Firetrap (4 page)

Reverend Morgan stepped forward. “Not by the what? The white community? We're not here to satisfy the white community. We're here for justice. And we're not looking for lack of passion, Chief. Passion is exactly what we want. Along with answers.” He turned to me. “Son, the very fact that you don't want to do it makes you all the more perfect. I'll tell you something else. I'll tell you
all
something else. We spoke to a lot of people in the fire department, and we didn't have very many conversations where this man's name did not come up. Everything that everybody tells us about you points to you finding those valuable answers that so far have been eluding us. Why did those young people die? What was the fire department doing that led to this tragedy? Was there willful misconduct? What's going on inside the city, and specifically the fire department, that we in the African-American community need to be aware of? We've considered over a dozen candidates for this post, both inside and outside your department, including retired investigators from San Francisco and Baltimore, and Captain Brown is our man.”

Resignation clouded Smith's voice. “Okay, but I'd like to place somebody else on the committee for balance. Chief Douglas here—”

“Screw the balance,” said a man who hadn't spoken until now, storming up and down in front of the police and fire department members as he spoke, the veins in his neck standing out. He was dressed in a shabby sport coat with no tie, and if he'd been walking down the street I would have been tempted to hand him a dollar. “We're not looking for balance. We're looking for truth. Captain Brown saved my niece's life. As far as I'm concerned, that clinches it.” Several others shouted in concurrence.

“Can I say something?” I said.

Beckmann slammed the table with her gavel. “You've got the floor, Captain Brown.”

I took a moment to organize my thoughts. “I will gladly work with Ms. Estevez and whoever else you put on this committee. But I want to make certain you're hearing me clearly. Whatever I find, I report. I can't guarantee
anybody
will be happy.”

“That's how I feel, too,” Estevez said. “If what we come up with settles grudges or reinforces biases, so be it. If it doesn't, we're not going to tailor it.”

A chorus of amens and hallelujahs burst forth from a significant population in the room. The angry man in the tattered sport coat spoke. “You just tell us how it came down, and we'll go home satisfied.”

“We want something we can believe,” shouted a woman in the back of the room.

Beckmann slammed her gavel down and said, “Estevez and Captain Brown, you're hired. Meeting adjourned.”

A few minutes later in the foyer of the church, I found Estevez with Marvin Douglas, his black dress uniform impeccable, his smile dazzling. Estevez looked like a cat cornered by a stray dog.

5. STONE CARMICHAEL SHOWS UP AND THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG

JAMIE ESTEVEZ
>

In his usual way, Mayor Carmichael came rushing through the front door like a freight train. A small man, he was dapper in a tailored suit, a walking advertisement for the most lavish tooth brighteners. He cultivated an intellectual image, but local political cartoonists drew him with a huge head, gigantic ears, and oversize glasses. He was courteous and rarely contentious in public, a charming family man with a socialite wife and two children who appeared frequently in photo ops, yet he ran a disciplined administration from which there had been few leaks.

All in all, he was a politician's politician, and most of the time he had the city council eating out of his hand. Before running for mayor, he'd been a private attorney for several large multibillion-dollar enterprises run by his well-heeled family. He could charm the devil, and I liked him. So did most people, which is why Captain Brown's reaction shocked me. Brown who had only moments earlier shanghaied me from Marvin Douglas with the most delicate of lies. “Sorry to interrupt,” he had said, “but the committee people need to be somewhere else in a few minutes.”

When Brown had accompanied me back to the meeting room, nobody seemed to be in any hurry. I said, “Captain Brown, were you rescuing me?”

“You looked like you were in trouble.”

“Actually, I can take care of myself.”

“I was trying to make it easier for you to extricate yourself from what looked like a difficult situation. If you want, I can go back and get Chief Douglas.”

He was purposely trying to irritate me for some reason. “No, thank you.”

“You did look like a cornered rabbit.”

Now he was really irritating me. “I certainly did not.”

“Oh, you most certainly did.”

Moments later when Mayor Carmichael entered the meeting room, Captain Brown's reaction was almost visceral, as if he'd been punched in the stomach, yet it passed so quickly that if I hadn't been standing next to him, I might not have noticed. Carmichael smiled at me and then did a double take when he glimpsed Captain Brown, but kept moving across the room toward Miriam Beckmann.

