After Kub left, Diana touched Finney's shoulder and said, "I've been up to visit her, but they won't let anybody in. G. A. was on the ward, too, arguing with one of the doctors. I think he was trying to get in to see her."

As she spoke, Charles Reese stepped within hailing distance, a crooked smile on his face. He stared past Finney as if he wasn't there. "How are you doing, little lady?"

"Fine, Chief. You?"

"I'd feel better if your boyfriend would listen to reason. They tell me the case against him is rock solid."

"It doesn't sound like it to me."

Watching the sun gleam on Reese's dark hair, it occurred to Finney why he wasn't behind bars. After boasting to one and all that he had a witness who would finger Finney, G. A. was afraid Annie Sortland would come out of her drug-induced stupor and name someone else. Even if G. A. wasn't conspiring to frame him, he might have guessed Finney hadn't left his jacket at the fire scene and he should have known Finney had gone to him in good faith the night before the fire. He certainly knew Finney had not purchased that movie ticket stub. What he didn't know was whether or not Annie Sortland would ID him. If she ID'ed someone else, G. A. would end up looking like a b.o.o.b, since he'd already told half the department Finney set the fire.

Because Finney had chatted with Annie that morning, he, too, had a.s.sumed she would name him. But there was at least one other person she might finger: the arsonist, whoever that was.

"I can see why G. A. would want to hara.s.s me," Finney said. "But you've already done your damage."

Reese was smiling with just the left side of his face, the right side dead and wooden. "What we got here is a public relations nightmare. Much as I hate to admit this, losing Bill Cordifis last summer was about the best public relations coup the department has had in a while. You are going to single-handedly put us back to square one, the son of a former chief indicted for arson."

After Reese left, Diana said, "Why did they come?"

"They're trying to turn the screws. G. A. thinks he can get me to crack. Kub told me he does that with people he's building a case on."

"You catch the game G. A. was playing? First he exaggerates how bad it's going to be for you. The death penalty-he's maximizing there. Then he pretends he's on your side. That's where he minimizes. You didn't really mean for anybody to get hurt. You were just lighting a match. Maximization and minimization. Cops have been using it ever since the rubber hose was banned."

"I don't know," Finney said, putting a stupid look on his face. "I think it was working. I almost confessed." She stared at him a moment before he burst into laughter.

Laughing together, they hauled the kayak out of the water.

46. HAPPIER THAN A DEAD PIG IN THE SUN.

Sadler was so p.i.s.sed off he could barely see straight. He'd run into the Kmart off Delridge to buy a pair of mats for the new truck, and came out less than five minutes later to find a big dent in his driver's door. h.e.l.l, he hadn't even turned off the motor. It was a beautiful truck, spruce-green with chrome running boards, an extended crew cab, and tires bigger than some third-world countries. h.e.l.l, it was brand-new. He'd picked it up two weeks earlier from Midway Motors in Fife for just under twenty-nine and a trade-in on his three-year-old Firebird.

Three errands to run while he was in Seattle, and already one of them had gone t.i.ts up. Some a.s.shole had put a perfect pie-sized dimple in the driver's-side door, probably with a boot, some self-righteous parking lot n.a.z.i who'd taken issue over his being in the LOAD ONLY LOAD ONLY lane. lane.

When Sadler pulled up to the house on lower Delridge Way, the old man was out in the driveway monkeying around with the Pathfinder Sadler knew belonged to his son. Somebody or something had knocked the h.e.l.l out of it.

"How you doin', Chief?" Sadler said, startling the old man, who'd been kneeling beside the Pathfinder with a pair of pliers. Sadler was shocked at how much weight the chief had lost, at how drawn and shaky he was.

"Oh . . . h.e.l.lo, young fella."

"Sadler. Gary Sadler. I worked at Thirty-six's when you were in the Seventh."

"You're the one had that girlfriend broke a pie plate over your head."

"It was a turkey platter. And I deserved it. I was a terrible drinker in those days."

"What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"I was talking to your son the other day, and I thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing."

