They called Waldo into the regional police headquarters two days later and sat him at a desk. There was two detectives. They was different detectives to the two that told him about Mexico, but they was wearing the same suits. One of 'em was hazel, even though these was the days before hazel detectives was fashionable. I guess they bought him in cause the suspect was burnt sienna. Kind'a color coordination. He was trying his darnedest to look tough.
"We know you done it, Monk."
"What'd I do, officer?"
"You tell us."
Clever exchanges like this was too much for an uncomplicated guy like Waldo.
"Gee." He scratched his head. "I don't rightly know, sir."
The other detective was extreme white, like stewed bones. He leaned over to Waldo and asked,
"Why'd you burn down Roundly's?"
"Sir, I don't have no good reason to burn the place down."
"That ain't what we heard."
"We heard you had a fight with the owner the day before."
"Officer, I don't reckon I ever had a fight with no one in my life. It ain't my way." The cops looked real disappointed.
"Where was you at the time of the conflagration, Waldo?"
Man, he got a look on his face like this was the twenty-thousand dollar question on Jeopardy. They could see him struggling with it.
"The fire, Waldo. Where was you when the fire started?"
"When we smelled the smoke I was in the Chapel of the Holy Lamb of Bethlehem, sir. It was Sunday."
"How long had you been in there?"
"Got there at five, like I always do.
"Five?"
"I'm the chapel clerk. I set up."
The interview went on like that for another twenty minutes or so, them asking, Waldo answering. When he'd gone, the cops sat at the desk like they was interrogating each other. If the truth was to be told, it hadn't been much of an interview. Soon as they saw the fat guy, they knew there weren't no way he could of snuck down to Roundly's with three cans of kerosene, without being seen. He didn't have no car neither.
The forensics people said the fire was lit about eight AM. Waldo had seven witnesses swearing to God on High that he was in the chapel then. It was peculiar that no one saw no one outside the factory. You'd think someone would of been out in the street by then. Old girls walking their dogs. Sunday joggers. But this is Mattfield we're talking about.
The cops was still looking for the chink, but there weren't no address for her. No one had seen the pink Chevy since the girl left work at three on the Saturday afternoon. The home address and references she'd given Roundly's didn't check out. She'd lied about all of it. But lying didn't necessarily make her a fire starter.
There was a hundred things more important for the police department to be doing than chasing smoke. That drive to solve cases you see on the movies don't happen in real life. Actual cops are only too happy to admit when they're clueless. In general, a criminal has to be real dumb to get himself caught. Fortunately for the police, there's a hell of a lot of dumb criminals around to make 'em look good. The Roundly's arsonist wasn't dumb.
Them two cops looked at each other. The extreme white one asked, "Any thoughts on what we do next?"
"Go get a beer and a pizza?"
"I mean Roundly's."
"You see anyone really gives a shit?"