Captain Noonan, the “Bearded Holmes” of the Sandersonville Police Department, was maneuvering through traffic on his way to his annual appointment with his beard coiffeur – the “beard barber,” as Noonan called him – when he heard an annoying sound. It was annoying, not because he did not know the source of the resonance. But because he did. It was his cell phone, an invention made by wives for the specific purpose of harassing their husbands. Rather than risk the indignity of being caught lying to his wife that he had not received her electronic summons when she knew perfectly well he had, he dug the vibrating beast of Satan out of his coat pocket and looked at the digital readout.

Instantly, he was even more distressed. It was worse than a call from his wife at Nordstrom’s; it was from Police Commissioner Lizzard’s private number.

            A call from the Commissioner was worse than bad news. A political appointee who had strong connections up the political food chain but not an iota of experience in law enforcement, Lizzard did not have the ability to distinguish between police work and hack assignments. Noonan was his favorite target because Noonan solved problems quickly. Lizzard then took the solutions as his own and profited publicly for his – Lizzard’s – apparent genius at law enforcement.

            The situation would not have been so bad had the difficulties Noonan was resolving been law-and-order related. They were not. They were terrorist- and home security-oriented, neither of which Sandersonville had. However – and this was a fairly large however – with the establishment of the Department of Homeland Security, Lizzard and the Mayor’s Special Assistant for Homeland Security had become a team of bumblers who did not know what they were doing or what they should be doing. Rather than allow their functions to slip into the usual lethargy of a bureaucratic sinecure, the pair was constantly developing scenarios of terrorist invasions of Sandersonville – as though it were ground zero for a nuclear strike – and what everyone should be doing to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring. As the Mayor’s Special Assistant had no staff but Lizzard did, it was the Sandersonville Police Department that was doing the nonsensical preparation.

And spending its budget dollars on non-law-and-order issues.

            It was thus with trepidation that Noonan answered his cell phone. Before he could give a salutation, Lizzard was on him.

            “Noonan? Is that you?”

            “Who else would be answering my Sandersonville Police-issued cell phone?”

            “Who knows in these difficult days? One can never be too sure.”

            “Well, one can be sure I’m Heinz Noonan. What can I do for you Lizzard?”

            “Commissioner Lizzard.”

            “True. What can I do for you, Commissioner Lizzard?” Noonan had fought bureaucrats too long to allow his verbalization of the word Commissioner to have any snide edges.

            “I have a delicate assignment for you. It needs to be done with finesse and kid gloves.”

            “I thought they were the same thing.”

            “What were the same thing?”

            “Finesse and handling something with kid gloves.”

            “Well, yes, I suppose so. I was just saying this assignment has to be done with delicacy.”

            “OK. What’s the assignment?”

            “Actually, it’s right up your alley. It’s another one of those unusual cases no one seems to be able to solve.”

            “Do you want to tell me about it, or am I supposed to call someone?”

            “Actually, you’re going to drive to Albertsonville. That’s the new . . .”

            “I know where it is. What am I supposed to do when I get there?”

            “Contact the Albertsonville Fire Department. Fire Chief Jerome King is an old friend of mine. He’ll fill you in.” Lizzard gave him an address. “That’s the site of the fire. King is there now waiting for you.”

            “Is this a law-and-order problem?”

            “Possibly. It’s either arson or extortion. I’m not sure which.”

            “There is a difference, Commissioner. One involves matches and the other cash.”

            “Very funny, Noonan,” Lizzard said flatly. “Just talk to King and see if you can help him out.”

            “That’s outside of our jurisdict . . .” was as far as Noonan got before Lizzard abruptly hung up the phone. There are some blessings in rudeness, Noonan muttered to himself as he deposited the phone in the glove box.

            Albertsonville was the newest addition to the growing list of suburban areas surrounding Sandersonville that were going their own way. With the advent of increasing federal money for revenue-sharing, neighborhoods were breaking off from cities to form their own local governments. The feds paid a large portion of the blossoming bureaucracies, and property taxes paid the rest. It was an arrangement that was only possible in America.