“You know him?” I asked.

“He's our illustrious mayor.”

“But do you know him?”

“We've met once or twice.”

“Your tone of voice makes me think you don't like him.”

“I don't.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's a shitbird.”

“Watch your language. He's your boss. And he's the one who ensured the city would fund this investigation.”

“You don't want my opinion, don't ask for it.”

Mayor Carmichael spoke briefly to Beckmann and then Pastor Morgan. A few minutes later when the mayor and Beckmann approached, Carmichael was all flashing teeth and tight cheeks, although I noted his smile didn't reach his eyes. I'd never seen Carmichael lose his composure like this before.

“Ms. Estevez,” Mayor Carmichael said, covering my hand in both of his, which were freezing. “I haven't run into you in a while.”

“It's been a year at least.”

“I was the one who suggested your name to Miriam Beckmann for this project. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all. Thank you.”

He turned his attention to Captain Brown. “Trey?”

“Stone.”

“Is it still Trey, or did you change your
first
name, too?”

“It's Trey. I didn't have any compelling reason to change that one.”

“It's good to see you.”

“Is it?”

“I've thought about you, Trey.”

“Funny. I haven't thought about you at all.”

“I guess you've been in my fire department all along?”

“Just the last fifteen years.”

“I'm glad you landed on your feet. It's…good to see you. It really is. And I'm glad you're going to be part of this new report.” And then a thought struck him. “You don't happen by any chance…you aren't the Captain Brown in the original Z Club report?”

“I'm the only Captain Brown in the department.”

“Well. This
is
interesting.” He reached out to shake hands with Brown, who pretended he didn't see. “You think it's a good idea to work on this report?”

“I don't see as I have much choice,” Brown said.

Carmichael pulled his hand back and looked at Pastor Morgan and Miriam Beckmann, who was beaming. “Yes, well, I'm sure Mrs. Beckmann and Pastor Morgan know what they're doing.” He turned to me and smiled. “Jamie Estevez and I have worked together on other projects. We're old friends, aren't we?”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” I said, though I didn't regard a twenty-minute interview as working together or being old friends.

“I can't get over it,” Carmichael said. “It's just so strange seeing you again. And wonderful. I mean that.” Obviously Brown was supposed to reply in kind, but he said nothing, and after a few moments the silence grew to be too much for Carmichael, who stepped back and embraced me in his look. “I look forward to your report.”

A few minutes later, as we were preparing to leave, Miriam Beckmann approached and said, “Tomorrow night there's a black-tie charity function for the Central Area Leadership Council's reading project. All the movers and shakers in the white and black community will be there, and I think it would behoove you to be there, too. I'll have tickets for the two of you waiting at the door. It's the Miki-moto Mansion on Capitol Hill. Eight o'clock. Can you make it?”

“Of course we can,” I blurted, earning a glare from Trey.

“I'll have to check my calendar,” he said, which made me feel silly, like an overeager puppy.

“I'm sure you'll find a way to make room in your schedule,” Beckmann said. “And Jamie? I want to thank you for going through our list of candidates and selecting Captain Brown. We had it narrowed down, but we didn't really dare make the final choice until you saw the list. I think the two of you are perfect for each other.”

Trey gave me a sour look as I surreptitiously wiped my perspiring palms along the hem of my blazer. I'd known him less than an hour and had already been caught in a lie. This was going to be uphill all the way.

6. BLOCKING THE DOOR, STANDING MY GROUND

JAMIE ESTEVEZ
>

I'd had quite a few people ride with me in the Lexus since I got it last summer, but none of them seemed to fill the car the way Trey Brown did in his large black military-style work boots and navy-blue uniform. I was well aware he was in a foul humor, partly from his interaction with the mayor and partly because he knew I'd chosen him to be on this committee but had been deceptive about it. I should have followed my own instincts and been up front with him from the beginning, instead of following Chief Horst's advice. Too late now.

