“Okay,” Cahill said. “I’m listening.”
“Listening?” McGee said. “Holy Christ. He’s listening. Spenser got you the first hot lead on this thing and you’re fucking listening.”
“Shut up, Jack,” Cahill said.
“Shut up?” McGee said. He walked up too close to Cahill, breathing hard in and out of his nose. I stood and put a light hand on McGee’s shoulder. He looked to me and then back to Cahill.
He then shook his head and walked off down a path.
“You can see why Jack’s been a pain in my ass over the last year?” Cahill said.
“He means well.”
We watched him follow a path back to where he’d parked. I hoped he’d wait in the car. I’d ridden with him down to the park.
“I pulled some video from a local TV station,” I said. “After a couple days, I detected some patterns and strange behavior.”
“How strange?”
“One of these guys pulled a pistol out like he was going to fire it in the air,” I said. “Another one of them, the one with the Shaggy goatee, took a bunch of selfies with the fires. It was like they were all watching a rock concert.”
“Names?”
“Young guy is Kevin Teehan,” I said. “High school dropout, works at the Home Depot in Somerville, and is a part-timer with the fire department in Blackburn. He claims he put in an application with you guys but won’t make the cut because he’s neither black nor a woman.”
“That’s bullshit,” Cahill said.
“Yep,” I said. “He also told me he’d never heard of a guy named Johnny Donovan.”
“Who the fuck is Johnny Donovan?”
I flipped through the pages of the screen grabs. I selected the one I wanted and showed him the still. “The guy he’s got an arm around in this pic. Unless he’s just overly friendly, they appear to be good pals.”
“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?”