Thinking about what he’d said, he wished he’d said it differently. It was too ominous, too obscure. It needed context, explanation. He was tempted to call back and leave a longer message, but he was afraid he’d end up making the situation worse.

He called Hardwick’s number and got voice mail. He left a message saying that he was currently en route to Walnut Crossing. He asked if there’d been any casualties in the Cooperstown fires, or any sign of Bincher. And, regarding the crazy shooter, what had he found out? He ended the call, making sure his phone was still on, and went back into the food court for another coffee.

It wasn’t until he was up into the rural hills above Barleyville that Hardwick finally got back to him. “We’ve got some seriously insane shit going on here, ace. Three big houses, three big piles of ashes. Lex’s house, plus one on each side of it. Six people dead—none of them Bincher. Two bodies in the house on his left, four in the house on his right, including two kids. All trapped in the fires. Guys on the scene are saying it happened sometime after midnight, went up real quick. The arson unit guy is saying probable SIDs—small incendiary devices—four of them, one at each corner of Bincher’s house. No effort by the arsonist to make it seem like anything but arson.”

“And the other two houses were just collateral damage? You sure?”

“I’m not sure about anything. I’m outside the yellow tape, blending in with the asshole gawkers—just picking up what the local cops are telling their buddies. But the word is that the gas chromatograph tests were positive for incendiary chemicals at Bincher’s, not at the others.”

“But Bincher’s house was empty? I mean, there were no bodies in that one?”

“None so far. But I can see the techs still crawling around down there in the wet ashes. Quite the fucking mob scene. Fire department, BCI, arson unit, sheriff’s department, troopers, local uniforms.” He paused. “Christ, Davey, if this is supposed to be … to be a way of warning Lex off the case …” His voice trailed off.

Gurney said nothing.

Hardwick coughed, cleared his throat. “You still there?”

“Still here. Just thinking about your ‘warning’ comment.” He paused. “I’d say that cutting your power lines was probably a warning. The mutilation of Gurikos’s head was probably a warning. But this … this Bincher thing … this feels like something more. Like war. With zero concern for who gets killed.”

“I agree. The little fucker has an appetite for serious destruction. And arson seems to be a recurrent theme.”

“Recurrent theme?” Gurney slowed down, pulled onto a grassy bluff overlooking the reservoir, turned off the engine, and opened his windows. “What do you mean, recurrent theme? What did you get from Interpol?”