polson said something to one of the firefighters, who then left.

“Listen to him,” Tronstad said, perfectly at ease. “He’s nuttier’n the cashew bin at Safeway.”

Indeed, it sounded as if I were the Fruit Loop and Tronstad was the one talking common sense, but I was too tired to figure out how to turn it around.

“It was too much for him,” Tronstad said. “First the chief and then our lieutenant. I told him to get help. I even told the department he needed counseling, but nobody listened to me.”

“Calm down,” Polson said.

“You think I’m going to come up with the bonds after this?” I said, staring at Tronstad.

“My dear boy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Because you’re not going to get those bonds. Not after breaking into my house and threatening my mother. Not after what you did to Sears and the Browns. And Abbott.”

Tronstad looked at Chief Polson and raised his eyebrows, signaling that somebody better do something quickly. Polson said, “Are you all right? Are you really all right?”

“I’m trying to turn this fucker in. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to turn this fucker in!”

“Don’t swear at me.” She turned to Lieutenant Muir, who’d just arrived with Robert Johnson. They’d taken their masks and backpacks off, had unbuttoned their bunking coats to let their wet T-shirts breathe. Both were carrying paper cups of Gatorade. “Has Gum been able to do his job today?”

“His job? Yeah. Sure. No problem. He’s been good.”

“He hasn’t shown any signs of instability?”

We were in front of Ladder 11, the wigwags on so that the headlights alternated between high and low beam, casting an eerie syncopation over our discussion. I was sure it made me look even more insane.

Muir sized me up and said, “Instability? I don’t think so. What’s the problem?”

Polson looked at Johnson. “Were you ever at this house with these two?”

When he worked at it, nobody could look more innocent than Johnson. He was working at it now.”No.”

Tronstad’s laugh was like a rooster cackling.

“You’re sure?”

“I never been here before.”

“Do you know anything about Tronstad setting a car fire?”

“I know Gum thinks he did, but Gum’s been having problems.”

“Ask him how he even got here!” I screamed. “It’s four in the morning. Tronstad doesn’t live around here. How’d he know there was a fire? Because he set it.”

For a moment I thought Polson was going to take me seriously. “How
did
you happen to be here?” Polson said, turning to Tronstad.

“Oh, now
you’re
accusing me?” Tronstad grinned broadly, loving it, thinking he was invincible. “How did I get here? I was driving by Lincoln Park looking for Marci’s house—she’s staying with some people, and she sort of forgot where it was—and I heard the fire on my scanner. I knew my guys would be here, so I came down to watch.”

“I don’t know what to do with you two,” Polson said.

“First thing is, you better keep him away from me,” Tronstad said. “I almost lost the vision in one eye because of him, and I swear, he does anything else, I’m going to sue the department.”

“I want him arrested,” I said. “Start with arson, and we’ll work our way up to murder.”

Chief Polson looked at me for a long time and said, “Ted, could you make yourself scarce while we finish up with this fire?”

“You’re not letting him go, are you?”

“I’m not a cop. I don’t have the power to arrest anyone on your say-so.”

“I’m telling you he set this. He killed Lieutenant Sears.”

One of the firefighters from Ladder 11 said, “How? He dug the hole and filled it up with a garden hose?”

“He moved the traffic barricades. He waved us in there.”

“You tell the police any of this?” Polson asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I . . . Goddamn it. He killed Heather Wynn. And Chief Abbott.” With the mention of Abbott, I could feel everyone around me sigh. There was no doubt I was demented.

“You’re going to have to tell this to the police,” Polson said. “There’s an officer right over there.”

While I glared at Tronstad, everybody else stared at me. Finally, Johnson came over and put his arm around my shoulder, extricated me from the group, and walked me away without saying anything. He and I’d both known things would come to a head sooner or later, and now that I’d publicly accused Tronstad of everything I could think of, I had a bad feeling it wouldn’t make any difference with the police. Not without Johnson to corroborate.

“Hey, Doublemint?” Tronstad shouted after me. “One last thing. If you’re planning to make off to Cabo San Lucas, forget it. I know you wanted to screw me, but it’s too late.” His grin was manic, his teeth white in his shadowy face.

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talkin’ about?”

“You found them?”

“It wasn’t that hard once I put my mind to it.”

At first I thought he was trying to trick me, but the look on his face was so smug, I began to have doubts. “When did you find them?”

“Just now.”

Johnson whispered to me. “He’s got them?”

“I doubt it.”

“But is it possible?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“Shit!”

When Tronstad began to walk away, I yelled after him, “If you hurt anybody . . . If you hurt anybody . . . I swear . . .” He continued to guffaw as he and the blonde disappeared down the street.

“Are you going to back me up?” I said to Johnson. “When I talk to the cops?”

“I can’t believe he’s going to walk away with my share.”