We were a couple of blocks from Station 28, sitting at a stoplight, when I broke the silence that had enveloped the car since we'd left Chief Horst at Station 13. “So,” I said, my throat dry, “you and the mayor seemed to have known each other before?” For over thirty seconds he didn't respond. “I'm guessing you haven't seen each other in fifteen years.”

“Where do you get that number?”

“Oh, good. You speak.”

“Is this whole thing between us going to be about sarcasm? Because if it is, I'm pretty good at it myself.”

“I'm sorry. I
was
asking a serious question.”

“Where did you get that figure?”

“It's the amount of time you've been in the department. The mayor didn't know you were in the department.”

“The last time we saw each other I was seventeen. He'd just gotten out of law school.”

“How did you know each other?”

“What do you want from me?”

“You don't have to snap.”

“I'm in a bad mood. I snap when I'm in a bad mood.” His voice grew softer. We were beside Station 28 now, parked in the visitor slot next to the front door. “What is it that you want?”

“I just want to know what was going on between you and Stone Carmichael.”

The question appeared to be unanswerable, at least by Trey Brown, because he got out of the car, went to the front door of the station, and was thumbing the combination lock on the door by the time I caught him. “Stone was my brother,” he said finally, opening the door and stepping inside.

Trey Brown was African American and Stone Carmichael was a blue-eyed Caucasian, so I wondered for a moment if he meant fraternity brothers, but that wasn't how I heard it.
Brother,
he'd said. I followed him inside and trailed him down the narrow corridor to the engine officer's room, where Kitty Acton sat at the desk filling out some paperwork.

“I've got some news,” Trey Brown said to Kitty. “Maybe you can get Clyde and the others together in the beanery.”

“Sure, Cap. Hey, Estevez,” she said to me as she squeezed past.

I stepped into the room and closed the door, leaning against it so that I'd effectively trapped Trey. The tiny office contained a desk, some tall lockers, and a bed in the corner. After he doffed his coat and draped it over the back of the chair, he took a step toward me, but I didn't budge. “What?”

“You can't just tell me he's your brother and then walk away.”

“It's personal.”

“It's not personal if it affects what we're doing together. I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're afraid of.”

“It's complicated.”

“I'm not smart enough to understand? Is that it?”

We locked eyes until I blinked, though I didn't look away. It was hard to know what was going on behind that slab of granite he called a face. “You're tougher than you look,” he said finally.

“Anybody I've ever worked with could have told you that.”

“Sit down.”

“Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”

He stepped back and considered me for a few moments. “When I was four, I was adopted into the Carmichael family. Shelby Junior was fourteen at the time I was adopted, twenty-seven when he died in a car accident. Stone was seven years older than me, and Kendra was the baby of the family, a year younger than me. The old man had political aspirations, and it doesn't hurt when a politician adopts a child of color. At least that's what Stone told me four or five thousand times when we were growing up.”

“It was a fairly rare occurrence for a white family to adopt a black child back then, wasn't it?”

“It's still rare.”

“But your surname isn't Carmichael. It's Brown.”

“After the Carmichaels disowned me, I took my mother's maiden name.”

“This is going to take longer than five minutes, isn't it?”

“It isn't going to take any time at all, because you've heard everything I have to say on the subject. I was Trey Carmichael. Now I'm Trey Brown. It's that simple.”

“And you haven't seen your brother in fifteen years?”

“Nineteen.” I did the calculations quickly. Nineteen and seventeen; he was thirty-six, six years older than I was. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for me to step away from the door. The story was probably as complicated as it was personal, and even though I desperately wanted to hear the rest of it, he was bent on guarding his privacy, and I had to respect that.

“Does anybody else around here know this?”

“No, and that's the way we're going to keep it.”

 

I couldn't help thinking about it all through our first interview, which was with a firefighter named Justin Hinkel, a tall, thin man who'd done a lot of joking around earlier when Chief Horst and I were waiting for Captain Brown to return from the alarm. Brown told me that Hinkel had been in the department for four years and was assigned to Ladder 12, which worked out of Station 28, but on the night in question had been riding Engine 33, stationed just down the road to the south. Hinkel had a prominent Adam's apple and a cowlick over his forehead; he appeared nervous when he came into the room. I expected them all to be nervous.