Chapter 4

Emerson checked into the old, familiar motel he had once called home as misled Mila. He got a different room this time, but the feel and look were both exactly the same as the room he’d shared with Marqi. He wondered briefly where his fellow miscreant had gone. He wondered if she had gone back to college as she intended or whether the boyfriend had sidetracked her.

He threw his suitcase on the bed and flopped down after it, eagerly fishing the remote control off the nightstand. There was nothing better than cable television, Emerson decided, unless it was delivery pizza. He reached for the phone and its accompanying card of local area food purveyors and selected the usual. He ordered, happily awaiting the arrival of his dinner. While he surfed the television channels for something to watch, he thought vaguely of Mei on her vacation and wondered if she was having fun. He hoped so. She was probably going to be really upset when she got back and saw the house had burned to the ground.

The pizza arrived in due time and he paid in cash. He ate about half of the pie before he dozed off, TV still roaring with canned laughter in the background. In the morning he was awakened by a knock on his motel room door.

Emerson struggled to awaken, stumbling blindly toward the door and wrenching it open. The fire inspector stood on the other side.

“Milo Thorne?”

“It’s Emerson now, actually,” he said, rubbing his face.

“The deed to the house is in the name of Milo Thorne,” the man said blandly.

“Yes,” Em said. “Right. That’s me. Please come in.”

He held the door open for the inspector and his companion and they both crossed the threshold in starched uniforms. Emerson’s fingers itched for a cigarette, but he restrained himself as he went to switch off the television.

“Sir, we’ve determined the cause of the fire,” the inspector said. “It started at the base of the east side of the house, and it began with a few cigarette butts that were improperly extinguished.”

“Really?” Emerson said, keeping his face impassive.

“Do you smoke, sir?”

There wasn’t much point in trying to deny it; the movers had all seen him smoking as had several of his neighbors. “Yes.”

“You do know that cigarettes are a leading cause of fires in this country?”

“No, I did not,” Emerson said, licking his lips and trying to appear noncommittal.

“Sir, we also noted that the house had been emptied of furniture. Can you explain this?” his associate asked.

“Yes; I was planning to completely redecorate, new paint, new furnishings, the works,” Emerson said. “In fact, I just donated everything yesterday to this charity… I have the receipt in my car if that would help.”

“Yes, sir, it might,” the inspector said.

“Hang on; I’ll get it,” Emerson said, slipping out of the room with his car keys. He rummaged through the vehicle until he found the slip of paper the movers had given him. He brought it back to the firemen and waited while they examined it.

“May we take this and make a copy?” the inspector asked. “We’ll bring it back in time for you to file your claim.”

“Claim?” Emerson asked.

“For the fire insurance,” the man said, peering curiously at him.

“Oh,” Emerson said. “Is that completely necessary?”

“Not if you want to rebuild and replace everything yourself, but lad, I’ve got to tell you, few people have pockets that deep.”

Em nodded. “Well, I’ll think about it.”

“If I were you, I’d wait until the final decision was made on whether this fire was accidental or arson,” the second fireman intoned ominously.

“Arson?” Em repeated blankly.

“It’s a crime, sir, and one we take seriously.”

“Okay,” he said, unable to think of anything further.

“We’ll be in touch,” the inspector said as the two men showed themselves out. “Will you be at this address?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, wondering about this new thought, arson.

He shut the door after them and leaned heavily against it. Arson. Was it seriously a crime to burn down a property, even if it was your own? He knew vaguely of city bureaucracies; he probably needed a permit for that. He chewed his lip and now that he was alone, went straight for his cigarettes. Nothing to do now but wait. He supposed he could run again, change his name and appearance again, if he had to.

He didn’t want to, but anything was worth his freedom, and nobody was going to take that from him again.

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