Page 76 of On Fire

“They’re afraid—” I start to say.

The van explodes.

The repercussions go up my legs and nearly drop us all to our knees. The shock to the sternum leaves me breathless and for a moment I have a quick flashback—not to the quarry bombing—I was too delirious to understand what was happening—but to Afghanistan and Croatia.

Though fleeting and over in a blink of any eye, for a moment I can’t tell if I’m feeling hot or cold, or where I am: steamy Maine or Afghan winter.

Then Keller’s engine makes its move onto the site. Firefighters run from the engine. The truck rolls up behind it and then to the other side, as officers and agents exit cars.

Flames reach to the sky and black smoke billows from the wreckage.

The chaos is from the bits of metal and charred remains. It seems like within minutes Keller’s unit has the fire out, and the more foam and water they spray, the blacker the smoke.

There has to be a fear of another explosion.

Most stay back, but not Keller or his team. They are in it, trying to be thorough about extinguishing the fire and yet protective of evidence. Jackson says he’ll be right back and goes over to speak with Keller as Finn walks between cars to find Carlson.

Bryce and Mateus will be sidelined by the bomb squad, but at this point, the two have earned the squad’s respect and hopefully information will be shared. ATF sets down a helicopter.

I catch Keller’s glance when Jackson speaks with him. Jackson’s need to find out the why of this is compelling, but I’m afraid is a waste of time and energy. I had my own suspicions about Mark Graham’s death, and I’m pretty sure I was right: Jim killed him. It’s irrelevant why. Why did he blow up buildings? Why would he want to kill four men in a steel room?

Because he was sick. He had mental health issues. And now he’s dead.

I don’t know what more I can do at the moment. The heat is intense from the fire and the day. Inland, the temperatures are a good ten degrees hotter than along the coast. Then Carlson calls me over to discuss Jackson’s findings. Keller doesn’t catch the second fleeting look I send him, so instead, I text:

See you at home.

See you at home. A sentence many people write to each other, say to each other, but for me it’s a special reminder that Dave Keller is my boyfriend. His house feels like my home, with doilies, braided rugs, trinkets, and all.

I follow Jackson to Carlson’s Volvo and I can tell Jackson can’t wait to tell him what he’s discovered. Even so, it’s a long, meandering conversation because Carlson’s also doing triage between five or six law enforcement agencies. It’s like air traffic control in a tiny sweaty passenger area with Jackson in the front seat this time and me in the back.

After about twenty interruptions, Jackson gets his story out.

“Interesting. Do you want me to get the detective’s report? It’s old, but it’ll be on file.” Carlson’s phone vibrates. He checks who it is and slides it in his pocket.

Jackson is incredulous. “Jesus, how long do you hold files?”

“Sixty-five years.”

“Oh, so they’re digital.”

“Nope,” Carlson says.

Jackson balks for a moment.

“You gotta sift through paper, young man.” Carlson winks and we are done.

As we all climb back out of the stifling little car, Jackson bolts over to the scene to see if he can help.

I catch Carlson for a moment longer. “I’m not sure it’s important anymore. If he killed his brother or not. I was hoping to get some kind of idea about where he might go or who he might turn to if we understood more about the brother’s death. I was thinking in terms of trauma. Not about culpability.”

Carlson turns, one hand on the car door and then he slams it. “Motive always matters,” is all he says.

In most cases, I’d agree. But not here. Not with Jimmy Graham. Hate is a motive and trying to understand it is beyond me right now.

΅

Jackson and I end up back at The Inn waiting for everyone else to show up. Finn says it will be another couple of hours at least. I need to grab some take-out for Keller. He’s been on his feet forever and will need to be fed. I’ll ask Chloe if I can pay her for a to-go bag. I know Kelly, the owner of Weavers General Store, offers free food to first responders, but the place is closed now.