“And I have the ex-wives to prove it,” Henry said, letting himself out of the ropes and down the short steps. He walked over to help Z instruct the lithe young woman. I admired his commitment.
I spent a half-hour on a treadmill, showered, and changed into my street clothes: Levi’s, black pocket T-shirt, and a pair of tan suede desert boots. As I was headed to the street, a rotund man in a gray sweatshirt whistled for me. He’d been running the dumbbell rack with biceps curls, his fat face flushed and sweaty.
Jack McGee wiped a towel over his neck and said, “Christ, Spenser. I been waiting for you all freakin’ morning.”
“Nice to be needed.”
I shook his wet hand. Jack sweated a lot. He was a short, thick guy with Irish written all over his face. I’d known him for many years, and in the many I’d known him he’d been a Boston firefighter. Being a firefighter was more than a job for Jack, it was a calling.
“I got a problem,” he said. Whispering, although most of Henry’s clients were in the boxing room.
“Superset your bis and tris,” I said. “Work the dumbbells with press-downs.”
“Are you busy with anything right now?”
I shrugged. “I just finished an insurance-fraud case,” I said. “But I’m always on standby for the big S projected into the clouds over Boston.”
“Well, I got a big fucking S for you,” he said. “As in the shit has hit the fan.”
“I’m familiar with that S.”
“There’s this thing.”
“There’s always a thing,” I said.
“Can we talk outside?”
McGee followed me out to my newish blue Explorer. I tossed my gym bag into the back and leaned against the door with my arms folded over my chest. I had worked out hard and my biceps bulged from my T-shirt. I feared if I stood there any longer, I might be accosted by passing women.
“You know about the fire last year?” McGee said.
Everyone knew about the fire last year. Three firefighters had died at an old church in the South End. The funeral Mass had been televised on local TV. There had been an inquiry. I’d never spoken to Jack about it other than to offer my condolences.
“For the last year, I’ve been saying it was arson,” he said. “But no one’s been arrested and I hear things have stalled out. It’s always tomorrow with those guys. And now we’re getting shit burning nearly every night. This city’s got an arsonist loose and no one wants to admit it.”
“You think it’s connected to the church?”
“Damn right,” he said. “But no one is saying shit in the department. I lost my best friend, Pat Dougherty, in that church. We went through the academy together. Then at Engine 33/Ladder 15 for the first three years. Godfather to his kids. Same neighborhood. Jesus, you know.”
I nodded again. I told him I was very sorry.
“Mike Mulligan hadn’t been on the job but six months,” McGee said. “A rake. An open-up man. His dad was a fireman. He was a Marine like me. Saw some shit over in Afghanistan only to come home and get killed.”
I opened up the driver’s door and let the windows down. It was June and the morning had grown warm. No one was complaining. We’d just survived the longest, snowiest winter since Grant was president. “Why do you think the church is connected to the new fires?”
“Call it firemen’s intuition.”
“Got anything more than that?” I said.
“That church wasn’t an accident,” he said. “Everybody knows it. Arson sifted through that shit pile for months. No signs of electrical or accidental. It’s a fucking fire of unknown origin. How’s that sit with Pat’s wife and kids?”
“Arson investigation is a pretty specialized field,” I said. “Most of the clues burn up.”
“I don’t need more samples and microscopes,” he said. “I’ll pay you ’cause you know the worst people in the city. Some scum who’d do something like this. Burn a fucking Catholic church and then keep burning through Southie and the South End until they’re caught.”
“Over the years, I’ve met a few people of questionable breeding.”
“Freakin’ criminals,” Jack said. “I want you to shake the bushes for criminals and find out who set this and why.”
“Follow the money?”
“What else could it be?”
I leaned my forearms against my open door. My caseload had waned over the months while my checking account had fattened. Corporations paid more than people. I had few reasons to spurn the offer. Not to mention Jack McGee was an honorable man who’d asked for help.
“Okay,” I said. “Will you introduce me around?”
“Nope.”
I waited.
“You start making noise at headquarters and the commissioner will have my ass,” he said. “All I need is for the commissioner and the chief to get pissed while I’m doing my last few years. I made captain. Got a pension. I got a great firehouse in the North End. I don’t want to make waves. I just want some answers.”
“No official inquiries?” I said.
“Nope.”
“No pressure on arson investigators?”
“Nope,” Jack said. “You’re going to have to go around your ass to get to your elbow on this one.”