“Oh, yeah. I can relate. My stomach has been pretty agitated the last couple of days.”
I gave her a relieved smile, chastising myself for being so unfocused. There was too much going on for me to even consider getting involved with someone. It seemed like the minute I learned that her father wasn’t to blame for my stepdad’s death, I’d started to look at Jordy in a totally different light.
She pulled the car into the parking lot of the sandwich deli a block away from the fire station and put it in park. I unbuckled my seat belt and slid the shoulder strap back. I noticed that Jordy hadn’t moved.
“Uh, Robbie…”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“When this is all over, and I’ve caught the bad guy and you’ve written your book, would you maybe…”
Yes! Ask me, I’ll say yes.
“Would you go out with someone like me?”
Someone like her? “What do you mean, like you? A firefighter?” An incredibly brave, handsome, sensual firefighter.
“No. You know, your favorite nickname for me, a jerk.” She shrugged with a smile in her eyes.
More teasing. In one easy exchange, Jordy let me know she was interested, but that she needed time. Time to catch the arsonist, but I think, also time to let go of Tina. I couldn’t fault her for that. In fact, unlike some of my previous, pull the U-Haul to the front door, girlfriends, I found Jordy’s inquiry to be quite healthy and refreshing. “Ah. Well, Jordy, there is no one else like you, jerk or not, but yes, that sounds like fun.”
We spent the afternoon creating an evidence board in Jordy’s office. Joe wasn’t at the station, forensics was still processing the crime scene, and the computer tech lady was scrubbing the video for data. Jordy was not the type to sit back and let other people do all the work, so she pulled a corkboard from the wall behind the desk and set it up on a table against the opposite wall. Then she took down everything that was on it, including the picture of her father and some of the other firefighters. She grabbed a red Sharpie and wrote my biological father’s name on a Post-it note. Using a push pin she stabbed it onto the corkboard.
“Okay. Suspect number one, Patrick Sanders,” she said, peeling another sheet of notepaper from the pad.
I took the Sharpie from her hand and wrote bastard under his name and underlined it twice.
She looked at me and laughed, but didn’t take it down. She wrote ‘video guy’ on a Post-it and hung it up at the very top, centered over Patrick. “We don’t know who he is, but he should be the one we try to connect to any known suspects.”
“What about Scott?” I asked. “My mother mentioned that he was pretty upset when my stepdad was promoted over him.”
“I don’t really think Scott was a serial arsonist, but until I can prove otherwise, I’ll add him as a suspect,” she stated, scribbling his name on the pad and hanging up the note.
“Excuse me.” The probie, Paul, stood in the door way wearing bunker pants with the suspenders hanging by his side. He must have just come in off a call. He walked over, curiously eyeing the evidence board. Jordy gave him an impatient stare and when he didn’t notice, she cleared her throat.
“Oh. Uh, forensics said you’d want to see these, ASAP?”
“Thanks, probie,” Jordy said, taking the folder he offered.
The man nodded and grinned at me before walking away.
Jordy opened the folder and pulled out photos and some papers. “Whoa,” she exclaimed, scanning the report. She excitedly spread the photos on the table by the evidence board.
“What? Did you see something?” I asked, looking at the photos expecting to see something significant. All I saw were pictures of charred wood and rubble. Then I realized that she had been trapped in that rubble. “Is that where you were trapped?”
“Yeah.” She pointed at one photo where half the floor was gone.
“Oh, my God. That is so unbelievable.”
Jordy’s cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. “Stringfellow… yeah, I’m at the office. Okay, hold on.” She put the phone on speaker and walked over to her desk, setting the phone down. Clicking on the email icon on her laptop, she waited for the inbox to open up. “Yep, got your email.”
“Click on the link and it’ll take you to the encrypted video,” the voice on the phone instructed. “The password is lollypop4me.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
Jordy chuckled, but continued typing the password. “Okay, Rosie, I’m in. What’s next?”
“Click on the link that says evidence 6401. It’ll pull up the video that you had me find. I was able to extract some compressed files that didn’t show on the media player.”
“Fantastic!” Jordy all but squealed. “I owe you one, Rosie.”
“Get me an autographed copy from that gorgeous author I heard was shadowing you, and we’ll call it even.”
Blushing, I cleared my throat and stepped up to the phone. “Tell you what, Rosie,” I teased, “I’ll personally sign it for you over dinner, my treat.”
I heard a gasp and then Rosa stuttered, “Oh, um… damn it, Jordy. You could have warned me.”
Jordy was laughing so hard, tears were running down her cheeks. I shoved her shoulder, but she kept laughing. Finally, she regained her composure.
“Sorry about that, Rosie. I figured you knew she was here. Like you said, she’s shadowing me.”