            Albertsonville was so named because it had previously been the Albertson subdivision named after the son of the contractor. The contractor, of course, being named Albert. Albert was his first name, not his last and the street names reflected not his heritage but his kin: Lidia Avenue, Harrison Boulevard, Hortense Street, etc. It was a very small city in terms of acreage – more of a community – but its residents were so well-heeled that the formation of the city government was more a matter of prestige than necessity. That Lizzard would know the Fire Chief personally was thus no surprise.

The surprise was that Albertsonville had a Fire Department.

 It was only after Noonan arrived at the smoldering mansion that he realized Albertsonville did not, in fact, have a Fire Department. It had a Fire Chief who oversaw the out-of-city fire engines that responded to his jurisdiction. How this was handled fiscally, Noonan did not care to fathom.

            “Noonan?” Fire Chief King looked exactly like a Fire Chief should look. He also looked like a mayor or a senator: well-built, over six feet tall, salt-and-pepper hair, and a personality that could charm a cobra. “Commissioner Lizzard said he was sending his best.”

            “Well, I’ll do what I can. What, exactly, am I doing here?”

            “We’ve got a little bit of a problem. This is the fourth strange fire we’ve had in four weeks. No accelerant, no source of ignition, no electrical or gas conduit problems, just a sudden eruption into flames. We’ve been notified of each arson in advance, with just enough time to arrive before the home becomes a Roman candle. No injuries yet, but we are dealing with a very odd duck. Hasn’t asked for money, so we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Lizzard said . . .”

            “Whoa!” Noonan cut in. “I wasn’t told anything about why I’m here.”

            “Ah! That’s good.”

            “Good?”

            “Can we speak frankly?”

            “Why not?” Confusion was painted all over Noonan’s face.

            The Fire Chief smiled understandingly. “I know Commissioner Lizzard well. I went to school with him. I’ve worked with him. Lizzard is a commissioner because he can’t do anything else. He’s a great message-bearer, but the last time he had a creative idea was when George Washington crossed the Delaware.”

            “Ah,” was all that Noonan could say.

            The Fire Chief went right on. “I see Lizzard frequently socially, and that’s about it. When I have to call him, when I need him, I really need help. That’s why you’re here. I really need help. But don’t confuse me with Lizzard.”

            “I’d never . . .”

            “Good!” The abruptness was not rudeness; it was just a reaffirmation that business was at hand, not politics. “Then let’s get started. Why don’t you follow me back to the Fire Station, such as it is, and I’ll show you what I have?”

            Noonan nodded his assent and followed the Fire Chief’s vehicle back to the station. The station – an actual fire station with everything save a single fire-fighting vehicle – was set on an expansive, expensive lot, its back to the storm drain channels that fed, eventually, into the Atlantic Ocean. There were four fire hydrants at the lot’s corners, which Noonan assumed to be ornamental rather than functional – and no doubt a great joy to the local canine population – and a sprinkling of trees, small and perfectly pruned. These were also a joy for the local canine population. Noonan parked in the visitor’s space, all one of them, and walked into the station. The Fire Chief indicated a chair in the only office in the building.

            “Sorry, I was so abrupt in the field,” he said as Noonan sat down. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

            “Not a problem.”

            “Well, actually, it is a problem. When I have to call Lizzard, I’m in real trouble. I have to tell you that because I don’t want you to think that the two of us are from the same mold.”

            “I really didn’t think about it that much.”

            “You’re a smart man, Captain Noonan. The ‘Bearded Holmes,’ the man who solves strange crimes. All of them. A perfect record. You work for Lizzard because the political food chain extends above the law enforcement chain of command. And you don’t have an opinion of Commissioner Lizzard. Frankly, I’d say you are telling a fib.”

            “Maybe a little one,” Noonan smiled.

            “Little, big, who cares?” The Fire Chief spread his arms as if to say, ‘no big deal.’ “But it’s important to me that you know that I know what Lizzard is. Just for your interest, I have a degree in Fire Science, and I’ve been an arson investigator for a mid-sized police department. I know what I’m looking at.”

            “What are you looking at?”

            “In this community alone, I’ve had four fires in four weeks. All were in expensive homes. No accelerant has been used, there is no indication of a flash source, electrical wires are intact, and so are the gas pipes. The homes erupt spontaneously. All the homes are vacant in the sense that their owners were not present. All the homes were heavily insured by different insurance companies, so there does not appear to be any link between the owners. Very high-end personal property is being damaged. I usually get a call just as the homes are going up.”

