THE DEATH OF AIR

Chapter 16

Ash on an old man's sleeve

Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.

Dust in the air suspended

Marks the place where a story ended.

Dust inbreathed was a house-

The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,

The death of hope and despair,

This is the death of air.

-T.S. Elliot

The Death of Air—

Otherwise known as "fire," combustion, or burning, in which substances combine chemically with oxygen from “the air,” typically giving out bright light, heat, and smoke.

Like all life, fire lives and prospers through consumption. When harnessed, contained, and directed, fire can heat, warm, propel, and often destroy. But Fire, when free of its chain, free of restraint, left to its chaotic nature and ravaging form, can and will wreak havoc on all fuel in the reach of those sharp, split tongues which have no mercy.

The Fireman’s Creed:

Where there are citizens in distress or harm’s way, a special breed stands ready to answer the call.

A common individual with uncommon desires forged by adversity, this person stands alongside their brothers and sisters to serve their community and protect life and property.

I am that Firefighter—one declares with credence. 

And thus, the Fireman’s prayer:

When I am called to duty, God, whenever flames may rage, Give me the strength to save some life, whatever its age.

Or save an older person from the horror of that fate.

Enable me to be alert and hear the weakest shout, And quickly and efficiently put the fire out.

Patron saint of firefighters: St Florian.

Florian (250-304 AD) was a high-ranking Roman Army officer in the Roman province of Noricum, known as being good with people and a natural problem solver.  

The Fighter of Fire—

A noble profession and an organized effort with roots that grow deep into ancient Rome times while under the rule of Caesar Augustus.

Saint Floren—to be invoked against fire and flood—and even the best of problem solvers, know: the last resort is often to fight fire with fire—harnessed and controlled. And what better element to fight a fire than with but a flood of water...?

Keeping water and a bucket on hand has always been a no-brainer when preventing combustion-born catastrophes. And in more recent times, the smoke detector, fire extinguisher, fire exit, fire escape, and proactive laws, rules, and regulations intended to protect not only property but the unnecessary loss of human life.  

Thus, we have the modern-day fire inspection.

And on the icy morning of January 13th, 1993, Assistant Fire Chief for the Canton Fire Department Howard Dye was conducting such an inspection at the local Kroger's store on the far east end of Chestnut Street. And after checking off all the right boxes, and recertifying the establishment, Chief dye and was heading toward the north of the city for Walmart, which itself sat on the very edge of town, when a call came in:

House fire, with possible people trapped inside.

The time: 9:31 am.

A few minutes prior, Canton Police Officer Marty Brown had been dispatched to conduct a welfare check, a routine duty for officers who work the morning shift, as it was common to receive calls when elderly relatives hadn’t answered their phones or doors. And usually, upon arrival, the officer would find that the elderly person’s hearing aid battery had died in the night or that they had fallen and needed an ambulance ride to Graham Hospital for some x-rays—God forbid a broken hip.

Still, sometimes, an elderly person had indeed passed away in the night, which would result in a simple investigation and a call to the coroner.

But on this cold January morning, When Marty Brown arrived at the address, 365 South First Avenue, he was told by a man named Max Scott—an officer from the National Bank of Canton—that the house in which he stood in the front yard was on fire. Max had not made the call, and nor was he a resident of the home, but had himself just arrived to check on his employee trust officer David Haynes, who had arrived a few minutes him to check on his secretary, 30-year-old Donna Tompkins, who had failed to come to work that morning with ATM drop.

Officer Brown then saw the flames and rushed back to his squad car to radio in the fire just as rookie patrolman Rusty Graham was approaching from the south and saw flames shooting out of a door on the side of the home facing the tracks. Then Officer Brown and Graham helped the other residents of the large home’s sectioned apartments. They rushed out onto the lawn as the sound of the glass being broken out of the windows in the back of the house caused a commotion.

David Haynes was responsible for the ruckus. Screaming for anyone who might still be inside the downstairs, south-facing apartment. 

“Give me a coat and oxygen, and I’ll go in!” David shouted.

