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

“In the car,” she said. “We’re in your office.”


Belson grinned and puffed out a big batch from his fifty-cent cigar. I reached over and turned on my desk fan.

“Three men,” I said. “My associate and I watched film for so long we could’ve seen a double feature of Fanny and Alexander.”

Glass looked to Belson. “That’s a Swedish movie, Frank. It runs long.”

Belson smoked his cigar and ignored us.

“Young guy named Kevin Teehan,” I said. “He’s a part-timer with the fire department in Blackburn. And an older guy, another fire nut named Johnny Donovan. Donovan is self-employed. He was fired from his last job at a private school for theft and for slapping a kid. The kid’s parents filed charges, and a short time later, their house just happened to catch on fire.”

“And now we have Big Ray,” Glass said.

“The Three Caballeros.”

Belson puffed on his cigar and the smoke scattered in the fan on my desk. “Donald Duck,” he said. “I seen that one.”

I pointed to him with my index finger and dropped my thumb.

“We’ll bring in Zucco for an unofficial talk,” Glass said. “Maybe just ask him a few questions about Rob Featherstone? Talk to him as one cop to another about Donovan and Teehan. Make these guys a little nervous. I think you’re right, Spenser, but it’s not enough for a warrant.”

“I thought I had something.”

“What happened?” Glass said.

“Turns out the owner of that something wasn’t a fan of mine.”

“Now, that’s a shock,” Belson said.

I stretched my legs and recrossed them at the ankle. “What about Donovan?” I said.

Belson and Glass exchanged glances. Belson nodded. “We’ll bring him, too.”

“Any chance you might put that off for a few hours?” I said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Donovan in person and get a feel for his stellar personality.”

Glass thought on it and nodded. “I’m really sorry about your building,” she said. “But if you kick the crap out of him, he might grow uncooperative. I wouldn’t push him too far.”

“Belson can vouch for my occasional subtlety and restraint.”

She looked to Belson and Belson reached up and crushed the end of the cigar in a coffee mug on my desk. He flicked off the ash with his thumb and blew out any remnants of smoke. Satisfied it was out, he tucked it back into his pocket.

“You squeeze Donovan and we’ll work on Ray Zucco,” Belson said. He turned to Glass. “Don’t worry. Spenser will do what he says.”

“I started to control my impulses just as soon as my knuckles stopped dragging on the ground.”

“These are our guys?” Glass said.

I nodded.

“Maybe if we make them nervous, at least they’ll stop burning the city,” Glass said.

“One would hope,” I said.





50


I caught Johnny Donovan at his office trailer in Southie, where he was polishing his cherry-red Chevy Blazer. I parked outside the meager gates and walked into the lot. He was wearing knee-high rubber boots and holding a dirty rag. Two teenage boys worked on the chrome wheels.

As I got closer, I noticed they were identical twins with blond hair and freckled faces. One of them toted a dirty bucket of suds. They looked up at me but continued to polish the chief’s vehicle. Nice to see dedication to such a good man like Johnny.

“Missed a spot, Johnny,” I said. “There’s bird crap on your windshield.”

Donovan just stood there, staring at me. He tossed the dirty rag onto the hood of the car and walked off into a tiny metal building. I looked at the boys. They continued to ignore me and furiously worked on the wheels. Spit and polish.

I followed Donovan into the trailer. He met me halfway, with maybe a foot between us.

“Get the fuck outta here or I’m calling the cops.”

“I think that’s a grand idea,” I said. “Call them.”

His eyes flicked up and down. He didn’t say anything. I could hear the ragged breathing of a man not in very good shape. His skin was pasty and he had an unpleasant odor about him. Standing toe to toe made his troll-like features even more pronounced.

“My name is Spenser,” I said.

“I know who you are,” he said. “And what you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You’re trying to frame me for burning that church,” he said. “You took the word of Featherstone before he killed himself. Guy had mental problems. Maybe you need to take a look at him. What kind of grown man plays with fucking trains like some retard?”

“Hard to shoot yourself in the back of the head,” I said. “Twice.”

“Huh?”

“And I never said I was asking about the church.”

“You went out to bother Kevin Teehan at his place of work,” he said. “Featherstone never liked either of us. He couldn’t stand that we didn’t want to be Sparks. That we knew more than all those freaks combined. We support the firefighters on our own without all that silly club they’re into.”

“Teehan said he never met you.”

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