Meet Jack Coyle, arsonist extraordinaire. The allure of fire intoxicates him, yet time and again, it has been his nemesis: landing in juvenile prison in his teen years, now on the run from both the police and criminal underworld.
Enter Vance Miller, a sheriff in Plymouth County, MA and Jack's childhood friend. Vance has a big problemâsix unsolved arsons, six houses torched, six families tragically wiped out. Frustrated law enforcement and a fearful public are clamoring for answers. Vance knows of Coyleâs sordid profession and figures, who better to help investigate a series of complex arsons than an arsonist?
Jack is a master of his craft; his knowledge of fire, explosives, dead-man switches, remote detonators, the intricacies of electrical wiring and the like knows no bounds. In addition, he has extensively studied the science of arson investigation. All of these skills serve him well as he and Vance start down the path to discover what truly happened.
What they ultimately unearth not only reveals the perpetrator of these horrific crimes but something equally heartbreaking. In this process, Jack, a lonely and hardened man, learns to live and care again, taking his first steps toward penance and redemption.
Meet Jack Coyle, arsonist extraordinaire. The allure of fire intoxicates him, yet time and again, it has been his nemesis: landing in juvenile prison in his teen years, now on the run from both the police and criminal underworld.
Enter Vance Miller, a sheriff in Plymouth County, MA and Jack's childhood friend. Vance has a big problemâsix unsolved arsons, six houses torched, six families tragically wiped out. Frustrated law enforcement and a fearful public are clamoring for answers. Vance knows of Coyleâs sordid profession and figures, who better to help investigate a series of complex arsons than an arsonist?
Jack is a master of his craft; his knowledge of fire, explosives, dead-man switches, remote detonators, the intricacies of electrical wiring and the like knows no bounds. In addition, he has extensively studied the science of arson investigation. All of these skills serve him well as he and Vance start down the path to discover what truly happened.
What they ultimately unearth not only reveals the perpetrator of these horrific crimes but something equally heartbreaking. In this process, Jack, a lonely and hardened man, learns to live and care again, taking his first steps toward penance and redemption.
I do my best work when the world is asleep. I first realized this at the age of fourteen, as I was approaching Mr. Duluthâs house at one in the morning. I made my way through the yard slowly, a gas can in one hand and my Zippo lighter in the other. It had been two years since the apocalyptic marsh fire, and I had been educating myself thoroughly on all things fire-related ever since. The time had come to test my knowledge.
Getting the gasoline had been easy. I had taken the old five-gallon tank from the basement and brought it to the Exxon station down the block. When the owner frowned at me, I just smiled.
Hi, Mr. Kowalski. Dad asked me to gas up the lawn mower.
He nodded and went back inside. I didnât have to worry about him ever checking with my fatherâthe worthless bastard hardly ever got up from the couch. I filled the tank and paid for it with the money Iâd earned mowing lawns for the last week. It would be worth every cent.
I had snuck through the city, staying in the shadows, taking my time. I knelt by the foundation. I began pouring the gasoline on the dry October grassâinhaling the rich, soothing smell of the fuel as it trickled out.
Iâd heard stories about Vice Principal Duluth and the âpunishmentsâ he handed outâbut I was never sure if they were true. Now, I knew. He lived alone in a one-story house on the other side of town (he had lost his big Victorian home to his ex-wife). He bowled in a league every Monday from six to nine and got drunk in front of his TV most other nights. I had watched and I had waited. His house was old with cedar shingles for siding. It would go up like dry kindling.
I thought about the girls who had come forward about Duluth, how they were from poor neighborhoods like mine. They were labeled as liars and troublemakers. All of them struggled in school from then on, with most of them eventually flunking out.
One girl even killed herself.
None of this touched Duluth. Heâd been in the school system forever and his brother was a cop. Everything he did was swept under the rug. It hadnât saved his marriage, but he seemed happy enough dating young waitresses.
I wouldnât have gotten involved if he hadnât singled out my sister Megan. She came to me when I was reading volume N of the encyclopedias my father had bought from a door-to-door salesman years ago. The books had collected dust, forgotten until I realized that all sorts of fascinating things lay inside. Napalm, naphtha, nitroglycerin: all mine to enjoy.
Megan didnât surprise me with a hug, like she usually did. Instead, she just stood there, her hands clasped as if in prayer and her dark hair in her face. Weâd been born only eleven months apart, so people often mistook us for twins. I never corrected them.
Hey, Jack, she had said. Iâm in a little trouble at school.
I sighed and went back to the page I was reading. What happened this time?
I talked back to my math teacher again. I was supposed to have detention today, but I had basketball practice. So, one of the vice principals said I can serve it tomorrow. But I didnât like the way heâ
You know the drill, I said. If you canât do the time, donât do the crime.
She gently tugged on my arm. This is different. Iâm scared.
I didnât want to listen. Unlike me, she had always been a model of good behaviorâuntil just recently. I was terrified that I was becoming a bad influence for her. But instead of listening to her, I made the same mistake our parents always did. I just snapped at her before going back to my book.