Making a U-turn, the roads were slick, and Assistant Chief Howard Dye had trouble keeping the department van on the road. Still, he managed to turn around and headed south on 1st Avenue toward a column of smoke that swooped away by the wind to the south. One-half block from the reported address, Chief Dye saw an engine pull up out front. The crew had arrived, led by Chief Robert Derenzy, known simply as Slick or Chief. Lt. John Stanko, Illinois State Fire Investigator David Shaw, and so on, down the line. Fire Marshall Ted Anderson had also shown up and scolded David Haynes for breaking the windows out and venting the fire.

And David scolded Fire Marshall Anderson right back for just standing around and doing nothing, saying he needed to get his ass in gear, that if Donna and her daughter Justine were still in the front room, where he had claimed to have seen a glowing ball, they were indeed dead by now.

“What in the hell are you waiting for...?” asked David.

“The fire is too hot and rapid; we need to use the crane and smash a hole in the roof to create a chimney to vent the smoke before we can enter,” said Anderson.

“What the hell are you talking about...? I already vented the smoke,” said David, as columns of smoke poured out of the windows in the side and back of the house. “Give me a coat and oxygen, and I’ll go in,” he shouted.

“Let us do our damn jobs—behind the squad car, now!”

About that time, the Copperas Creek Fire Department, out of the nearby village of Banner, Illinois—as the Canton Fire Department needed the extra manpower and additional air packs—a team of seven, all-volunteer, loaded into their own rescue van and Pumper #1510 and raced their way up the steep icy hill on Illinois Route 9 for the 10-mile drive to the fire at 365 South First Avenue in Canton, Illinois.  

Slick was barking orders before joining Lt. Stanko, and Fire Investigator Craig Shaw was preparing to enter the back of the residence into the windows David had already smashed out.

Slick hollered that they needed water “ASAP.”

The Chief then called over Graham as he was carrying a ladder and gear around back, instructing, “Rusty, I need you to be my safety line.”

Still, Officer Graham, the rookie he was, didn't know quite what that meant.

But Graham got the gist and helped Slick put the ladder by the back window.

The Chief instructed Graham, saying, “I need you to stand here or on the ladder by the window; I'm going to go in and look for victims, and if I find them, I'm going to need help getting them out. I need you also when I yell for you, you to yell so I can…with all the smoke, I'm not going to be able to see where the window is for me to get back out.”

So, Graham stood on the ladder as the Chief climbed in, and Graham could hear him rummaging around on his hands and knees, moving stuff around as the black smoke poured out. And every minute or two—maybe about 10 minutes total, perhaps a little longer—he would yell out every so often for Graham. The officer would yell back so he could orient the Chief to where the window was. And when the Chief came back to the window, as the black smoke continued to pour out, Graham couldn't see anything until suddenly his helmet and face mask were right there in his face, and it startled him.

And then the Chief climbed out, took his air mask off, and said he thought he was in a bedroom from the way everything felt but couldn't find any bodies or anybody around.

It was then that the Copperas team—Steve Malgram, Gordi Romnie, Bob Bartlett, Richard Ball, Randy Davis, Bob Clogg, and Terry Harrison arrived. Harrison, behind the wheel, could see thick black smoke rushing from the chimney formed in the roof of the house by the ladder team. The engine team, meanwhile, was dousing the flames as out front, a growing crowd of onlookers behind the barricade of squad cars, others making their way around to get a better view, were soaked by the mist in the frigid air. Their bodies shivered with chill and dread. 

The Canton Fire Department, with enough on-duty firemen to handle rescue calls and small fires, with a big structure fire, a large fire as large as this, were still waiting on the calvary of off-duty and volunteer firemen from the area to arrive and join the team to get the fire put out. Given the size, the department was known to be very aggressive—believing if someone were to be inside the residence, a victim or anyone, any living thing, the first on-duty firemen to arrive was known just to grab their gear, their safety equipment and boom, go in, right into the fire trying to save anyone they could.

