The visiting coroner checked over the mayor and found him fit, though dizzy from smoke and the generous nip of whiskey his rescuers administered after he revived. Blackened and partially burned, most of the Town Hall’s damage was done by the volunteer fire department that had chopped and hosed their way into controlling the blaze.
“Definitely arson,” proclaimed the volunteer captain, who brandished two or three shattered and still smoldering Molotov cocktails.
“Who done it?” was the question of the day.
Different versions existed— conspiracy theories, stories of engines roaring past the building at the time, shadowy figures seen in the bushes throwing objects at mirrored windows, an inside job postulated by the mayor’s assistant in his hysteria after seeing his boss brought out prone an
