“If the fire was deliberate, then it’s a crime, and the police take over.”
“But you know.”
No, the kid didn’t miss a trick. “I contacted the police because when I inspected the building I found what appears to be signs of forced entry. The smoke detectors were disabled. I found what appear to be multiple points of origin.”
“What’s a point of origin?” Reena asked.
“That means that the fire started in more than one place, and from the burn patterns, from the way the fire marked certain areas of the floor, the walls, the furnishings, and the residue, it appears that gasoline was used as a starter, along with what we call trailers. Other fuel, like newspaper or waxed paper, books of matches. It looks as though someone broke in, set trailers through the dining areas and back to the kitchen. You had more fuel back there: pressurized cans, wood cabinets. The framing throughout, the tables, chairs. Gasoline, most likely, was poured over the floor, the furnishings, splashed on the walls. The fire was already involved by the time Reena went outside.”
“Who would do that? Deliberately do that?” Gib shook his head. “I could see a couple of stupid kids breaking in, messing around, having an accident, but you’re talking about deliberately trying to burn us out—with a family upstairs. Who would do that?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. Is there anyone who has a grudge against you or your family?”
“No. No, God, we’ve lived in this neighborhood for fifteen years. Bianca grew up here. Sirico’s is an institution.”
“A competitor?”
“I know everyone who runs a restaurant in the area. We’re on good terms.”
“A former employee, maybe. Or someone who works for you who you’ve had to reprimand.”
“Absolutely not. I can swear to it.”
“Someone you or one of your family, or one of your employees, argued with? A customer?”
Gib rubbed his hands over his face, then pushed up to walk to the window. “No one. No one I can think of. We’re a family place. We get some complaints now and then, you can’t run a restaurant without them. But nothing that would send off something like this.”
“Could be one of your employees had an altercation, even outside the job. I’ll want a list of their names. They’ll need to be interviewed.”
“Dad.”
“Not now, Reena. We’ve tried to be good neighbors, and to run the place the way Bianca’s parents did. Modernized the system, some, but it’s the same heart, you know?” There was grief in his voice, but smoking through it was anger.
“It’s a solid place. You work at it hard enough, you make a good living. I don’t know anybody who’d do this to us, or to it.”
“We’ve had calls from neighbors all morning,” Bianca put in as the phone rang again. “I have our oldest girl answering the phone for us. People telling us how sorry they are, offering to help. To clean up, to bring food, to help rebuild. I grew up here. I grew up in Sirico’s. People love Gib. Especially Gib. You’d have to hate to do this, wouldn’t you? No one hates us.”
“Joey Pastorelli hates me.”
“Catarina.” Bianca passed a weary hand over her face. “Joey doesn’t hate you. He’s just a bully.”
“Why do you say he hates you?” John wanted to know.
“He knocked me down and hit me, and tore my shirt. He called me a name, but nobody will tell me what it means. Xander and his friends saw, and they came to help, and Joey ran away.”
“He’s a rough kid,” Gib put in. “And it was . . .” He looked into John’s eyes, and something passed between them Reena didn’t understand. “It was upsetting. He should have counseling at the least. But he’s twelve. I don’t think a twelve-year-old broke in and did what you said was done.”
“It’s worth looking into. Reena, you said you thought you heard the Pastorellis’ dog when you were sitting outside.”
“I think it was him. He’s kind of scary, and has a hard