Panic(36)

“Dodge,” Dodge said. “Dodge Mason.”

Sadowski had taken a seat behind his desk. He made a big show of shuffling around some papers, grinning like an idiot, twirling a pen and leaning back in his chair. All casual. But Dodge noticed that he had Dodge’s name written down on a piece of white paper.

“Right. Right. Dodge. Hard to forget. So what can I do you for, Dodge?”

Dodge wasn’t buying the village idiot act, not for a second. Officer Sadowski’s eyes were narrow and smart. His jaw was like a right triangle. He’d be a mean old bastard when he felt like it.

“I’m here to talk about the fire,” Dodge said. “I figured you’d want to talk to me eventually.”

It had been two days since Dodge had woken up in the hospital. Two days of waiting for the knock on the door, for the cops to show up and start grilling him. The waiting, the ticking feeling of anxiety, was worse than anything.

So earlier that morning he’d woken with a resolution: he wouldn’t wait anymore.

“You’re the young man who left the hospital on Saturday morning, aren’t you?” Right. As though he’d forgotten. “We just missed talking to you. Why’d you run off in such a hurry?”

“My sister . . . needs help.” He realized, belatedly, he shouldn’t have mentioned his sister. It would only lead to bad places.

But Sadowski seized on it. “What kind of help?”

“She’s in a wheelchair,” Dodge said, with some effort. He hated saying the words out loud. It made them seem more real, and final.

Sadowski nodded sympathetically. “That’s right. She was in a car accident a few years ago, wasn’t she?”

Dick. So the village idiot thing was a trick. He’d done his homework. “Yup,” Dodge said.

He thought Sadowski would ask him more about it, but he just shook his head and muttered, “Shame.”

Dodge started to relax. He took a sip of water. He was glad he’d come. It probably made him look confident. He was confident.

Then Sadowski said, abruptly, “You ever heard of a game called Panic, Dodge?”

Dodge was glad he’d already finished swallowing, so he couldn’t choke. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never had too many friends around here.”

“You have a few friends,” Sadowski said. Dodge didn’t know what he was getting at. He consulted his page of notes again. “Heather Nill. Natalie Velez. Someone must have invited you to that party.”

That was the story that had gone around: a party in the Graybill House. A bunch of kids getting together to smoke weed, drink booze, freak one another out. Then: a stray spark. An accident. The blame was spread around that way, couldn’t be pinned to anyone specific.

Of course, Dodge knew it was all bullshit. Someone had lit the place up, deliberately. It was part of the challenge.

“Well, yeah. Them. But they’re not friends friends.” Dodge felt himself blushing. He wasn’t sure whether he’d been caught in a lie.

Sadowski made a noise in the back of his throat Dodge didn’t know how to interpret. “Why don’t you tell me all about it? In your own words, at your own pace.”

Dodge told him, speaking slowly, so he wouldn’t screw it up, but not too slowly, so he wouldn’t seem nervous. He told Sadowski he’d been invited by Heather; there’d been rumors of a keg party, but when he got there he found out it was pretty lame, and there was hardly any booze at all. He definitely hadn’t been drinking. (He congratulated himself on thinking of this—he wouldn’t get busted for anything, period.)

Sadowski interrupted him only once. “So why the closed room?”

Dodge was startled. “What?”

Sadowski only pretended to glance down at the report. “The fire chiefs had to break down the door to get to you and the girl—Heather. Why’d you go off with her if the party was raging somewhere else?”

Dodge kept his hands on his thighs. He didn’t even blink. “I told you, the party was lame. Besides, I was kind of hoping . . .” He trailed off suggestively, raising his eyebrows.

Sadowski got it. “Ah. I see. Go on.”

There wasn’t much else to tell; Dodge told him he must have fallen asleep next to Heather. The next thing he knew, they heard people running and smelled smoke. He didn’t mention Nat. No need to explain how she’d known to direct the firemen to the back of the house, unless he was asked.

For a while after Dodge finished talking, they sat in silence. Sadowski appeared to be doodling, but Dodge knew this, too, was an act. He’d heard everything.

Finally Officer Sadowski sighed, set down his pen, and rubbed his eyes. “It’s tough shit, Dodge. Tough shit.”

Dodge said nothing.

Sadowski went on. “Bill Kelly was—is—a friend. He was on the force. Little Kelly went to Iraq. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Not really,” Dodge said.

Sadowski stared at him. “I’m saying we’re going to figure out exactly what happened that night. And if we find out the fire was started on purpose . . .” He shook his head. “That’s homicide, Dodge.”

Dodge’s throat was dry. But he forced himself not to look away. “It was an accident,” he said. “Wrong place, wrong time.”