A few of the initial crew had run a fire line from the closest hydrant on the curb just feet from a set of railroad tracks on the corner of the property. The other guys had thrown on their safety equipment, preparing to run right in the front door, as the fire spewed out in fierce licks lapping up what oxygen it could—like a dehydrated hellhound.

Geared up, the men were spraying down, drenched before rushing into the home, and as they did, their coats steamed as they dried back to a starched, stiff asbestos-coated canvas.

 For Officer Graham, the lingering question remained, “Why the hell is this doll lying here...?” Reassuring himself, “They said she had a daughter. So that's probably one of her daughter's toys.”

Meanwhile, the two responding officers, Graham and Brown, by this point, had set up their cars to block traffic, maintaining a perimeter in an attempt to keep back the steady stream of gawkers, as David Haynes approached the officers in his agitated state, rambling practically incoherently, that he had come there that morning to check on his secretary Donna Tompkins.

He said that he knocked on the door when he got there. There were some clear glass windowpanes by the door that he could see into the apartment, but he didn't see anybody, “couldn't see anything.”

He said he hadn't seen any smoke, nor flames, nothing. But that he could see “clearly” in there. Shouting inside as he knocked, he didn't see or hear anyone.

Of course, in a time of no cell phones other than expensive and uncommon bag phones, David had run to the neighbors. He used their landline to call the Police Department for a well-being check. David said that after he called, he came back out and said it was at that point when he looked in through the glass on the doors again; he could now see smoke and fire inside the apartment. He panicked and began breaking windows out and yelling to see if anybody was inside. And David told the officers that that's when they had pulled up.

The firemen, now inside, were spraying water everywhere. The engine doused the roof, and the mist covered the lawn and the helmets, shields, and coats of all the personnel now on the scene.

The fire had now moved up through the walls and into the attic and the apartment upstairs. And one of the firefighters that were on the scene, a commander, said, “Hey, this is lookin’ like a suspicious fire,” suggesting there was no way this was electrical—caused by a short, so to speak—believing the way where the fire looked to him, “suspicious.”

As the word spread, officers on the scene called in the detectives from back at the Police Department. After nearly an hour and a half of fighting the blaze, it was announced that they found two victims inside.

The Copperas Creek company, instructed by Lt. Stanko, was ordered to go inside and assist, as the Canton crew had already made their way in.

“They need help with two bodies,” he told Terry Harrison, and he and his boys suited up with air packs.

And at this point in time, everyone assumed it was Donna and her daughter, but they were still fighting the fire and not entirely sure. The fire was in the walls and attic, and they had a hard time getting to it and thought they might lose the building—as some worried it would collapse.

Then someone said, “Hey, if we need to get photographs of the scene, we better do it now because if it collapses, it’ll be too late.”

Detective Marty Bowton having arrived, removed a camera from his squad car. Then he and Officer Graham were given helmets and fire jackets by two volunteers—oversized bulky fire coats that consumed their bodies within. Graham removed his police hat, threw it in the car, put on a stocking cap due to the frigid cold, and put on the helmet.

Harrison entered the front door as the Canton crew was trying to fight the fire upstairs, spraying it down, trying to keep it knocked down.

Harrison saw that Detective Marty Bowton had already entered the smoldering apartment, still flaming on the southwest wall. The officer took photos of the scene, mostly blackened and charred debris. And Harrison started dousing the fire to the right of the door as flames still licked the ceiling. He then carefully headed into the dark back bathroom. Harrison knocked down the fire in the bathroom with a shot of water and then used his axe to tear a hole in the wall, then shot water inside the wall toward the ceiling. Then, tearing down some of the ceiling boards, assisted by Slick, he drenched what he could above the north wall of the apartment, the plaster, lath, and ceiling tiles in the area.

Officer Graham flicked on his flashlight in the dark room, though no longer choked full of smoke at that point, ash was all over, and it was nearly pitch black. Graham beamed his flashlight around the room, saw what looked like a couch or a fold-out bed, and then stood frozen in shock. Graham could not register what he saw before him. What he believed to be a doll that lay half beneath a wooden chair. The doll was lying on its back on what was left of a foam mattress.

