The next day Damien and I pulled up at a burned out hull of a church. Fire
had completely gutted the building. Shattered glass and fallen down timber
littered the ground. Yellow police caution tape decorated everything.
"They did a number on this one," I commented as we got out of the car.
"Yeah," Sherlock said, "there's nothing left to even fix."
Church members were gathered on the grounds trying to make a dent in the massive cleaning process necessary. We carefully made our way through the debris looking for the pastor of the church. We finally found a man with graying hair that seemed to be heading up the clean up job.
"Pastor Douglas?" Damien asked the man.
"Yes," the man said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, "can I help you?"
"We're here from the police," Sherlock said, "can you tell us anything about the fire?"
The pastor pushed his glasses up on his nose again, "It happened while no one was here," he said, "there isn't much I can tell you."
"Does anyone besides you have access to the inside of the building?" I asked.
"No," he said, "there is only one set of keys and I have them. The fire department could only guess that the fire was started on the outside. Either that or someone broke in a window."
About this time a boy about 16 or 17 came up.
"What do they want, Dad?" he said to Pastor Douglas.
"Evan! Mind your manners," the pastor said shortly, "they're here from the police."
Evan immediately eyed us with hostility.
"This is my son, Evan," Pastor Douglas explained.
The short, blond boy looked from me to Damien and back again. Damien took it upon himself to stare down the boy. Evan eventually looked away. I learned quickly from observance that it wasn't wise to challenge Sherlock to anything like a staring match. He'd win every time. He was too intense to back down.
Damien grabbed me by the elbow and steered me into the direction of the burned out church. He ducked under the police tape and held it for me.
"The fire department said that the fire looked like it started from the inside. They can't tell anything for sure because this one was so badly burned, but they're guessing that. Gasoline all over the place; too charred to tell if anything was taken. Whoever did this did a good job."
"Or a bad job, depending from which angle you're looking at it," I muttered.
Damien grunted and began poking around the debris.
"There isn't anything here," he said in disgust, "come on."
I followed him out of the building.
"We still have two more churches to look at before we head back. It's getting late," Sherlock said as we headed back to the Mustang.
"Are we going to get back before dark?" I asked.
"Don't know," he said, "don't know."
"They did a number on this one," I commented as we got out of the car.
"Yeah," Sherlock said, "there's nothing left to even fix."
Church members were gathered on the grounds trying to make a dent in the massive cleaning process necessary. We carefully made our way through the debris looking for the pastor of the church. We finally found a man with graying hair that seemed to be heading up the clean up job.
"Pastor Douglas?" Damien asked the man.
"Yes," the man said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, "can I help you?"
"We're here from the police," Sherlock said, "can you tell us anything about the fire?"
The pastor pushed his glasses up on his nose again, "It happened while no one was here," he said, "there isn't much I can tell you."
"Does anyone besides you have access to the inside of the building?" I asked.
"No," he said, "there is only one set of keys and I have them. The fire department could only guess that the fire was started on the outside. Either that or someone broke in a window."
About this time a boy about 16 or 17 came up.
"What do they want, Dad?" he said to Pastor Douglas.
"Evan! Mind your manners," the pastor said shortly, "they're here from the police."
Evan immediately eyed us with hostility.
"This is my son, Evan," Pastor Douglas explained.
The short, blond boy looked from me to Damien and back again. Damien took it upon himself to stare down the boy. Evan eventually looked away. I learned quickly from observance that it wasn't wise to challenge Sherlock to anything like a staring match. He'd win every time. He was too intense to back down.
Damien grabbed me by the elbow and steered me into the direction of the burned out church. He ducked under the police tape and held it for me.
"The fire department said that the fire looked like it started from the inside. They can't tell anything for sure because this one was so badly burned, but they're guessing that. Gasoline all over the place; too charred to tell if anything was taken. Whoever did this did a good job."
"Or a bad job, depending from which angle you're looking at it," I muttered.
Damien grunted and began poking around the debris.
"There isn't anything here," he said in disgust, "come on."
I followed him out of the building.
"We still have two more churches to look at before we head back. It's getting late," Sherlock said as we headed back to the Mustang.
"Are we going to get back before dark?" I asked.
"Don't know," he said, "don't know."
