Could he have done it himself by using a remote control device from inside the house, where he was safely away from the exploding car?
Did Brian know how to do something such as that? It would surely take some technical know-how. But I remembered Kathy saying he’d opened up his computer to fix something inside it. That surely took some electronic expertise. Could he use that same kind of knowledge to set up an explosion? I wouldn’t poke into the internal workings of our laptop any more than I’d try a self-appendectomy.
A fire engine arrived first. Mac came back to where I was standing. The firemen had the blaze cut back considerably by the time deputies arrived a few minutes later, though that acrid scent was still strong enough to make my eyes water. I don’t suppose every deputy and law officer in the county came, but a haphazard tangle of official vehicles, both state and local, soon crowded the parking lot. An ambulance also arrived. Another fire engine. A county road maintenance dump truck showed up. Then an old motorhome. Two pickups that looked as if they’d been four-wheeling in the mud, plus a muddy, barking dog. A motorcycle with a sidecar attached.
Nothing like a good explosion to draw a crowd.
No feds yet, but I figured they’d show up soon. The Bureau of Tobacco, Guns and Explosives, or something like that.
Brian stood in the midst of the vehicles and officers, arms waving wildly. “Someone tried to kill me!” he yelled.
“See? What’d I tell you?” Sheila crossed her arms over her chest again.
“They destroyed my car! They tried to blow me up!” More arm waving and then a despairing slap of hands against his bowed head.
“Give the man an Oscar,” Sheila muttered. A moment later she determinedly headed toward a deputy. She was giving him her wild theory about Brian rigging the explosion himself, of course, how he’d set it up as a way to divert attention from his own guilt in Renée’s murder. But Sheila didn’t look like some wild-eyed fanatic spouting he-done-it gibberish. Except for one fairly subtle pointing toward Brian, her arms were controlled as she talked to the deputy, her expression earnest and intense.
Maybe what she was saying wasn’t just a wild theory . . .
Kathy had come out and put her arms around Brian, apparently trying to comfort him. He pushed her away and went back to raving about how he’d backed the car out of the carport just a few minutes earlier. How he’d left the engine running while he went back inside, just for a minute, to get the wallet he’d forgotten. Then the explosion.
“Someone tried to kill me!”
Brian kept circling the burned car as he raged at a full bellow, stopping here and there to stare into someone’s face as if expecting to find the culprit looking back at him. Was that possible? I’ve heard of arsonists returning to the scene of their crime to watch the flames. Was the person out there watching right now? How about that motorcyclist with the sidecar?
I searched the faces of onlookers, but since most of them were law officers of one type or another, finding a guilty person among them didn’t seem likely. However, I noticed that an officer was taking photos of the burning Porsche, and he also turned the camera to get photos of the crowd, including us. I hadn’t seen or heard the motorcycle leave, but it was gone now.
More officers had gathered around Brian. He sounded convincing. Loud, excited, distracted, scared, angry, the way someone who’d just escaped an attempt on his life would sound.
“If I hadn’t gone inside I’d be dead! Someone tried to kill me!” he repeated.
I couldn’t hear what Sheila was telling the officer, but it occurred to me that this could be Sheila’s own diversionary tactic. Trying to make them believe Brian had blown up his own car because she’d done it. She’d mentioned a remote control device to set off the explosion. Maybe she had one right there in her SUV and had set it off as she was driving over here.
I stopped my headlong rush down that trail of thought. No logical sense in it. Sheila didn’t like Brian; she’d made that plain enough. But kill him? Why?
I also couldn’t believe she knew enough about explosions or remote control devices to set this up. What ordinary citizen did? Although someone could be hired to do almost anything. Did Sheila know a blow-up-a-car kind of person? Maybe. Some rather scruffy types showed up at her garage sales. I’d seen a couple of guys who looked as if they might be anything from terrorists to serial killers. But that was unfair, of course. Judging someone on the basis of looks always is. What one of the scruffy guys had actually bought was a rather battered old Barbie doll for his little girl.
I suddenly wondered if Brian realized Sheila was talking to the deputy about him. How would he react if he did notice it? He’d surely be furious, and if he’d already killed once . . .
I was thinking so hard I didn’t even notice Deputy Hardishan approaching until he spoke. “Well, if it isn’t the nice couple who always seem to be around when there’s a disaster on the menu. What are you doing here?”
“We just happened to be visiting Duke.” Mac motioned to Duke still standing with his walker at the foot of the ramp to his trailer door.
“Just coincidence, of course,” the deputy said.
“Do we look like demolition experts?” I grumbled.
“No, but—”
I could see the good deputy was lining up a mental list of criminals who didn’t look like the killers, arsonists, or terrorists they were, so I was glad when Mac interrupted.
“Any idea yet what kind of explosive was used?”
“Not yet. Something smaller than a nuclear bomb but bigger than a firecracker. Any suggestions?” A facetious question at best. Maybe even a bit snarky.
“We can give you a statement of what we saw,” Mac said. “But that’s about it.”
“We’ll be in touch.” A threat or a promise from the deputy? Probably both.