“Are you going to back me up about Sears and Abbott?”

“And go to jail myself? Not likely.”

“He just robbed you.”

“He’ll give me my share. Tronstad and I are buddies.”

“We have to tell the police.”

“I am
not
going to prison. If you had any brains left, you wouldn’t be, either. You’re just going to get your own self in trouble. Nobody else. Just your own self.”

41. I JUST CAME FROM MISSOURI

BY ACCIDENT OR
design, I was able to catch the blonde alone. I wasn’t sure whether Tronstad left her alone on purpose—knowing I’d rush over to pump her for information—or if she’d gotten lost in the mix.

“Marci?”

“Uh.”

“I thought that was what he called you. How long have you been with Tronstad? All night? What?”

“Who?”

“Ted Tronstad. The guy you’re with.”

“He’s so funny. He’s going to get the truck. He’s going to pick me up in a minute. He’s a sweetheart, ain’t he?”

“Yeah. Tons of fun. You haven’t been with him all night, have you?”

“We was at this party until a coupla hours ago.”

“What about the last hour?”

“Just drivin’.”

“Around here? Did you drive by here?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“How about Alki Beach? Did you go by there?”

“I don’t know this area. I just came from Missouri.”

“Were you sleeping? Was that it?”

“Yeah. Part of the time. And we partied a little.”

“Did he stop and get some bags?”

“Yeah. We scored some shit. Want some?” She began to reach into the top of her disheveled blouse.

“No. Three large garbage sacks?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that. He wanted me to sleep with his friends, though. I told him I don’t go in for chain bangs.”

“Did he drive near the beach?”

“I just came from St. Louis two months ago. My ex is in prison here. Lotta nice people here in Warshington, though. I never knew that was how they pronounced it. War-shing-ton.”

“Did Tronstad tell you where he was going tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“He’s taking me up to Monroe to visit my ex in the joint.”

I knew that was a load of crap. Tronstad was the king of the one-night stand, and fake blondes like Marci were never around in the morning.

When I tried to organize my story to tell the police, I realized I was too exhausted to get my facts straight. I’d already tried and ended up sounding like a lunatic.

“You sure you don’t want to swear out a complaint?” one of the officers asked me a few minutes later after Marci was gone. Chief Polson had sent them over. “I mean, if you think you know for sure this guy set this fire, we could talk to him.”

“No thanks.”

In the morning I would take my accusations and the bearer bonds into the prosecutor’s office, where I would, with an attorney’s help, explain the story in detail. It was going to take hours, and even then I would have trouble convincing them. Certainly all the firefighters on tonight’s fire ground—where word spreads almost as quickly as smoke—thought I was a crank.

On the way back to the station, I talked Johnson into taking Bonair Drive up the hill, winding up the hillside through the deserted residential streets. I wanted a peek at Iola Pederson’s house so that I could confirm that it hadn’t been ransacked or looted or razed, that there weren’t three dead people lying in the yard.

Lieutenant Muir didn’t know our district well enough to object, and the detail from Ladder 11 who’d joined our crew for the rest of the shift in place of Snively wasn’t saying a word. Bob Oleson was a big guy, six-four, maybe 230 pounds, and was furious about being detailed to 29’s without his sheets, bedding, or civilian clothes. We might have swung past 32’s to fetch those items, but Lieutenant Muir, who wanted to grab another hour or two of shut-eye, nixed that. Though Chief Polson promised to drive Oleson back to Station 32 first thing in the morning, the promise did nothing to alleviate his mood.

Oleson was one of the men who’d restrained me when I went after Tronstad; I must have been holding a grudge, because when he tried to talk to me, I said, “Fuck off.”

As we wound our way up the hill, I stood up in the crew cab and surveyed Hobart Avenue. The Pederson household was as quiet and dark as you’d expect a house to be at five in the morning. Bernard Pederson’s truck, Iola’s Land Cruiser, and Sonja’s Miata all stood in the driveway like sleeping cattle. Except for the front porch light, the house was dark.

After I crawled back into my bunk in the watch office at the station, Johnson came to the door. I’d had one hour of sleep and maybe four hours the previous night. “What if he has the bonds?” Johnson whispered. “How’re we going to get our share?”

“He doesn’t,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Because if he had them he wouldn’t have been jacking off at that fire. If he had those bonds he’d be out of here.”

“Right. Yeah. You’re right. Hey, Gum?”

“What?”

“Didja know Tronstad came and got his bunking clothes?”

“When was this?”

“Just before I went to bed. He took a mask and backpack off the reserve rig, too. I shouldn’t have let him, should I?”

“No.”

“Geez, what do you think he wants with his bunkers and a mask?”

“I have no idea.”

Forty minutes later, at 0550, hours the station bell hit.

It was a single to Bonair Drive, “smoke in the vicinity.” Jesus.