"Right now, I'm happier than a dead pig in the sun. My grandfather used to say that. It won't be long, I will will be a dead pig in the sun." The old man laughed, which set him on a coughing jag. be a dead pig in the sun." The old man laughed, which set him on a coughing jag.

"I doubt they'll leave you out in the sun," Sadler said.

The old man laughed harder at this. Gary could only conjure up a smile. "I guess there's some of us don't figure out how to live until we're about done doin' it. Don't mind telling you, I'm one of them. Family and friends. That's what it's all about, Gary. Don't let anybody tell you any different."

"Yes, sir."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n lung cancer. Spread to my bones."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Too many fires without a mask. You stay out of the smoke."

Sadler produced a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "Too late for that."

"It's never too late." As if by mutual agreement, they both stood back and surveyed the Pathfinder, sharing cigarettes from Sadler's pack. "It's Johnny's car," Chief Finney said, running his fingers over the dents.

Sadler inhaled and blew smoke out his nostrils. "What happened?"

"A fire engine hit him. He didn't tell you about it?"

"No."

"You work with him. You two ain't getting along?"

"He's not exactly first in line to be best man at my wedding."

"Sorry to hear that. He's a good kid. How's he taking not getting promoted?"

"You knew that?"

"Word gets around. He doesn't want to talk about it with me, so we don't talk about it."

"He's got worse problems than not getting promoted."

"You mean that house fire?"

"That's one reason I'm here. I've got my own suspicions on that. There's another guy on my crew showed some unnatural interest in that house before it burned."

"Who would that be?"

"Jerry Monahan."

"That old corn dog ain't retired? You woulda thought what happened to Cordifis would have been a wake-up call to all those old dinosaurs. Fighting fire is a young man's game. Soon as I made chief and couldn't go inside anymore I realized I'd been going in way too long." He coughed, the phlegm rattling in his lungs. "That's what happens when you fight fire all those years. h.e.l.l, in Denmark they only leave you on the pipe for five years. After that, you get a job that keeps you out of the building. So you think Monahan might have set that fire?"

"He's just crazy enough."

"I remember once when we were both firefighters Jerry asked to borrow three thousand bucks. h.e.l.l, I didn't have a dime to spare, was working down at the steel mill off shift, but a guy named Shimkus did, and when he still hadn't gotten a nickel back after eight months, he took Jerry out behind old Station Nineteen and knocked three of his teeth out. Jerry gave him the pink slip to his car and took the bus to the dentist the next morning. That was how Jerry got interested in karate."

They chatted for another half hour, recounting good times and bad. As he listened, Sadler wondered how such a spindly man had ever carried his reputation as a fire-breathing, door-busting, get-out-of-my-way smoke eater. He'd worked on Engine 14 and then Engine 7, and they always said n.o.body could take more smoke or stay in a fire longer. When Gary entered the department twenty years ago, all the older chiefs talked about Finney, a captain at the time. Those chiefs were all dead now. Rutgers, Mortimer, Stallworth. Heart attacks and cancer, mostly cancer-the number one item in the firefighter's retirement portfolio.

"I could be wrong about this," Sadler said. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anyone."

"Sure. What's that you got around your neck? That a cross? You ain't gone Jesus on me?"

"Yes, sir. Not that I'm perfect, mind you. I guess Jesus is why I came by today. He told me to ask if there was anything I could do to make you more comfortable."

"I figured when I got sick, religion would grab me by the nads, but it didn't. I still think it's for suckers. But you can do one thing for me. Would you try to make things work with John? Even if he don't know it, Leary Way's eating a hole right through him. He needs every sc.r.a.p of understanding he can get. That's what you can do for me, Gary. Be a friend to John. Look out for him."

"I'll do that."

"Thank you." The old man shook hands with Sadler, his grip weak, his palms sweaty.

Driving across the West Seattle viaduct toward I-5, Gary couldn't help thinking about the night of the Leary Way fire. Gary had been on Engine 26, the only unit in the south end not at an alarm at four in the morning. The three of them had been in the watch office-Sadler, Monahan, and Jenkins.