            “How are you notified?”

            “I get an electronically distorted voice giving me the address of the next home.”

            “Do you get a readout on the phone?”

            “Yes, for two of them, both calls from a payphone in Sandersonville.”

            “Same phone?”

            “Yes. City Square, across the street from the Sandersonville City Hall.”

            “Do you have a conversation, or is it simply a message being delivered?”

            “Just a message. No chance for a response.”

            “Exactly what does the voice say?”

            “I’ve got two recorded, the first and last ones. The other two were on my cell phone, and I don’t have a recording option on that phone. Do you want to hear them now?”

            Noonan thought for a moment. “I need some background first. You don’t have a Fire Department, but you do have service. How does that work?”

            “Land is too expensive for a Fire Department here in Albertsonville, so we contract out, so to speak. Property taxes cover fire service, and we split the revenue with the four different fire departments on all sides, ¼ to each. They rotate coverage so each department responds to every fourth fire.”

            “Do they like the arrangement?”

            “They love it! At least they used to. Statistically, a community of our size would have about one real fire a year and a dozen emergency calls. That means that any one of the fire departments will only have to make a real fire run once every four years – maybe. Emergency calls just cost gas, basically. So they loved the arrangement. We were basically free money. Now they are not so sure.”

            “Four fires in four weeks. That means that each of the fire departments has responded once.”

            “Right.”

            “Do you know how the fires have started?”

            “No. But they have been scratching fires, if you are familiar with the term.”

            “Actually I’m not.”

            “A ‘scratching fire’ is one where the conflagration has been so intense that all the fire inspectors can do is scratch through the ruins and scratch their heads. The forensics indicate that no accelerant has been used. All the wiring is new and has been found intact. All of the gas lines were pristine as well. None showed any kind of tampering.”

            “Is it unusual for a fire to burn that hot that fast?”

            “No. That’s why I think that the person who is setting the fires is waiting until the blaze inside is ready to burn through the roof. Then he makes the call. By the time we get there the house is a Roman candle. It has all the indications of a BLEVE, a boiling liquid expanding vapor explosion. That happens when you heat up an empty can of gas, and the fumes go bang in a big way.”

            “But that requires a heating source. Were the stoves turned on when you found them?”

            “We checked that. All of the stove dials were in the off position. And we checked to make sure they had not been tampered with. Again, goose egg.”

            “Did the calls all came at about the same time?”

            “Sort of. All between 11am and 1 pm, lunch time.”

            “Is there any connection between the homeowners?”

            “Not as far as we can tell. They all have different jobs, different insurance companies, different lawn care services, on and on.”

            “Are the fires close to each other?”

            “Yes, in the sense we are a small community, but I don’t see a pattern there.”

            “How about the families?”

            “All over the board. A single woman, family with four kids, gay couple and an older couple.”

            “Do you know if the homes were burglarized before they were burned?”   

            “That’s what’s strange. Valuables from all the homes are found inside. Jewelry and the like. Valuable paintings are damaged but still identifiable for insurance purposes. And, yes, we checked to see if any one of the houses was owned by someone who had money problems. Nada. Goose egg. Zip.”

            “This is intriguing.”

            “It’s dangerous. What’s going on?”

            “Let’s listen to those messages.”

            If there was a significant clue in the messages, neither Noonan nor King heard it.

            “Just sounds like an electronic voice, the kind you’d get from a scrambler.” King clicked off the tape. “For a hundred dollars, you can buy the equipment you need at any Radio Shack.”

            “I’m afraid you’re right.”

            “Well,” Noonan scratched his forehead with his right index finger, “let’s look at these fires from a different angle. You’ve been a fire inspector for years, right?”

            “Ten.”

            “Good. Ten. How would you have started these fire?”

            “You are actually asking a lot of different questions, so let me pull them apart. When it comes to a regular fire, not that there is such an animal, it starts from a traditional source: frayed wire, old stove, falling asleep with a lighted cigarette, spilled gasoline, or some other somewhat explainable circumstance. Arson fires fall into two general categories. One is where the arsonist is an amateur or doesn’t care. They assume the fire will burn so hot that all evidence will be destroyed. That’s actually not the case. Those are the people we catch.