“Way to put it back on her,” I whispered in Jordy’s ear.
She smirked, obviously enjoying herself. “Rosa López, allow me to introduce my shadow, Roberta Witherspoon.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Rosa. And I meant what I said, dinner is on me.” I glanced at Jordy and she winked at me. Was she giving me her approval? Like I needed it.
“And I know the perfect little restaurant we could go to,” Jordy inserted.
Now I understood the wink. You are just too cute, Jordyn Stringfellow.
“Oh, okay. Sounds good,” Rosa replied, the lilt gone from her voice. “Talk with you guys later.”
“Thanks again, Rosie,” Jordy said and ended the call. She tapped the play button on the video and said, “Let’s see what Rosie found.”
I leaned over her shoulder as the video began to play.
“There, see that?” Jordy asked, pointing at the monitor.
“No, see what?” I leaned down and squinted my eyes as if that would make the jumpy video clearer. I watched for a minute, shaking my head. “We’ve already seen this,” I complained, frustrated that it wasn’t the answer to all my questions. I should have known, from my days researching crime in New York that the answers weren’t handed to you on a silver platter. You had to painstakingly follow every lead and check off every possible clue, until something broke in the case. But this case was about my stepdad, and my frustration was borne out of fear that my biological father might have been the one who killed him. I was feeling guilty for something I had no control over, but my heart told me it was my fault, nonetheless.
Jordy hit the pause button and then the print screen key on her keyboard. She sent the screengrab to the printer and advance the video a little, then paused it again and repeated the action. Finally, she scooped up the photos from the printer and inserted them into a folder. Tucking it under her arm, she grabbed her keys from the desk where she had thrown them earlier and turned to me. “Come on,” she ordered, opening the office door.
“But, we just got here. Where are we going now?”
She stood to the side and waited for me. “We’re going back to the scene of the crime.”
“What were those photos you printed out?” I asked, grabbing my purse and walking out the door. “Apparently you saw something?”
“Yeah, the perp had left the app recording and he got video of the witnesses, like Perla May, who was standing back behind the guy.”
“So you think maybe she saw him?”
“Yes, exactly. I want you to talk with her again, and—”
“Me? You’re the investigator. I woul
dn’t know what to ask.”
“Oh, puh-lease,” she laughed, drawing out the syllables. “You were a reporter; you always know what to ask. Besides, you already have a rapport with her. All you have to do is ask her if she noticed anyone filming the fire on a cell phone. Let her look at the photos and see if she recognizes anyone.”
“Sure, I can do that. But the building was destroyed. Why would she still be there?”
“Because it’s the safest place to be right now, without having to go to a homeless shelter,” Jordy answered as we walked down the hall.
I shook my head. “I don’t understand; why do you think it’s safe?”
“It’s a crime scene until forensics finishes with it, so there will be police there, and they will probably have lights set up so they can work through the night. It’s the safest place in the area right now.”
“That’s so sad,” I replied as we walked outside. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live on the streets, constantly in fear for your life. I suddenly felt so empty inside, praying that I’d never be homeless like Perla May. I had heard similar stories of older people losing their jobs and forced to live on the streets like she had. It was becoming America’s dirty little secret, one that a lot of people knew about, but no one did anything. Well, I am not going to be one of those people.
“Can we swing by my hotel room, first? I need to pick something up.”
“Sure, okay,” she agreed, unlocking her car with the remote. She hit another button and the top began to rise up and slide into the trunk. My next car is absolutely going to be a convertible.
Traffic was heavy at that time of afternoon, but then, in Memphis, it always was. She pulled around to the wing of the hotel where my room was located and parked the car, but left the engine running.
“I’ll be just a minute,” I assured her, unbuckling my seatbelt and jumping out of the car. Remembering I would need my purse, I turned around again and tripped over my own two feet. Luckily, I righted myself before I fell. I chanced a glance at Jordy, and she was smirking. Yeah, that wasn’t embarrassing at all, jeez. I reached over the door and picked up my purse, then I turned on my heel and walked off, swaying my hips purposefully. I thought of looking back to see if she was watching me, but that would just be too obvious.
I ran inside and took the elevator up to my suite. The first thing I’d done, after settling into the hotel, was to go shopping. The hotel had the cutest little clothing boutique on the first floor, and I spent way too much money buying pink boots and camisoles. When I first moved to New York, I struggled to make ends meet. Now that I had a little money in the bank, I’d taken to buying two of everything, just in case my luck ran out again. Perla May had admired my pink hiking boots and I noticed we looked to be about the same size, so I wanted to give her my extra pair. Rummaging through the closet where I had accumulated several bags from shopping, I pulled out the large boot box and tucked it under my arm.
