Play with Fire

chapter Seven





RON SHUMAKER, THE lead detective on the church arson/murder case, had a beat-up desk in the detective’s bullpen at Duluth police headquarters. Around the big room other detectives, men and women, were typing, drinking coffee, checking e-mail, or reading the paper – when they weren’t throwing covert glances toward Shumaker’s two visitors, who were said to be a couple of feds from out of town.

With his button-down shirt and tweed sport coat, Shumaker came across more like a college professor then somebody who’d been a cop for nineteen years. The black-rimmed glasses he wore didn’t hide the bags under his eyes, however. Ron Shumaker looked as if he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time.

He pushed a thick manila file across the desk toward Agents Fenton and O’Donnell. “You’re welcome to look it over, but I can’t let you take it out of the building or copy it – the chief would have my ass. If you want to spend some time on it without being disturbed, I can probably find you an interrogation room that nobody’s using.”

Unknown to Shumaker, agents O’Donnell and Fenton had already seen a copy of the case file. But that had been three days ago, and a lot can happen in an investigation during that length of time.

“Maybe it’ll save us some time if you can just answer a couple of questions,” Fenton said.

Shumaker gave a tired shrug. “Ask away.”

“For starters,” O’Donnell said, “the forensic evidence about the perps currently amounts to shit, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Of course, they did burn down the f*cking building, which makes it kind of hard to identify hair, fiber, fingerprints, all that. The arson squad wrote up a report about the stuff they used to create the blaze – that’s in the file, for what it’s worth.”

“There’s no shortage of snow around here, this time of year,” O’Donnell said. “Any useful footprints?”

“Not one. We hadn’t had any precip for a couple of days before this all went down, so the stuff on the ground was hard-packed into ice.”

“Eyewitnesses?” Fenton asked.

“At five in the morning? Not likely, in that neighborhood. Nobody even knew there was a fire, until a passing patrol car saw the flames coming through the roof.”

“How about nuts calling up after the fact, taking credit, if that’s the word,” O’Donnell said. “Any of those?”

“Yeah we had a couple of confessions. None of them could answer questions about the means of ignition, the mutilations, or anything else that wasn’t on the news. Nuts – like you said.”

Fenton leaned back, the chair he’d borrowed creaking in protest. “What do you think, Detective? Were these locals? You guys must keep tabs on the local hate groups.”

“Yeah, we worked our snitches among the local skinheads and KKK types. Came up empty.”

“You’ve got the Klan, way up here?” Fenton asked.

“Oh, sure – the local Klavern, if that’s what they call it, consists of four guys and two of their girlfriends. Those clowns couldn’t organize a barbeque, let along something like what happened at St. Bart’s. And besides–” Shumaker hesitated.

“Besides, what?” O’Donnell asked him.

“I’m trying to think how to put this,” Shumaker said. “If it had happened at a local synagogue, or the one mosque we have in town, I could kind of understand it. I mean, there’s a*sholes who hate Jews – everybody knows that. Other idiots hate Moslems, especially since 9/11. But nobody around here’s pissed off at the Catholic Church. Not that pissed off, anyway.”

“But as you’ve suggested, they might not be locals,” O’Donnell said. “Which raises the question – why Duluth? There’s Catholic churches in pretty much every city and town in the country.”

“A better question,” Shumaker said, “is why anybody would do that to a priest before burning the church down around him. Somebody’s got a lot of hate going – and before you ask, we checked to see if Father Middleton had any enemies. Didn’t find a thing. The guy was a priest, for cryin’ out loud – and not the kind who f*cks altar boys, either.”

“Maybe it wasn’t personal at all,” O’Donnell said slowly. “Maybe any Catholic priest in Duluth would do.”

Shumaker stared at her. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “Just something that needs thinking about. Forget it for now.”

“If we assume the perps weren’t local,” Fenton said, “then how did they get there? To the church, I mean.”

Shumaker shrugged. “Drove, I suppose, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody saw a car parked near the church – we asked that when canvassing the neighborhood.”

“But you’re assuming there was a car, right?” Fenton said.

“Either that, or they walked. But being on foot means it takes too long to clear the neighborhood, once the fire’s started. So, yeah – they probably drove. So what?”

“So, if they’re not local, and they had a car,” Fenton said, “where’d they get it?”