Detective Bowton took a photo, and the flash of light lit everything up, including the head and shoulder of the roasted body of a dead little girl.

Harrison had finished looking for hotspots and approached the sofa bed that sat in what appeared to be the living room. He raised his face mask to see a woman’s body lying on the right side of the little girl. Both were nude, but the woman was lying close to the foot of the bed on her back. Her legs were pulled up, and if they had been stretched outward, they would have hung from the end of the mattress. Her arms were close to her sides, both hands charred, the skin on roughly half of her body blackened and split.

A realization came to everyone in the burnt-out room that these were most likely the bodies of mother and daughter, 30-year-old Donna and her three-year-old Justine.

For Officer Graham, the lingering question remained, “Why the hell is this doll lying here...” Reassuring himself, “They said she had a daughter. So that's probably one of her daughter's toys.”

But then Detective Bowton took more photographs, Flash, Flash, Flash, and finally, etched by light into the rookie's mind, the dark realization, “Oh, that's not a doll. That's the girl; that's the daughter. That’s little Justine!”

The firemen told the officers if we tell you guys to run, head for the door and get out because we don't know if we'll be able to save the structure. And Marty Bowton hurried, taking as many pictures from all different angles of the bodies as he could in what time he had.

From a distance of about 6 feet, Graham kept staring down at mother and child in utter disbelief…at what he would soon discover was the first murder scene of his law enforcement career.

The officers were then told that they had to exit the building. After Graham got out, he cleared his lungs and gave the helmet and the coat back to the volunteer firefighter who had loaned them.

Donna had told David that Jon had a bad temper and that she was always afraid of him.

Back inside, the chair was moved from the bed, and Terry Harrison assisted Slick in placing the child in a body bag before carrying her out to an awaiting ambulance in the street. Afterward, as Harrison gathered himself, the Chief returned to the house. Then with the help of Randy Davis, they carried out the woman before the onlooking crowd. Sloshing around in the muck of slush and muddied snow, Canton Daily Ledger newspaper photographer, David Pickel, took exterior shots of the chaotic scene.

Outside, Detective Bowton asked the on-scene fire commander what was making him think the fire was suspicious, asking, “So, what in the hell is going on here...?”

And though the commander said little, something about his manner expressed clearly that there was something very wrong about the whole event.

Detective Bowton then asked, “Where is the gentleman from the bank?”

And he found him over by Officer Graham's squad car as Graham was getting his name: David Haynes, date of birth, address, and so on—everything noted down in a small notepad by shivering hands.  

The first thing that had stuck in both officers' minds as suspicious about David was that the victim worked at the same bank David worked at and was his Secretary. Of course, he was not only on the scene; he was the first to discover the fire and, thus, the victims.

Detective Bowton took down David Haynes's statement, as did Fire Investigator Craig Shaw and State Fire Marshall Ted Anderson. 

Dave stated that this was Donna Jean Tompkins’s home. And that she worked as his trust secretary at the National Bank of Canton. He said Donna was about 30-31 years of age and that Donna had worked at the bank for the past three years. But at one point, she quit when she had a baby. The baby: Justine. Born around Labor Day, 1989. David said that Donna returned full-time several months after the baby was born. And that he thought the child stayed at the YMCA during the day.

David told the investigators that Donna was separated from her husband, Jon Tompkins, who resided near Cuba, Illinois, and farmed with his father. And that he believed their divorce was nearly final. Her husband, Jon, had called Donna several times when she first moved out. This was over six months ago. Jon is the father of Donna's child, as far as David was aware. Donna had told David that Jon had a bad temper and that she was always afraid of him.

Donna’s Tompkins maiden name was Amicucci, originally from Connecticut. David said she had returned to Connecticut for Christmas with her father and family. Her mother had died around a year ago, and Donna had a difficult time dealing with her death. David claimed he had always believed that her mother’s death had something to do with her leaving Jon. Basically, she wanted a different life while she still had time.

