Page 72 (1/2)

BURN, BURN, YES YA GONNA BURN (REDUX)

Even though most of the Jewell house was already gone, flames still shot into the dark sky. Flas.h.i.+ng fire-truck lights added to the visuals, the mixed illumination coloring snowflakes that dropped straight down like slow-motion rain. In the dark isolation of the Jewell property, the place felt like an island of light surrounded by an infinite black ocean.

Hoses from the trucks poured water onto the burning house, turning the yard into a slushy mess filled with cinders and mud. A lead on a triangle case taking him to a house on fire? Gosh, Dew thought, what a surprise. If he’d come as soon as they reached g.a.y.l.o.r.d, he’d probably have the Jewells in custody right now. Instead, Dew had a feeling all he’d get would be more corpses for Margaret’s collection.

Margaret. She was a mess. Amos had gone out hard. The longer she stayed in this business, in the secret land of the Murray Longworths and the Dew Phillipses, the more she’d understand s.h.i.+t like that was inevitable. He wondered if she’d block it out, or if someday in the future she’d be telling her own war stories.

Dew looked at Perry, who stood expressionless, watching the fire. What was going on in that big melon of his? Three days since they’d tussled, and Perry really seemed to have come around. Looked like Margaret was right again. Dew hoped it was a genuine change. As f.u.c.ked up as it sounded, and it sounded d.a.m.n f.u.c.ked up, he was starting to like the kid.

Dew nudged Perry. “You feel anything?”

Perry shook his head. “Just that gray feeling. Something else is there, but I can’t lock onto it.”

“How about that other feeling?” Dew asked. “The one where they’re mounting the fourth-quarter comeback?”

“Yeah,” Perry said. “I still feel that. Only now it’s stronger.”

A man wearing fireman’s gear stomped through the slush toward them. “You Dew Phillips?”

Dew nodded and offered his hand.

“Brandon Jastrowski. The police chief said I need to help you guys in any way.” Brandon looked at Perry, then offered his hand. “And you are?”

Perry looked at Dew. Dew nodded.

“Perry Dawsey,” Perry said, shaking the offered hand.

“Dawsey? Scary Perry Dawsey?”

Perry nodded.

“Holy s.h.i.+t,” Brandon said. “A real pleasure to meet you. Used to love watching you play. Oh how I hate Ohio State, am I right?”

Perry nodded again.

“And what was up with all that murder stuff in the news a few months back?”

“Mistaken ident.i.ty,” Dew said. “Perry’s working for the government now. What’s the deal with the house? Any bodies?”

“Unfortunately, there are,” Brandon said. “Adult male, adult female and a child, maybe seven to ten years old. Probably Bobby and Candy Jewell—they owned the place—and their daughter, Chelsea.”

“Probably?”

“Bodies are in bad shape,” Brandon said. “All three were in the kitchen, where the fire started. Definitely arson, no question. And some major foul play. The woman has a hole in her skull, likely a gunshot to the back of the head.”

“We need the bodies,” Dew said.