            “Then there are the very clever arsonists. There are not that many ways to get a fire started that will not be detected, so they have to be good at what they do. Further, a very good arsonist will leave a hint as to how a fire might have started. That is, he’ll fray some wires or snap a gas line behind a stove or furnace so the fire inspector will assume that the fire started from the wire or the gas line.”

            “How often does that happen?”

            “We don’t know. But not that often. Fire Inspectors are pretty sharp – and they are as suspicious as cops. You have to wake up really early in the morning to be ahead of them.”

            “Fire inspectors or cops?”

            “Both.”

            Both men laughed.

            “OK. How would you do it?”

            “How would I start the fire? Since the houses are burning like Roman candles, I’d say that the source of the fires was in the attics. The attic goes, the roof goes. The fire department puts out the fire, and the bulk of the interior remains. There’s a lot of smoke and fire damage but the important stuff – computers, paintings, paperwork – just gets wet. The fire is ferocious so an accelerant of some kind must be being used. I suspect it takes the fire a while to build in the attic. That gives the arsonist time to set the fire and get out. Then he drives to Sandersonville and makes the phone call.”

            “But how did he set the fire?”

            “Possibly by putting a small amount of accelerant in a few helium balloons. You buy six or seven helium balloons at a party shop and then use a syringe to inject a few ounces of gasoline into each balloon. You put the balloons in the attic and start a small fire. As the attic heats up, the balloons explode, and the gasoline sprays all over the attic boards. As each balloon goes, the fire gets larger.”

            “But wouldn’t the gasoline be detectable after the fire?”

            “Yes and no. If the gasoline was in the attic and the attic went up, all of the evidence goes with it. Sure, there might be some but, in these cases, it wouldn’t make much difference. We all know it’s arson; we just don’t know why.”

            “Good point.”

            “So what you have are four arsons with no apparent link. Four different insurance companies, four different families, four different fire departments. Did any of the homes have security systems?”

            “All did. All were intact after the fire.”

            “Were the security systems top of the line or junk?”

            “In this town? They were top of the line. 24/7 monitoring. Not a peep out of any of them.”

            “So how did the perp get in?”

            “That’s why you’re here. I don’t know.”

            “OK. Let me see what I can do for you. Here are some questions I need answered. Are any of the insurance companies subsidiaries of larger entities? Where do all of the families bank and have investments? Do any of the families have pets and, if so, what kinds? Do any of the families have aquariums? What was the state of the garages after the fires, that is, were there any antique cars or valuables in any of the garages? Do all of the children go to the same school and, if so, which ones? How many sources of helium are there between Albertsonville and the payphone where the calls were made? Assuming you have made some kind of criminal checks of arsonists who might have been able to set fires like these, where are those bad boys and girls?”

            “That’s a load of questions. Anything else?”

            “Humm. Let’s see. Do you have a list of destroyed valuables as opposed to damaged valuables from each home, and who was the appraiser for those lists?”

            Fire Chief King was still rapidly scribbling as Noonan finished. Then he went over the list, making sure he had every question written correctly.

            “Let me see what I can do. Do you want to come back when I have the information or call you?”

            “Call me. I can either solve it or not with that information.”

            “Well, please do it quickly.”

            Both men laughed.

Noonan rose. “Well, I can’t do anything until I get back from the beard barber,” he stroked errant hairs from his chin.”

“Don’t shave it off,” said King in mock horror, “or you won’t be the ‘bearded Holmes.’”

* * *

            Three days later Noonan was in a tussle with a recalcitrant stapler. The demon had the upper hand, or at least the top cover, and was fighting him staple-and-spring to stay closed. The battle only ended when his Secretary, Harriet, snatched the beast from his hand and popped the lid.

            “How did you do that?” snapped the bearded Holmes suspiciously.

            “Experience of a lifetime of Leggos, coffee can lids, and artichoke heart jars.”

            Noonan wasn’t sure he wanted to ask anything else.

            “By the way, Sky King called.”

            “Sky King?”

            “Your friendly Fire Marshal from Albertsonville. He said he had your answers.”