A worried dispatcher had called on the main phone and told Sadler they'd been out of contact with Chief Finney for nearly an hour, that he'd disappeared from a fire in the Fifth Battalion. They'd used the radio, they'd paged him, they'd called on his cell phone. Even though he wasn't supposed to be at Station 29 where he was stationed, they'd hit the bell there repeatedly. The vanishing act had begun a few minutes after the dispatchers told him they'd tracked the distress signal at Leary Way to his son's radio. n.o.body realized until later that Finney had left his radio with Cordifis.

Monitoring channel fourteen, the channel reserved for ordinary department business, Sadler and the crew on Engine 26 climbed onto the rig and began driving the south half of the Seventh Battalion. Just before dawn they found him parked on the gra.s.s in a small park, Riverview play field, where he had a somewhat obstructed view from the promontory that looked out over Harbor Island, downtown Seattle, and beyond that, Queen Anne Hill. The red Suburban's motor was running. In the distance he'd been watching the glow in the sky from Leary Way.

Even after they told him his son was alive, he didn't snap out of it.

They ended up driving him home, Sadler and his crew sitting with Chief Finney in his living room, his wife beside him in a nightgown, none of them knowing quite what to do until the medics got there.

Two weeks later, Chief Finney retired.

47. THE LAUGHING FIREFIGHTER.

When the bell hit at twenty minutes before midnight on Monday, November 3, the overhead lights came on automatically with the alarm, just as they always did. Finney found himself laughing. He wasn't sure why, perhaps because he'd been awakened from the first truly deep slumber in recent memory, perhaps because he'd been dreaming about the good time he'd had with Diana the other day. They'd spoken on the phone at work, too, just before going to bed. As he pulled on his socks and stepped into his rubber boots and bunking trousers, the dispatcher's urgent voice awakened him fully.

"Time out: twenty-three forty hours. Engines Eleven, Twenty-six, Thirty-six, Twenty-seven; Ladders Seven and Eleven; Battalion Seven; Aid Fourteen, Medic Ten, Safety One; Air Twenty-six: West Marginal Way Southwest and Southwest Michigan Street. Channel one. Engines Eleven, Twenty-six . . ."

After the dispatcher gave three rounds of response information, she added, "A large volume of smoke reported from Bowman Pork Products."

On the apparatus floor, Jerry Monahan wore a sleepy grin, his gray hair erupting from the sides of his head like whipped cream. They'd barely exchanged ten words all day-Monahan had been secreted away in the spare room working on his invention-and now this ingenuous grin. Finney couldn't figure him.

Finney climbed into the crew cab on Engine 26, buckled the snaps on his coat, turned on his portable radio, and switched it to channel one. Then he slid his arms into the straps of the self-contained breathing apparatus stored behind the seat. He couldn't help it. He loved this s.h.i.t. Getting up in the middle of the night to do who knows what. It was the most interesting job in the world. Anything could be out there waiting for him. Absolutely anything. As they pulled out of the station, he put the strap of his rubber face mask around his neck, screwed the low-pressure hose onto the regulator at his waist, then reached back with his right hand and opened the main valve. The warning bell chattered momentarily as air blew past and freshly energized the system.

Two minutes later they arrived at the location next to the Duwamish Waterway, where the foul-tasting odor of smoke hung in the chill night air. They were definitely about to fight some fire. Good, Finney thought. Love it.

The property was flat, as was all of the land for a couple of miles to the east. Behind them was a huge wooded hillside, West Marginal Way, a little-used four-lane road running along its base. Moments earlier the lieutenant on Engine 27 had taken charge on the radio, giving himself the t.i.tle "Marginal Command," an unfortunate choice of words. Engine 27's driver worked the pump panel, and the third crew member occupied himself dragging a fifty-foot length of four-inch hose toward a hydrant.

"Stick with me!" Sadler said, pointing a finger at Finney as he climbed off the rig.

"Of course."

Sadler opened a side compartment and began slinging his mask while Finney surveyed the buildings. There were two main structures: an older, smaller building to their left, with concrete walls and a flat roof; a newer concrete structure to the right. There was nothing pretty about either building, and the situation was strangely reminiscent of Leary Way, though they weren't going to be shorthanded here. There were already three engines on scene, and Finney could hear more sirens down the road.

