Borderlines by Archer Mayor

house, mike hand.
    Once again, I thought back to the mess I’d left behind in attleboro.
    Much of our troubles during that investigation had mmed from the overheated media attention, and the predictable litical response to it.
    It suddenly looked like I might be headed for re of the same.
    My fears increased as I listened to the report. The fire was dubbed ysterious,” despite Jonathon Michael’s statement that while his dings were not final, he’d found nothing suspicious about the cause the fire. The camera lingered on the gaping hole in the roof as the orter pondered the significance of the “unexplained explosion” that d almost killed two firemen, followed by some neighboring Fire Chief o said that flashover explosions were a common occurrence in struce fires. The portable water pump was the next focus of attention, with its w dramatically drained oil reservoir, which one local firefighter I n’t recognize called “real strange”-an assessment with which I uldn’t argue.
    Finally, there was a long shot of several State Police isers parked alongside the road and a close-up of the “Police Line Not Cross” ribbon around the house, as the voice-over by young enda Starr stressed that a full investigation was “being launched in zs case.” Greta, still perched on her stool, hit the off button and picked me from across the room. “What do you think, Joe?” To the bottom of my soul, I wanted to be somewhere else. “It’s lly inappropriate for me to say anything.
    It’s an ongoing case; the st thing is to wait for the final report.” “So there is something suspicious about it.” Another voice imed in.
    I held up both my hands. “No, hold it.” I walked over to behind e bar, which was elevated slightly above the rest of the floor. “As far I know, this was an accidental fire, caused by someone falling against rickety old stove that shouldn’t have been lit in the first place.” “The guy was dead before he hit the stove.” I played dumb, although I was amazed the way these things seemed impossible to contain.
    “That’s news to me.” The man speaking was the fireman who had panicked at the front door of the burning house-Paul somebody. “I saw him when they carried him out. He had his arms up like this.” He postured in a boxer’s pose.
    “Like he was fighting someone when he bought it.” “That happens in a hot fire; the flames contract the muscles and bring the arms up.” “Well, I heard it from one of the State Police, too.” “And what about that pump?
    Somebody must have drained it,” another voice added.
    Greta joined in. “I heard the Wingates were arrested for suspicion. I saw them being driven away.” I banged a glass on the counter like a gavel. “All right, all right.
    Let me tell you how it works, okay? First of all, nobody outside Hollywood gets arrested for suspicion. The Wingates were taken somewhere for questioning, and they were taken voluntarily. If they hadn’t agreed to go, they’d still be here.” “Oh, sure, and if they hadn’t agreed to go, they’d look guilty as hell.” “You don’t look guilty because you don’t cooperate: You look guilty because the facts weigh against you, and it takes a little time to accumulate those facts. Come on, now. I bet a dozen people in this room were questioned by the police today.” A few heads nodded.
    “So why take them away?” Greta persisted, an edge to her voice. I knew they weren’t going to like this one. “Probably because they agreed to a lie detector test.” There was a predictable hubbub. The double doors opened and a few more people squeezed into the room. I hoped I could get this over with before word spread too far. Greta began to warm her jets. “A lie detector test? And you say there’s no suspicion?” “I said you couldn’t be arrested for suspicion. Be reasonable, Greta, you saw the fight. The police have to consider the possibility that Wingate returned to the house later.” “I talked to