David said he arrived for work at the bank at 8:15 am that day, as he always did. And that Donna usually arrived at 8:30. He said he had a telephone call and a customer that morning. But after the customer left, he was told that Donna had yet to arrive at work. David said he called her apartment at around 9 am but that after several rings, her answering machine picked up. He did not leave a message and hung up the phone. And then, another bank employee called the YMCA daycare center to check if Donna had dropped her daughter. But they said she had yet to arrive. And David told the investigators it was then that he decided to leave the bank and go to her apartment to check on her in person. He said that when he arrived at her apartment at about 9:15 am, he saw that her car was parked in the garage in the back. He parked in the driveway behind her car at the rear of the house. And walked around to the south side of the house through the snow to her door. He said he rang the doorbell but did not hear the doorbell ring from outside. And that he had not yet noticed anything unusual.

After getting no answer from Donna’s door, he said he walked around to the west side of the house to Pauline Newcomb’s apartment, the owner of the house, who lived in the other ground floor apartment. He reiterated that although Pauline owned the house, it was administered through a trust at the bank, with himself as the trust officer. David said he asked Mrs. Newcomb if he could use her phone to call the police. He then asked for a phone book to look up the non-emergency number for the police department. He called the department and told them of the problem. The person who answered the phone, he said, put him on hold. And after reaching the dispatcher, he again explained the situation, saying he would like an officer to come and do a welfare check on Donna. David then told the investigators that they heard a noise on the other side of the wall as he hung up the phone. He said he was not sure what it was but had told Mrs. Newcomb it might be a gas leak and for her to get out of the house.

David said he then left Mrs. Newcomb’s apartment and tried to look into the windows of Donna's apartment once more. But he could see nothing. It was then that he decided, since the police had not yet arrived, he had to take some sort of action to get inside. So, he went to a southside window where an air conditioner was located and pulled it out. And the second the AC came out, heavy smoke rolled out of the window, and a blast of fire. David said he then ran back to the door and, using a small piece of metal from the AC, broke out the sidelight glass next to the door. He said he then reached his hand in and unlocked the deadbolt. And that when he opened the door, he encountered very thick smoke. David said he saw a bright glow straight ahead of him and slightly to his left, about three or four feet high from the floor. He described the glow as a bright red dome.

David then told the investigators that he thought Donna once told him at one time that one of them sleeps in the living room and the other in the back bedroom. So, he decided to run to the windows on the east side of the building. He broke them out with the same piece of metal and then a shovel, which another man from an upstairs apartment brought him. David said he could see a little of the bed but could not see anyone. He then broke out the north window of the same bedroom but still could not see anyone in the bed. At no time, David said when asked, did he ever hear a smoke detector sounding.

He claimed he had given smoke detectors to the occupants of the second-floor apartments around five years ago. But he was not sure if Donna’s apartment had one. And he claims there had been no recent problems with Donna’s apartment or the building in general. David added that when Donna moved into the building, she had no heat. But he had called Luker’s plumbing, and they repaired a problem with the boiler's thermostat. David said that Donna had lived in the apartment for four or five months and that he had arranged for her to move in because he knew it was vacant and available. He was the building manager, after all, and collected rent.

David again said he had gone to the apartment to check on Danna because she was a dependable worker. It was uncharacteristic of her just not to show. He said his first thought was, in fact, that there might be some sort of gas leak in her apartment and that that is why she hadn’t shown up.

During further questioning about his actions upon first arrival at the scene, David said again that he opened the storm door and knocked the first time. But then David stated it was the window of the door he broke out, changing his story from initially claiming it had been the sidelight window he had broken to unlock the door. And that when he opened the south side entrance door and discovered the fire, he said he signed his hair, showing them the crips strands of his dark hair, mustache, and eyebrows.

He told the investigators he thought he had his gloves on when he opened the door and that this was why he did not know if the knob was hot when asked. And he said he was unsure if he closed the door when he exited. And David said he was confident he could hear a little crackling after he opened the door. About five to ten minutes after he arrived, he discovered the fire. And the smoke was black and grey when he first removed the air conditioner from the window.