            “When did he call?”

            “Just as you were starting to wrestle with the staple monster,” she said, and she handed him the open tool. “Do you want me to put in the staples, or do you want to risk the jaws of death?”

            “You can do the risking,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier he had called?”

            “You looked like you were having so much fun with the staple monster, I didn’t want to steal a moment of your joy.”

            Noonan glared at Harriet. She handed him a slip of paper. “He’s waiting for your call.” Harried slipped in a slide of staples and snapped the lid shut. She handed the sleeping dragon back to Noonan. “It’s asleep now. Don’t wake it up.” Before Noonan could respond, Harriet was gone.

            Noonan gingerly placed the stapler on the corner of his desk. The staple ogre may have been asleep, but Noonan knew that at any moment it could wake up and jam. That was part and parcel to Murphy’s Law.

            ‘Sky King’ was waiting for his call. “I hear you’ve been in mortal combat with a demon stapler.”

            Noonan harrumphed, “There is evil everywhere. What do you have for me?”

            “Well,” said the Fire Chief, “the list is long. Do you want me to email it over?”

            “What’s email?”

            “Good man. Let me read it.”

            “Shoot.”

            “All of the insurance companies are subsidiaries of other companies, large ones, which are, in turn, . . .”

            “I guessed that. Any links?”

            “Not really. Way, way up the line of ownership, two are owned by the same multinational bank. Do you want the name?”

            “Probably not. Keep going.”

            “All of the families have investments scattered across the board. Three of them have checking accounts in the same bank, but we’re talking less than $10,000. The bigger money is in investment houses and there is some crossover but none have the same broker and the investments are scattered in terms of investors, investments, industries, instruments, amounts and times of purchase. None of the families are hurting in the sense that they have money problems.”

            “OK.”

            “All of the children go to the same school, which is no surprise because Albertsonville is so small. There are a total of eight children, three are in high school together, and one is too young to be in school. The other four are in Second, Fourth and Sixth grade. All families have pets. All have cats, and three have dogs. One family has an aquarium. Do you need to know which families have which pets?”

            “Probably not. Go ahead.”

            “All of the garages were OK in the sense that there was no fire damage. All had smoke damage. Only one had a car in it at the time, the elderly couple, and it was a collector’s item, a 1952 Blue Chevy.”

            “Ah, the old Chevy.”

            “Nice car. It was dusted with ash but not damaged.”

            “Thank goodness. Not that many left. What else was in the garages?”

            “Just usually garage stuff: tools, ladders, boxes of books. Were you thinking of anything in particular?”

            “Not really. Was anything missing from the garages?”

            “Probably not. Ash covered everything and there were no gaps, if you know what I mean, in any of the garages.”

            “By ‘gaps,’ I assume you mean a box that was missing, as in it had been taken before the fire.”

            “Right.”

            “There are three retail sources of helium near the Albertsonville but none are between the fires and Sandersonville. They are on the other side of town, the closest one about a mile and a half from us.”

            “How far is it from Albertsonville to the payphone?”

            “I’d say three or four miles. Do you want me to clock it?”

            “Naw. Did you see if any of your ‘former associates’ were in the vicinity of the fires?”

            “If you mean professionals who could have done it, yes, I did check and no. No one looks likely. Of the dozen who would be likely suspects, eight are in jail and two are about to go. The last two are Missing-in-Action but have been leaving their fingerprints on the other side of the country, Oregon and Nevada. We’re on the lookout for them, but they don’t look likely.”

            “OK. How about the appraiser?’

            “Little better luck there. All of the appraisals were done by the same firm, but by different people within the firm. Two were done by one man, but one of the appraisals was done before the fire, and the other after. The last two appraisals were done by two other people in the same firm. None of the owners of the firm or appraisers have any link to any of the families whose homes were burned – other than the appraisals themselves. Of the four appraisers, one is a college student, and another is retired and working part-time. The other two are regulars working out of the same office. Both are male and married, both live in different parts of Sandersonville and neither have a criminal record.”

            “Truth is the greatest defense.”

            “The list of damaged and destroyed items is long so I will have to . . .”

            “No reason to send it over. I’ve got what I need.”

            “You’ve solved the problem?!”

