“Did you use this fireplace recently?”
“Not since March.”
He shined a light upward.
“Good.”
“Why?”
He pointed.
“Because this isn’t just blocked.”
He showed me the interior.
The concrete had sealed the throat so completely that there was almost nowhere for smoke to go.
“If you had built a decent fire,” he said, “you would’ve known quickly because smoke would’ve rolled into the room.”
“That’s good?”
“Better than a partial blockage.”
I did not understand.
He explained.
“A partial blockage can be worse. Enough draft to make the fire look normal, but poor enough ventilation to build carbon monoxide.”
I stared into the black firebox.
The stack of pine I had planned to burn that weekend was still beside the hearth.
“If I hadn’t seen him...”
The contractor looked at me.
“Do you have CO alarms?”
“Yes.”
“Keep them.”
That evening, Deputy Cole called.
“I need to ask you something unusual.”
“After this week, go ahead.”
“Did Mr. Whitcomb know your normal routine?”
“What do you mean?”
“Fireplace use.”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He’s been inside the house before.”
“When?”
“Years ago. We used to watch football sometimes.”
“Would he know you use the fireplace in cold weather?”
“Everybody around here does.”
There was silence.
Then she asked, “Did you tell him recently you planned to use it?”
I almost said no.
Then I remembered.
Three weeks earlier, we had argued near the property line.
Gary complained that smoke from my chimney drifted toward his yard.
I had said, “Wait until November. I’ll burn every night if I want to.”
At the time, it was sarcasm.
Now my stomach turned.
“I may have.”
Deputy Cole asked me to come to the sheriff’s office the next morning.
When I arrived, she was waiting with Detective Alan Brooks.
He was older, maybe fifty-five, with gray hair and reading glasses hanging from his shirt pocket.
He had copies of my camera footage.
He played the video.
Again.
Gary climbing.
Gary pouring.
Me asking why.
Gary saying:
Should’ve taken the offer.
Brooks paused it.
“What do you think he meant?”
“The land.”
“You sure?”
“What else?”
Brooks leaned back.
“We served a warrant yesterday.”
I stared at him.
“For Gary’s house?”
“Yes.”
The concrete incident began as criminal mischief and trespass.
But once investigators learned how dangerous a blocked chimney could be, they wanted to know whether Gary understood the risk.
He did.
They found a search on his tablet from two nights before:
what happens if chimney flue completely blocked
Another:
carbon monoxide blocked chimney fireplace
Another:
how long does masonry concrete take to set
I felt cold.
Detective Brooks turned the screen toward me.
“You recognize this?”
It was a screenshot of a text exchange.
Gary had messaged his brother.
Walter wants to play games. He’ll learn.
The brother responded:
Leave the old guy alone before you get arrested.
Gary replied:
He’ll sell after this winter.
I read that line three times.
“He’ll sell?”
Brooks nodded.
“There’s more.”
Gary had been trying to refinance his excavation business.
He was deeply in debt.
His driveway expansion was not about parking a fifth-wheel.
Not anymore.
County planning records showed he had applied for approval to build a large equipment storage structure along the side of his property.
He needed additional setback clearance.
The twelve-foot strip mattered.
Without it, the county would not approve the building.
Without the building, he could not consolidate his equipment onto his residence.
Without that, his operating costs remained high.
Gary had not become obsessed with my land because he wanted convenience.
He believed he needed it to save his business.
“What was his plan?” I asked.
Brooks was careful.
“We can prove property damage.”
“I understand.”
“We can prove he knew blocking a chimney was dangerous.”
I waited.
“What we cannot yet prove is exactly what outcome he intended.”
I stared at him.
“If I lit a fire—”
“Yes.”
“He knew I would.”
“We believe he understood that possibility.”
“Then why isn’t he arrested?”
“He is.”
That stopped me.
“For what?”
“At this stage, burglary, felony criminal mischief, reckless endangerment, and several related charges.”
I sat back.
Brooks continued.
“The prosecutor will determine whether additional charges are appropriate.”
“Where is he?”
“County jail.”
For some reason, I felt no satisfaction.
I had imagined that moment since seeing the search history.
I expected relief.
Instead, I felt tired.
Gary had been my neighbor for eleven years.
We had watched Broncos games in my basement.
His wife had brought Ellen food during chemotherapy.
I had helped tow his truck out of a snowbank in 2018.
People want stories like this to have clean villains.
A bad man.
A good man.
A line between them.
Real life is rarely so generous.
Gary had not always been cruel.
But at some point, resentment became entitlement.
Then entitlement became anger.
Then anger convinced him that damaging me was justified because I stood between him and something he wanted.
Three weeks later, the chimney came apart.
There was no simple repair.
The concrete bonded to multiple sections of the flue liner.