“The strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

When asked, David said “no,” he had not noticed any recent changes in Donna’s personality. She had been more upbeat about the divorce and was anxious to have it finalized. But come to think of it—Donna had let him know she would have a tough day at work on Tuesday because the second secretary was sick. And was awfully moody all day, even snapping at Officer Max Scott, which he felt was quite disrespectful.

Max Scott—off to the side just out of earshot—patiently waited for his turn to give a statement so that he could get back to the bank.

David said he had known that finances were tight for Donna, but things were looking up recently due to potential "court-ordered" child support and an upcoming raise at the bank. And when asked, David said, “No,” he did not think Donna was dating anyone, at least not that he was aware of. Adding that there was probably not a closer friend to her at the bank than himself.

And “No,” David said, "of course, I have never seen Donna smoke."

The investigators informed David that they might contact him for any follow-up questioning. And then, as they moved on to Max Scott, David was approached by an insurance agent with a tape recorder who wanted to record an interview with him. David stated right off the bat, “My brother’s house in Monmouth had caught fire back in ’92.” And then David went on to state and forewarned the agent, “If they find a fingerprint on the deadbolt, it’s going to be mine.”

Graham asked himself, you have got to be kidding me, before apologizing to his superior, “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll do better next time, Sir.”

The order was made to notify Donna's husband, Jon, of his wife and their daughter's passing. And Officer Graham strolled the perimeter of the home, and upon returning to his squad car, his Lieutenant pulled up. As Graham approached the vehicle, the Lieutenant asked the rookie officer out his window, “Hey, what the hell is going on?”

And Graham said, “This lady didn't show up to work. A coworker came to check on her, and we got here for a well-being check. Well, ended up that the house was on fire. And the victim and her daughter, well, they're deceased.” And he goes on to tell the Lieutenant that they are still fighting the fire in the attic and walls.

“Got it,” said the Lieutenant, as Graham explained he had the roads all blocked off and the perimeter in place to keep the crowd away. 

And the Lieutenant took a good long look at Graham, dirty uniform from head to toe, hat missing, and reprimanded him fiercely.

Graham asked himself, you have got to be kidding me, before apologizing to his superior, “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll do better next time, Sir.”

And then the Lieutenant rolled up his window and drove away.

Inside the burnt-out Victorian by the tracks, investigators found, amongst the remnants of the apartment, a few notable pieces of evidence: an uncharred pillow tucked tightly between the sofa bed and the wall, a broken bottle of Southern Comfort whiskey under the bed, a gold Casio watch on the kitchen counter beside the sink, and lastly, a gold signet ring, which upon closer inspection revealed itself to be a 1938 Canton High School class ring, with the initials engraved: CJH.

DJT: Donna Jean Tompkins was declared dead by the coroner on January 13th, 1993, at 10:05 am, just eleven days shy of her 31st birthday.

JNT: Justine Nicole Tompkins, four months into her 3rd year of life, deceased.

The coroner had jotted down the conditions which gave rise to the immediate cause of death:

Body found with fourth-degree burns involving virtually the entire body as a result of a residential fire with no evidence (as of yet) that the fire was the cause of death.

The bodies, already on their way to the county medical examiner’s office, were rerouted to the state office in Springfield for autopsy.

The fire was eventually extinguished, and the whole scene tapped off, with auxiliary officers stationed on 24-hour guard duty, for what would become weeks of on-scene investigation.

In a situation such as this, where so much manpower was required and so much water—not to mention the fire damage itself—preserving intact evidence would be a real challenge, if not practically impossible. And amongst such chaos, first impressions are critical and supplemental. And Fire Marshall Ted Anderson had noted, based on his observations and career experience, that he believed the fire, which he described as “rapid and intense,” had started that day between 9:15 and 9:30 am. Precisely between the time that David Haynes first arrived on the scene and called the police for the well-being check and just minutes before the first firefighters had arrived.

As word had begun to get around, as in small towns, words tend to do. Canton was shaken—such a tragedy tearing at the heart of the community. And as the sun set on the short winter day, rumors spread like wildfire into the night before the ash had even fallen from the heavens back to the hardened ground below.

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