Free Borderlines by Archer Mayor Page A

belly, and an ill-fitting three-piece suit got out and waved me. “Here’s Potter now.” “I should have known you’d be in the middle of this,” Potter said me as he approached. “I thought you were supposed to check into the office before you started trouble.”
    His smile, in direct contrast with rest of his appearance, was infectiously childlike. He walked up to Beverly Hillstrom and introduced himself. “I’m n Potter, Essex County State’s Attorney.”
    “Beverly Hillstrom, State M.E.” “Oh, yes, I know. It’s a real privilege. I was expecting the local.E.” Hillstrom’s tone was noticeably cooler now that Potter had arrived.
    The warmth she showed me was a sign of friendship, which was something she did not dispense freely. “Pure chance-he was out of the way; I happened to be in it.” Potter nodded and turned to me. “Any ideas about the fire?” Hillstrom reached back into the trunk and pulled out a camera, a notepad, and a small shoulder bag while I told Potter, “It may just be a guy falling downstairs and knocking over a jury-rigged wood stove.” The three of us began walking toward the building. “Or it may be something else,” Potter added. “Maybe. There’s background for more-a fight last night, some bad blood between townspeople and the bunch that owns the house “Ugh,” Potter interrupted. “Don’t even mention it. I got two calls this morning already from newspeople, wanting to know if it’s arson or murder or God knows what. Shades of Island Pond.” “There may be something more. We found four of the bodies behind a locked door, with the key on the outside.” “Were you the one who found them?” Hillstrom asked. “Me and another guy, just before the whole place blew up. I’m not exactly sure what shape the building’s in.” We had just ducked under the police line when Wirt came jogging up.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” Hillstrom looked at him in amazement, her chilly Nordic dander up. “I beg your pardon?” “This is a police line. You can’t just ignore it.” The message was appropriate, but the tone was doing him dirt. I tried to smooth things over. “Corporal Wirt, this is Chief Medical Examiner Hillstrom and State’s Attorney Potter.” He looked at me with contempt, not accepting the social escape hatch I’d opened for him. “This scene is closed until the arson people look at it.” Hillstrom’s back straightened slightly. “Corporal, were your arson people here now, I might concede that point. But they are not and I am. It is my responsibility to examine those bodies, and I am not going to stand around for several hours waiting. Is that acceptable to you?” Potter chimed in. “As chief law enforcement officer of the county, I’ll take full responsibility.” Wirt stared at us for a few moments, his mind obviously crowded with options, some obstinate, some petty, and probably a few quite vulgar. But I guess he decided to pass on them all, or he remembered that his opinions had landed him here to begin with. He muttered, “All right, go ahead,” and left us on our own.
    We entered through the same door Rennie and I had used before, although you could have told that only from the outside. The inside was unrecognizable-the floor covered with a tangle of glistening, black, charred debris. The walls were stained with smoke and dirty water; the smiling half-gone, chunks of soggy plaster hanging to shattered pieces lathing. It brought back memories of the shell-blasted buildings I’d marched as a young soldier over thirty years before, my finger cramping round the trigger, ready to fire at the slightest movement.
    Only here, any movement aside our own was out of the question.
    he smells of damp plaster, wet wood, charcoal, and burned cloth were of death. The very dripping of water in the walls had a funereal sound to it.
    Hillstrom, in the lead, paused to take a couple of pictures.
    “Which ay, Lieutenant?” Despite our recent