            “No. I can’t solve the problem. All I can do is guess what happened. At least you’ll be able to stop the next fire.”

            “I’ll take that.”

            “What we have here are three different actions that all link. First, the perpetrator had to get in to set the fire without setting off the alarm. Second, the fire had to be set in such a way that the perps could be away from the source of the flame when the house went up. Third, the Fire Station had to be notified in time to put the fire out without causing a lot of damage.”

            “OK.”

            “Here’s what I’m guessing is happening. The perpetrators are one, two, or all three of the high school students. They live in the neighborhood, so they know everyone’s schedule. When they decide to set a home on fire – and for what reason I do not know – they cut class and drive to the source of helium. I’m guessing it’s a store that sells party favors.”

            “Yup.”

            “There, they will buy a number of helium-filled ‘Happy Birthday’ balloons. Then they will use something, maybe a syringe, and inject gasoline into the balloons.”

            “How would they know to do that?”

            “Television, the library, the Internet. Education, even a bad one, isn’t proprietary anymore.”

            “A sad fact. But how did they get into the houses? They didn’t set off the alarm.”

            “I don’t know for a fact. Here’s what I’m betting. All of the homes had pets, so I’m guessing all of the doors had some kind of animal door. These days, thanks to technology, those doors are controlled by pet chips. When the right pet comes to the doorway, the door is loose. The wrong pet or a muskrat comes to the doorway, it remains locked. The kids knew which pet belongs with which home. And the pets knew them. When they want in, they just got the dog or cat that belonged to that house and followed the animal into the home. I’ll bet the doors were large enough for the dog and therefore large enough for the kids.”

            “Cle-ver! I’ll check. Now they’re inside.”

            “Once inside it was just a matter of getting a ladder and getting into the attic. I’ll bet they used the ladder in the garage. They dragged the balloons into the attic and started a small conventional fire. They put the ladder back in the garage and left the same way they got in. They probably put the dog or cat in a bedroom and closed the door so it would be there when they wanted to get out. Then, when they wanted to get out of the pet door, they just let the animal out and followed it out through the door.”

            “Then they left and made the call?”

            “Sort of. I think they waited until they saw the evidence of fire before they left and then called the Fire Department. I’m also betting that there are some homes that they tried to set ablaze but the fire never took.”

            “So there might be some attics with balloons with accelerant?”

            “I’m afraid so. I can’t tell you which ones, but I can tell you how to find out how many there are.”

            “OK, I’ll bite.”

            “Check attendance records at school. I’ll bet your young arsonists cut either the class before lunch or the one after lunch. Maybe both. If you find five class cuts, there were five fires – four houses that went up and one that’s in danger of going up. You said all the fires happened around noon, right?”

            “That’s right. Around the noon hour. Any idea why they’re setting the fires?”

            “Not a one. I’d ask the high school kids who have been cutting class.”

            “I’ll do just that.”

            Noonan was gently pushing the staple monster with the eraser end of a Number 2 pencil, hoping the tool would fall into File 13, which, conveniently, had been strategically placed next to the desk immediately beneath the beast. That was when Harriet yelled at him from the desk at the front of the office, “If you want a new one, just ask – and Sky King is on Line One.”

            “Sky King,” Noonan said with a smile. “I wonder how often he gets called that.”

            “Well, you certainly earned your name, Detective. You were right on.”

            “Glad I could help.”

            “Turns out two of the three high school students, both girls by the way, were cutting the class before lunch. Six times, as a matter of fact, and they have told us where the other two homes are. Just like you said, they were using helium balloons. To start the fires, they were soaking the balloon strings in paraffin and tying the strings to a candle in the center of the attic. The candle acted like a timing device. As the strings caught on fire, the strings burned through, and the balloons floated away to different parts of the attic. Then, one at a time, they all went.”

            “Any reason given for the fires?”

            “No really. Just a jag. It was fun.”

            “Now they pay the piper, eh?”

            There was a moment of silence then King said, “Well, they’ll have a clean record when they turn 18.”

            Noonan looked at the stapler. “Is it arson if you burn a stapler?”

            King laughed and said, “Sorry, that’s above my pay grade. Ask Harriet.” And then he hung up.

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