Normally, the police would let the insurance assessors do the preliminary investigation in cases of fire, and the owner would be the chief suspect. But in the case of Desire Roundly, there wouldn't be no external assessment, and she wouldn't be a suspect at all. She didn't have no insurance. She hadn't kept up the policy. Apart from the value of the land, she lost every damn thing she had in the fire.
The police crossed her name off the list. She wasn't guilty of arson, but she sure was guilty of stupidity. Can't arrest no one for that but. Most folks in Mattfield would of been in jail if you could.
That left Waldo Monk's name at the top of their list. Him and the chink. She hadn't shown up on Monday for the meeting in the ashes. They figured she'd heard about the fire, and didn't bother coming in. The others was all there to make conflicting statements and collect one of the round flapjackpool balls as a momento.
They had some darn fool idea they'd be getting the two weeks pay they was due, but after a half-hour of Desire ranting and bawling, they knew they was screwed. The cops set up a table under one old singed tree and collected facts. Weren't no question it was deliberate. There was the remains of three gas cans by the back gate. The forensics guy from the state capital knew straight away it was a crime.