Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn (Spenser, #44)(50)

“Still doesn’t mean dick.”

“What else do we have?”

“Dick,” he said.

“Two years ago, Donovan was accused of stealing electronics from a tony private school in Watertown,” I said. “They couldn’t prove anything. But later, he slapped a kid across the face and was charged with assault. Before any of this went to court, the victim’s home burned and all charges were dropped.”

“Okay,” he said. “Keep going.”

I handed him a file on Johnny Donovan. I asked him to pull the fire records from Watertown. I showed him several photos of the three having a grand time at different arsons. “I don’t know the identity of the third man in the picture.”

Cahill studied the pic and shook his head. Two women in sports bras and running shorts jogged briskly past us. Our train of thought was momentarily interrupted. Even Galway lifted her old head to stare. “Maybe it’s Orson Welles.”

“Donovan’s been arrested for some other stuff,” I said. “He was charged three times in Western Mass for impersonating a cop.”

“Wait a second,” Cahill said. “Wait a second. What’s this bastard’s name again?”

“Donovan,” I said. “Johnny Donovan. Jack said he had some trouble with him before. He banned him from the firehouse. He once yelled at Jack at a fire for not following procedure.”

Cahill nodded, thinking on it, remembering a grain of something. He took the leash off Galway and let her trot around in the open grass. Galway took a leak beside a small tree and walked into the wide-open space of the park, sniffing the summer air.

“So you got a wannabe and a nutso,” he said. “What’s in it for them? Usually guys like that rush in fast and try to save the day. Be heroes. They didn’t. Why set the fires?”

I shrugged. “That’s where it gets murky,” I said. “Motive.”

“Any witnesses to put them at the scenes before the fires?” he said. “Did you find them with any of the equipment used in making these devices?”

“These guys aren’t MIT students,” I said. “They’ll trip up.”

“Are you watching them?” Cahill said.

I nodded. “Given our situation, Jack and I thought we might join forces.”

Galway trotted back from her journey. She panted and lay down on the grass by the park bench. The Little League game sounded in the distance. It was a warm, sunny afternoon filled with possibilities.

“Let me have the pictures,” Cahill said. “I can get our guys to go back to some witnesses.”

“Maybe I could dig around at Donovan’s place,” I said.

“Just don’t screw it up,” Cahill said. “If these bastards are our guys, we got to get it on the level. A good clean search with a warrant.”

I nodded. Cahill sighed and reached down to rub Galway’s ears.

“You know, I thought I really had something yesterday. A security camera not far from the second fire the night your apartment burned. That bigger fire, down in the South End, that sent some of our boys to the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“Property owner won’t give it up.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “I mean, it’s a freakin’ flower shop in the South End. What are we gonna do, steal ideas for anniversary arrangements?”

“Can’t you force them?”

“It’s private property,” he said. “I tried to talk straight to one of the gentlemen who runs it. He claims the camera is busted. I asked for anything the camera had anyway, and he tells me to contact his lawyer. Next thing I know, I get a call from an attorney talking about harassment. I mean, what the hell?”

With great effort, Galway got to her feet and snuffled over to me. She sniffed at my pant leg and her tail began to wag. I figured she’d caught scent of Miss Pearl.

“Maybe I can help.”

“Are you talking about something illegal or unethical?”

I smiled. “Goodness, no.”





We can leave it all alone,” Johnny Donovan said. “Or we can double the f*ck down and do the job we agreed to do.”

Big Ray reached for a donut and took a huge bite in an effort to stay silent. Johnny watched him for a moment and then turned to Kevin. Kevin took a cool sip of water and waited. He knew Johnny was cracking a bit. He just hoped he’d hold it together in case someone saw them gathered at the Scandinavian Pastry shop.

“This is it,” Johnny said. “Draw the f*cking line. Teach those bastards a lesson. This is the twenty-first century. You can’t run a department with no freakin’ money. Old equipment and jalopy trucks. Action. We need action.”

“That guy you told me about,” Kevin said. He didn’t want to tell but had to tell him. “The investigator? He came to me at work. He started asking me what I’d seen at these fires. Asked me a lot about the church in the South End. And he asked me if you and I were friends.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Big Ray stopped chewing. He just cut his eyes from left to right where Kevin and Johnny sat side by side. He was dressed in civilian clothes tonight. They had plans for a couple places in Brighton just to expand their territory, let the department know that no neighborhood was safe.