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McMahon gave the fire chief a quick “See, I told you so” look and said, “So it isn’t an accident after all.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I thought you said you found traces of an accelerant.”
“I did, but it’s not unusual to find traces like that in and around the garage. I see he has a couple of boats, it’s a pretty big yard to mow…I’m sure he stored gas in the garage. He may have even had one of those gas caddies with a long hose. They’re real popular around here. You save about fifty cents a gallon if you buy it at a gas station rather than filling up at the marinas.”
Coleman nodded.
“A gas caddie?” asked McMahon.
“Yeah…they’re a cross between a two-wheeler and big gas can.” The chief gestured with his hands to show McMahon the approximate size. “They usually hold between twenty-five and fifty gallons. They’re red, they have a hand pump, a hose, and a nozzle. You can wheel them around, but you’d never want to take it down stairs like the ones going down to the dock here. You’d just walk the hose down, leave the caddie up at the top, and fill the boats.”
McMahon got the picture. “Can you tell if the accelerant was gas?”
“Pretty sure.”
“How sure?”
“Ninety percent,” answered the chief.
“Can you tell how much was used?”
“I’m not sure any was used,” the fire chief said cautiously. “I’m just telling you it’s pretty common for people to keep gas in their garage, especially around here, and when there’s an expl
osion like this one, the gas goes up just like everything else.”
“Can you show me where you found the traces?” Coleman asked.
“Follow me.” The chief led them past the charred hulk of a burned-out car and pointed at the ground. “This is where the outer wall of the garage used to sit. You can see here where the slab starts.” The chief kicked at the ground with his boot.
“Where did you find the traces of accelerant?”
The chief stepped over some debris and said, “It was concentrated in this area right here. From the outer wall of the garage to roughly over here.”
Coleman remembered where the propane tank used to sit.
“My guess is,” the chief pointed at the ground, “he had a small utility shed right there where he kept the gas. We think this might have been a two-banger. The first explosion came from the gas that had leaked into the house, and then the second explosion was the tank itself touching off a short while later.”
“Any other hot spots?”
“We got a couple reads in the garage, but relatively small compared to this one.”
The former SEAL nodded and said, “Thanks, Chief.” He took McMahon by the elbow and led him back toward the road. When they were far enough away he said, “Mitch never had one of those gas caddies. At least not that I ever saw, and I can guarantee you, he didn’t keep gas stored in a shed outside the garage a few feet from his propane tank.”
“You know that for a fact.”
“I know how the man thinks. He was very careful. There was no way in hell he would have stored gas in an outdoor shed, let alone that close to a propane tank.”
“So what are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you Mitch didn’t leave any gas outside his garage. You can figure the rest out on your own.”
When they reached the street, Coleman looked back toward the house and beyond. He could see a few navigation lights out on the bay. “Irene tells me a fisherman pulled Mitch from the water.”
“Yeah.” McMahon pulled a small notebook from his suit coat pocket. “A local guy from Shady Side. Harold S. Cox.” McMahon pointed north. “He was only a couple hundred yards away when the explosion happened. He says he literally saw Mitch flying through the air. He saw him hit the dock and then roll into the water. If the guy hadn’t been there Mitch probably would have drowned.”
Coleman was putting himself in the shoes of whoever it was who had tried to kill his friend. As a former SEAL he was drawn to the water. “Any other boats?”