Between the buildings and almost directly in front of Engine 26 was a small parking area with a loading dock, two cab-over trucks parked inside the gate. It was in front of this loading area that Engine 11, Engine 27, and Engine 26 had cl.u.s.tered like bees around a concrete chrysanthemum.

Flame licked the inside corner of the building on the loading dock, black smoke crawling up the walls. Like a paste-on eyebrow dangling off a drunken actor, one melted rain gutter hung loose. Two firefighters from one of the other units charged toward the building hauling a line that was rapidly filling with water and would soon slow their progress to a crawl.

Around the eaves of the larger building, dense, black smoke puffed into the night sky. In places it crept out like a wraith, but in others it blew out under pressure as if from an exhaust pipe. It might have been coming from the fire near the loading dock, or it might have been indicative of something worse. "Bowman Pork Products," Finney read off the side of one of the trucks. What could be burning except machinery and bacon fat?

Followed by a small man in a puffy gray ski coat, Lieutenant Parkhurst strode over to them. He'd established himself as incident commander and would be giving orders and a.s.signments until a chief arrived.

"Gary," Lieutenant Parkhurst said, stopping in front of Lieutenant Sadler, who was belting himself into his backpack, "this man says there's a family inside."

"Back of the warehouse," said the man, nodding briskly. He was on the underside of forty and wore baggy black trousers, his ski coat zipped low enough to reveal a bow tie. A tri-colored ski cap covered his brow. "Whole family. I haven't seen them. Not since eight o'clock."

"Okay. Come on," Sadler said, tapping Finney on the shoulder and walking in front of Parkhurst and the civilian. "Let's go."

"How many?" Finney asked, turning to the civilian, who looked vaguely familiar.

"Five. No." He held up six fingers. "Six." His mouth was dry. It sounded like s.e.x s.e.x.

"Where?"

"Back. Way back." He waved at the building. It was obvious he was too wound up to think clearly.

"That's a big place. Where in the back? This end? Where?"

He stepped around in front of Engine 26 and stared at several hundred feet of blank concrete wall. "They're in there," he said, motioning hopelessly.

Together Finney and Sadler shouldered two hundred feet of line from the rear of Engine 11 and dropped a trail of zigzagging hose behind them up a short flight of concrete stairs opposite the loading dock. When Sadler used the heavy, rubber-tipped nozzle to break the gla.s.s out of a door, smoke enveloped them.

The smoke wasn't particularly hot, which meant there would be a lot of survivable s.p.a.ces inside.

48. NITWITS.

Finney tightened the straps on his facepiece, opened the low-pressure valve at his waist, and felt the cool air wash over his face. Believing the fire was nowhere nearby, Gary Sadler dropped the nozzle in the doorway so they could search quickly and without the burden of dragging that heavy hose around corners; they would come back for it later.

Six people living in a factory, probably a family of immigrants, perhaps boat people from Southeast Asia. That hose could slow them down immeasurably, and Finney was glad they'd decided to leave it. A house fire would be one thing, but this place was huge. Their two hundred feet of hose line probably wasn't even enough to reach the fire.

On a bulletin board in the hallway, leftover Halloween decorations had curled in the heat. The smoke quickly became so thick they couldn't see the walls, much less the overhead lights. By rights they should have been crawling, but the building was immense, and if they were going to search it in time to do the inhabitants any good, they needed to move quickly.

"The witness said they were in the back of the building," Finney said, probing the murk with a nine-volt battle lantern.

Intent on doing it room by room, Sadler ignored him. There was no point in quibbling. Sadler wasn't going to listen, and Finney wasn't going to break up their team. They quickly pa.s.sed through several offices, a lunchroom, and what appeared to be a changing room with metal clothing lockers against the walls. The smoke was lighter in these rooms.

They searched a pair of small storage rooms, and when Sadler broke out two windows, the smoke didn't dissipate.

On the main floor Sadler reached the door to another room and said, "You're the outside man. I'm going in."