He hurriedly yanked on high boots and a long leather coat as the other firemen did the same. He grabbed his red leather helmet with its gold badge on the front that gave the number of the engine company and clapped it on his head. Two of the other men were already bringing out the horses and hitching teams to the pumpers and hook-and-ladder wagons. Lieutenant Driscoll didn't have to shout orders; the men of Engine Company Twenty-one all knew their jobs and performed them smoothly and efficiently.
Cole swung up onto one of the pumpers. Patsy had already mounted the driver's seat and taken the reins. Several more men clambered onto the narrow ledge that ran around the outside of the pumper. They held on tightly to brass grab bars as Patsy whipped the team into motion and sent the pumper lurching forward. It rolled out through the big open doors of the firehouse and swung toward the waterfront, picking up speed.
****
The smell of the smoke was probably the thing he hated worst. Cole would have thought that he'd be used to it after all this time, but he wasn't. The sharp, acrid stench still bothered him and probably always would. He coughed wearily as he rolled up one of the fire hoses.
The flames had been extinguished, but not before they had completely consumed one of Garrett Ingersoll's warehouses and a couple of smaller neighboring buildings that had housed an office and a shop. At least the blaze hadn't been too widespread; there was that to be thankful for, Cole told himself.
Unfortunately, at the moment Ingersoll wasn't very thankful for anything, not even the fact that no one had been killed or seriously injured in the fire. The slender businessman was dashing around and cursing at the rubble of the burned-out warehouse. His clothes were disheveled and stained with soot, his hair was askew, and there were streaks of ash on his face. He didn't look much like the dapper clubman that he usually did.
Ingersoll turned to Chief Sullivan, who had come to watch his men at work. "It was arson, I tell you!" Ingersoll exploded. "What are you going to do about this, Chief?"
"We're already investigating to see if we can determine the cause of the fire," Sullivan told him patiently. "We always do that, Mr. Ingersoll. You know that."
Ingersoll ran his fingers through his hair, making it even wilder. "Do you realize how much money this blaze is going to cost me?" he demanded.
"At least it didn't cost anyone's life," Sullivan replied. Cole could tell that the chief was making an effort to hold on to his temper. He could understand that; Garrett Ingersoll's arrogance was enough to get on anyone's nerves, even under the best of circumstances.
Cole hung the hose on the pumper and then drifted over to join Ingersoll and Sullivan. Ingersoll glanced at him and curled his lip in a sneer. "Well, there's the millionaire fireman," he said. "I suppose you're glad this wasn't one of your warehouses that burned down, Brady."
"I lost one last week," Cole said quietly. "You can go look at what's left of it two blocks up the waterfront if you want to, Garrett."
Ingersoll shook his head. "I remember. But that building was empty, wasn't it? Mine was full. Packed to the rafters with merchandise, in fact." He scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "My insurance premiums are going to be astronomical after this."
"I'm sorry," Cole said.
Ingersoll looked at him shrewdly. "Mighty lucky for you that your warehouse was empty when it burned down. Mighty lucky."
Cole frowned and said sharply, "What do you mean by—"
He was interrupted by Lieutenant Driscoll, who came hurrying up to Sullivan carrying a charred, misshapen lump of metal. "Look at this, Chief," the lieutenant said. "We found it around back, in the alley next to the building."
Sullivan held out his gloved hands and took the lump of metal. He turned it over and studied it for a moment before saying, "It's a tin kerosene can—or what's left of one."
"That's right," Driscoll said. 'There are a couple more back there just like it."
Ingersoll pointed a finger at the melted can. "I told you this fire was deliberately set!" he said. "What more proof do you need?"
Sullivan frowned. "I admit that finding evidence of an accelerant looks suspicious, but it doesn't really prove anything, Mr. Ingersoll. We don't know that someone emptied these cans around your warehouse and then set it afire."
"Then why else would they be there?" Ingersoll asked angrily.
The chief just shook his head. He couldn't answer that.
Ingersoll had a point, Cole thought. Of course, the cans could have been empty to start with and could have simply been discarded in the alley. They couldn't be considered absolute proof of anything.
"Chief Sullivan, I think ye'd better take a listen to this feller."
Cole turned and saw that Patsy O'Flaherty had led an elderly Chinese gentleman up to the group. The man's face was smooth despite his obvious age. He wore a round cap and a long queue down his back. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his cheap cotton jacket.
"What is it, O'Flaherty?" Chief Sullivan asked.
Patsy jerked a thumb at the Chinese man. "This gent came up to me and told me he seen somebody pourin' somethin' out around the walls o' the buildin' that burned down."
"I told you!" Ingersoll practically howled.