“We aren’t planning to leave the area in the immediate future,” I offered.
“Good.” He didn’t even smile to suggest he realized I was being just a teensy bit snarky myself about his previous demands that we not leave.
So far Duke hadn’t said a word, but now he clumped off with the walker toward Kathy. She was standing next to her old Honda. Her gaze never left Brian, and she seemed oblivious of anyone else.
Suspicious ol’ me, I briefly wondered if Kathy might have tired of Brian’s affection for, as she’d once put it, this hunk of “four wheels and expensive insurance” and decided to get rid of it. Without injuring Brian, of course.
I discarded that thought almost immediately. Kathy might wish Brian would treat her as well as he treated the Porsche . . . maybe she’d like a little waxing and polishing too . . . but I couldn’t really think she’d figure a way to destroy something that meant so much to him.
Now Duke gave Kathy an awkward hug and they talked a minute before he clumped back to where we were standing.
“Does Kathy have any idea who might have done this?” I asked.
“She thinks it’s just a terrible accident.”
Accident? Another thought that had never entered my head.
“She said Brian had the spark plugs changed recently and maybe one of them was defective. Or maybe the mechanic accidentally did something when changing the oil at the same time.”
Mac and I exchanged glances, as we often do. A defective spark plug or an oil change causing an explosion like we’d just seen? Even with my limited car expertise, that sounded about as likely as blaming the bad car fairy.
Sheila returned without comment on her conversation with the deputy, but apparently she was satisfied with his reaction, or we’d be hearing about it. The deputy she’d spoken with was talking to a state police officer now.
“Looks as if the excitement here is over. They ought to be arresting Brian very soon now. Shall we head on into town for pizza?” she said to Duke.
I thought he was reluctant to leave, but after a hesitation he nodded, and she helped him into her SUV and put his walker
in the back seat. Was she driving off with an incriminating remote control device in her vehicle? No, if she’d had one, she’d have tossed it out before she got here.
The Porsche was a misshapen chunk of hot leftovers now, tires all blown and burned. A warped piece of metal that had fallen near us looked as if it might be what was left of a license plate. A couple of officers appeared to be questioning Brian. Were they about to arrest him?
Kathy went over to support Brian with an arm around his waist. This time he didn’t push her away; he didn’t even seem to notice her. A few official cars left. An officer got rid of the onlookers in the motorhome and pickups. No one tried to stop us when we got in our pickup and drove off.
We weren’t escaping, of course. Local law enforcement knew where to find us. I suspected they also had license numbers of the other onlookers.
Back at the motorhome, my ears were still ringing. The sight of an exploding vehicle isn’t as ghastly as a dead body, but this scene seemed branded on my brain cells. I managed to fix a pot of coffee, and we discussed the various possibilities. A spark plug accident. An unknown culprit trying to kill Brian but somehow miscalculating and destroying only the Porsche. My previous experience with an explosion rigged to be set off by the car ignition, and how that didn’t apply here because the car hadn’t exploded until it was just sitting there with the engine idling.
“Of course there are no doubt other ways to rig an explosion,” I said.
Mac nodded. “Sheila’s theory of Brian putting explosives in the Porsche himself and setting it off by remote control from inside the house.”
“Will the investigators give any credence to that theory?”
“Maybe. Especially if they really are close to targeting him for the murder.” Koop had climbed up to drape himself around Mac’s neck, and Mac stroked the stubby-tailed end of Koop’s orange body.
“I wonder if they searched the house after we left.”
“For a remote control device?” Mac said. “They’d need a search warrant, wouldn’t they?”
“Not if Brian thought he’d hidden it well enough and gave them permission to look.”
We both gave that a few moments’ consideration.
“I don’t think he did it,” I finally said reluctantly. “I guess I’d like to think he did it as a way to make them think whoever killed Renée was after him now,” I had to admit. “Because by now I definitely think he killed her. But I don’t think he caused today’s little incident.”
“Because?”
“Because the Porsche meant too much to him. Because I don’t think he just looked or acted devastated about it being destroyed. I think he is devastated.”
“He could have done it but still be devastated that he had to do it,” Mac suggested.
I nodded. Made sense to me.
“So, if you don’t think Brian himself did it, who did?”
Chapter 17
IVY
We discussed that while we drank more coffee. The obvious possibility, of course, was what Brian either actually believed or what he wanted the authorities to believe: that the person who’d killed Renée had also set the explosion and tried to kill him. But we both still thought Brian had killed Renée, either because of her romantic involvements outside her entanglement with him, or because she’d double-crossed him some way by getting the option on the Kate’s Kabins property for herself.
But if he hadn’t killed her, if someone was out to get both Renée and Brian, why? Had they been working together in some scheme to get both Kate’s Kabins and Duke’s property, and this collusion had angered someone enough to kill them both? Someone who also had designs on the properties? As a side issue in there, had Brian actually planned to arrange some “accident” for Duke and obtain the property through the wording of that codicil on Duke’s will?
Or had someone been angry enough with Renée and Brian about their affair to try for double murder?