By the next afternoon, I had forgotten all about that conversation. I hung out with my friends after school, shooting hoops and talking sports. I headed back to the apartment around dinnertime, one of the only halfway decent times to be at home.
I got back to find Megan curled up on her bed, shivering and crying. I tried to put my arms around her, to calm her down, but she just pushed me away. It was a long time before she could speak, and longer still before she could tell me what happened without breaking down again.
Huddled in a blanket, she sipped the cocoa I had made as she described what Duluth had done to her. We had to be quietâMom had been on a bender lately, worse than usual, and sheâd take her belt to both of us if we so much as made a peep.
Now I was the one who couldnât stop shaking. If we told our parents, theyâd just find a way to blame Megan. Iâd seen it enough times before, whenever either of us got in a jam. We couldnât go to the school or the police, either. Duluth was the head of discipline in a district with one of the highest dropout rates in the entire state. If it came down to his word against that of a known troublemaker like Megan, she would lose.
That was the moment I realized just how broken the system was. Animals like Duluth could do whatever the hell they wanted without fear of punishment from the âauthoritiesâ. If something was going to be done, it would be up to me.
I laid the primer around the house, using what fuel I had sparingly. As I worked, I could hear a television blaring from somewhere inside. I smiled as I pictured him passed out in his chairâstill wearing that stupid bowling jersey with his nickname Dutch stitched over the breast pocket.
I made my way around to the back yard. There was a rusty swing set and an old horseshoe pit, probably remnants from the previous owner. The gas tank was nearly empty by the time I rounded the corner, but that was all right. I was almost finished. I moved slowly, carefullyâthe streetlights bathed the avenue in a yellow glow, making me more visible than I would have liked.
Nobody else was up at this time of night, but I still needed to be cautious. I took out my Zippo, flicked the wheel, and lowered it to the ground. But just as I brought the flame within a few inches of the gasoline trail, I stopped.
Wait, was I really going to do this? Was I going to actually murder someone?
The hand holding the lighter trembled, causing the flame to dance and stutter. My breath came out in gasps, sending clouds of steam into the night. I had thought I would do anything for my sister, even slay a monster. But she wouldnât have wanted me to become a monster in the process.
I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath. When I opened my eyes again, my hand was no longer shaking. I shut the Zippo and was about to put it back in my pocket when someone grabbed me from behind.
âI knew I saw someone creeping around out here.â I looked over my shoulder to see Duluth glaring at me. âWhat the hell are you doing?â
He hadnât been as drunk as Iâd thought. In fact, he wasnât drunk at all. Fuck. âN-nothing,â I stammered. âI was justââ
âJust what?â he shot back as he snatched the Zippo away from me. âJust about to burn my fucking house down?â
âNo, Iââ
âSave it, you little prick.â He shoved me against the house, his fingers curled around my neck like a vise. âThe cops are on the way.â
Within minutes, a cruiser pulled up to the curb. The officer got out and took a walk around the house. He inspected the fuel can, the trail of gasoline around the house, and the worn lighter in Duluthâs hand, all while listening to the vice principalâs account of how heâd caught me.
Without further ado, the cop slapped his cuffs on my wrists and began reading me my rights.
âBut I didnât do anything,â I said.
âGetting caught in the act doesnât get you off the hook, kid,â the cop replied. âAttempted arson is just as bad as the real thing.â
I closed my eyes again, hoping that this nightmare would be over by the time I opened them. But that wouldnât happen for seven long years.
Fire and Wrath, by Bill Carter
Jack Coyle is a criminal, but mostly an arsonist who has both law enforcement and crime groups trying to find him. Starting fires as a teenager with the justification of righting a wrong, he has been locked up and pursued for most of his adult life. He has become a cynic, an artful dodger of responsibility, and a crafty man on the run.
However, he has also accumulated extensive knowledge about fires, accelerants, and electrical malfunctions. Around this same time, a sheriff in Massachusetts is under extreme pressure to solve six different arsons killing six families who had been in their homes at the time of the fires. There are no leads. Jack's childhood friend, Vance Miller, believes Jack could contribute to the investigations and possibly uncover the much-needed links to the perpetrator of these horrific crimes.
The story follows Jack through his teens and adult life making poor decisions and acting on them. He is lost and always running until he arrives at the first fire scene and then, all his senses become alive and involved in the why, where, and how of the fire's origin. The arson investigations take on a life of their own in this intricately woven process of inquiry and discovery. Jack becomes intrigued and wholly involved as he discovers more information and tries to understand the motivation for the arsonist's deadly actions. I thoroughly enjoyed the investigative process, the complexity of the storyline, and its main character, Jack. The fast-paced plot builds tension from Jack's teenage years throughout his involvement with the arson investigations. There is a great deal of information and intrigue with the addition of other characters, their connections, and how each is related to these arsons and subsequent deaths. You feel you are on an emotional roller-coaster to the very end.
I encourage everyone who enjoys mystery and intrigue to read Fire and Wrath. It has action and suspense, coupled with many twists and turns, that keep you thoroughly engaged with the investigation but also with the main character, Jack.