Bread (87th Precinct) Read Online Free PDF Page B

traces of chemicals—anything that would have caused delayed ignition. But he had not noticed the hanging extension cord, and the only thing Carella could assume was that Parker had been too intent on his vacation to spot what could easily have been a primitive but highly effective incendiary device. He had investigated too many arsons in the past (and he was sure Parker had as well) where the fires had been started by wrapping an electric light bulb in wool, rayon, or chiffon, and then suspending it over a pile of highly inflammable material such as movie film, cotton, excelsior, or simple wood shavings.
    With Reardon at his elbow, Carella, still frowning, walked across the room to the light switch near the entrance door. The toggle was in the oN position. This meant that the arsonist, working with a flashlight in the dark, could have screwed in his extension cord, hung his light bulb over the prepared nest of combustibles, walked to the door, turned on the light switch, and left the building—secure that he’d have a merry conflagration in a short period of time.
    “Anybody dust this light switch?” he asked Reardon.
    “What?”
    “Did any of the lab technicians examine this switch for fingerprints?”
    “Gee, I don’t know,” Reardon said. “Why?”
    Carella reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a sheaf of evidence tags. From his side pocket, and musing on the fact that a cop in the field is a walking stationery store, he removed a small roll of Scotch tape. He yanked one of the evidence tags from under the rubber band holding the stack together and then Scotch-taped it, top and bottom, over the light switch. “Somebody’ll be here later,” he told Reardon. “Leave this just the way it is.”
    “Okay,” Reardon said. He looked puzzled.
    “Mind if I use your phone?”
    “On the wall outside,” Reardon said. “Near the clock.”
    Carella went out into the corridor. Scribbled onto the wall in pencil alongside the phone were the names and numbers of Reardon’s counterparts, Lockhart and Barnes. Carella dialed the Police Laboratory downtown on High Street and spoke to a lab assistant named Jeff Warren, telling him what he thought and requesting that somebody come to the warehouse to dust the switch. Warren told him they were up to their asses at the moment with a pile of dirty clothes from a suspected murderer’s apartment, going through it all for laundry and dry-cleaning marks, and he doubted anybody could get up there before morning. Carella told him to do the best he could, hung up, and fished in his pocket for another dime. He found only three quarters, and asked Reardon if he had any change. Reardon gave him two dimes and a nickel, and Carella dialed Lockhart’s number from the penciled scrawl on the warehouse wall.
    Lockhart sounded sleepy when he answered the phone. Carella belatedly remembered that he was dealing with a night watchman and instantly apologized for having awakened him. Lockhart said he hadn’t been asleep and asked what Carella wanted. Carella told him he was investigating the Grimm fire and would appreciate talking to him and Barnes if the three of them could get together sometime later in the afternoon. They agreed on 3:00, and Lockhart said he would call Barnes to tell him about the meeting. Carella thanked him and hung up. Reardon was still at his elbow.
    “Yes?” Carella said.
    “They won’t be able to tell you anything,” Reardon said. “The other cop already talked to them.”
    “Have any idea what they said?”
    “Me? How would I know?”
    “I thought they were friends of yours.”
    “Well, they relieve me every night, but that’s about it.”
    “What’ve you got here?” Carella asked. “Three shifts?”
    “Just two,” Reardon said. “Eight in the morning till eight at night, and vice versa.”
    “Those are long shifts,” Carella said.
    Reardon shrugged. “It ain’t a hard job,” he said. “And most of the time, nothing