I clunked a palm against my head as a supporting thought jumped into my mind. How could I have let this slide by? “Renée’s ex! Remember? Ron Sweeney said he’d gone to prison after blowing up the back side of a building to get to a safe. An explosion!”
“I’ll see if I can find anything on the internet.”
***
Near dark, Deputy Hardishan showed up. Mac opened the motorhome door and greeted him. A wind had come up, and he had to brace his arm against the door to keep it from slamming shut. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite lawman.”
“Wouldn’t want you to think I was neglecting you.”
He came inside. This time he didn’t separate us, and we went through the afternoon’s events together, starting with how I’d been peacefully sitting in Duke’s tree chair. Old, dry leaves flew by the windows while we talked. He asked the expected questions and scribbled our answers in his notebook. He was beginning to feel like, if not exactly an old friend, at least not an enemy. We asked a few questions too, although we didn’t really expect answers. Had they found anything to indicate what type of explosive was used or how it was set off? Gasoline? Dynamite? C-4?
“You know about C-4?” Deputy Hardishan lifted an eyebrow, a talent he hadn’t before exhibited. I was a bit envious. That one-eyebrow lift is a technique I’ve never been able to master.
“Not really. I’ve just read about it. Do you have any suspects?”
“Suspects other than yourselves, you mean?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell if the smile that came with the comment meant Of course you nice folks aren’t really suspects or if he was trying to put us off our guard with a little cop humor. But all he said was, “You know I can’t discuss that.”
“Is it illegal to blow up your own car?” Mac asked.
The deputy hesitated, squinting as he apparently ran Mac’s question through some mental check list. I noted he didn’t ask why Mac asked that particular question. “I suppose, under certain circumstances, it wouldn’t necessarily be illegal. If it’s on private property . . . and no illegal explosive is used . . . and it’s not done for insurance purposes . . .”
Insurance hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d been so concentrated on Sheila’s theory that Brian had done it to divert suspicion in Renée’s murder away from himself that any other motive he might have hadn’t entered my head. I wouldn’t think Brian and Kathy needed insurance money, but who knew?
But Deputy Hardishan’s offhand remark about an insurance payoff did suggest that they were seriously considering the possibility that Brian had set the explosion himself, for whatever reason.
“Are you checking on recent purchases of explosives locally?” I asked.
“You think we should do that?” The deputy sounded interested, but I could tell he was gently teasing me for even asking the question. This was already on their schedule.
“The explosive wasn’t necessarily purchased here, of course,” Mac said. “It could have been brought in from anywhere. Especially if it was C-4 that was used.”
“Experts who know more about explosives than we do will be here tomorrow. The federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. We’ll be working with them, of course.”
The deputy stood up, our question and answer session apparently concluded. At the door he turned and asked another question. I couldn’t tell if it had only then occurred to him or if for some reason he’d been saving it. “We understand Renée Echol’s ex-husband is in the area. You happen to know anything about him?”
“We heard he was staying somewhere around McKinleyville and that he rides an older Harley. One of the classic models, not something beat-up and decrepit. An ex-con, I think. He might have a parole officer who’d know something.”
“His parole officer is down south, and Echol isn’t exactly keeping in close contact with him.”
So, Ric Echol’s name, if not the man in person, was familiar to them. “That’s why you’re looking for him?” I asked. “Parole violation?”
“Just let us know if you have any contact or hear anything about him.”
The law had suspicions about Brian, but I was reasonably certain now that he wasn’t their sole suspect in the explosion. Ric Echol was on their radar too and not just for parole violation. They undoubtedly knew about his experience with explosives.
After the deputy left, Mac got on the laptop to see if he could find out anything about Ric Echol’s explosion and stolen safe, and I started spaghetti for supper. Before I had it ready, he called me over to the laptop.
“I haven’t been able to find anything about that particular explosion, but did you know that right here on the internet you can buy books that tell you how, and show you with illustrations, to use ‘commonly available’ ingredients to make an explosive?” He sounded mildly shocked. “Or you don’t even need to buy a book. There are sites with instructions right there. Look at this one.”
I looked and read the first line: Boil ten cups of urine. A startling instruction in itself. Someone could make an explosive starting with urine? But the amount of that ingredient was also rather startling. Ten cups of urine?
“You’re saying that even with no experience someone could make an explosive device?”
“It’s like a recipe. We could probably do it.”
Probably. Although we’d have to save up for that first ingredient. “You’re thinking Brian found a good exploding-Porsche recipe?”
“I know you don’t think he did it, but Kathy says he spends a lot of time on the computer. If I can find this stuff, he certainly can. Although we don’t know anything about his background or past. Maybe he’s an explosives professional and doesn’t need internet recipes.”
We already knew Brian had at least a minimal electronic ability, perhaps enough to rig a remote device to set off an explosive. If he could also mix up that explosive himself, there’d be no incriminating trail to show he’d bought something.
But I still didn’t think he’d done it. I don’t like Brian. I don’t like the way he tried to run us out of the dinosaur park parking lot. I don’t like the way he treats Kathy. I don’t like the shabby affair he carried on with Renée. I also thought he’d killed her. Not your all-around nice guy.
Detour Page 19