I glanced at a particularly large shopping bag that had a present for my mother in it. I had intended to give it to her when I saw her, but our visit today hadn’t been planned. That reminded me of the cute, confused look on Jordy’s face, when she realized she had unintentionally driven toward Germantown. I got the feeling that didn’t often happen to her.
Leaving the room, I jumped back on the elevator. When I exited the door to the parking lot, Jordy was waiting on me.
“What’s wrong, was I taking too long?” I quipped.
“Get back in the car,” she demanded.
I had a sharp retort on the tip of my tongue but I bit it back when I followed her angry stare. She was looking past me, at a man hidden in the shadows. “He’s probably just out for a smoke,” I suggested.
She pulled my arm toward the car as she said, “He’s been standing there since we pulled up and he’s not smoking. He was waiting for something.”
I shook my head. “You’re just being paranoid.”
But she wasn’t. I looked over my shoulder and saw the man running toward us. Jordy must have seen him, too, because she stopped, turned toward him, her hand on her pistol. She waved me behind her and stepped in front of me. I thought she was being overly-dramatic, but I had to admit, her protectiveness felt very comforting. It was a strange paradox in that I didn’t need protecting, I could take care of myself, but I loved that she wanted to be my protector.
“I thought that was you,” the man said, stopping a good distance in front of us. He looked at Jordy’s hand ready to draw her pistol, and he held up his hands as if surrendering. “Whoa, slow down, girly-girl. I’m not here to rob you or anything.”
“Then why are you here?” Jordy asked gruffly.
The man took a step closer, his hands still surrendering. “I guess she doesn’t recognize me,” he said, looking at me. “It’s me, kitten. It’s your dad.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jordyn Stringfellow
The man was dirty, thin, and I could smell liquor on his clothes. He had the shakes and I knew what that meant; he was a junkie looking for a fix. Those were the most dangerous kinds of people. Desperate to the point of being deadly. He was obviously a longtime user, judging by the needle scars on his arms. Some of the sores looked pretty bad, probably because he hadn’t waited for them to heal before he hooked up again. Even though his hands trembled, he seemed clear minded, for the moment, but I knew that was an act. Inside, his guts were churning, his nerves were burning, and until he got his next fix, he would do and say anything.
Keeping my hand on my weapon, I stepped back and glanced quickly at Robbie, then locked my eyes back on the man. In a word, Robbie looked aghast.
“Robbie, do you recognize him?” I asked.
The man took a step closer, and I closed the distance by half. He wasn’t threatening or belligerent, but I wasn’t going to risk him making a grab for Robbie.
“Just stay where you are,” I warned him, holding up my hand. “Robbie?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she exclaimed.
“It has been a while. Are you sure, kitten?” he asked.
“Why are you calling me that?” Robbie asked. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m your dad,” he repeated.
“Bullshit,” I spat out, wanting to put an end to his charade. “Let’s see some ID.”
He reached inside his tattered jacket and I gripped my pistol. He moved very slowly, pulling the jacket back with one and hand and, making a show of using two fingers, he reached inside. He had obviously done that before and was quite practiced at it. I looked at him closely to see if there was any resemblance between him and Robbie. She was blonde, petite with violet eyes, and pale skin. He was about my height, with brown hair, which looked like it hadn’t been washed in years, and his eyes were a dark slate gray. He had the kind of rough and craggy skin of someone who’d lived a hard life.
He pulled a frayed, gray card from his pocket and handed it to me.
Robbie moved closer, and I showed her the card. A couple of the shelters in Memphis gave the regulars a card that they wrote their names on. They could show it to other shelters to let them know they had been clean and sober. The handwritten name on his card was Patrick Sanders.
“This proves nothing. I want a real ID card.” I tossed the card back at him and he tried to catch it, but missed. It fell to the ground, and he didn’t bother to pick it up.
Robbie put her hand on the small of my back, and I glanced at her. Confusion mixed with anger clouded her eyes, looking like the calm before the storm. I just wasn’t sure what kind of storm it would be.
“Robbie, he’s an imposter. He probably stole the card and—”
“But how did he know that name?” she whispered.
“Because, I’m your father,” the man reiterated again, letting his hands fall to his side. “And I just wanted to talk with you, that’s all.”
Robbie found her voice and stepped out from behind me. “My stepdad is dead. He’s the only father I ev
er had or loved.”
“He wasn’t your father. He stole my wife and bought your love.”
“You fucking coward!” Robbie yelled at him. “You deserted us long before Mom ever met Jerry.”
I put my hand on her elbow and squeezed lightly to get her attention. “Robbie, he’s baiting you. Don’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth.”
She calmed down and looked at me, her anger replaced with more confusion. “But he knew about—”
“He hasn’t shown or given any real proof that he is who he says he is. Don’t accept the obvious just because he insinuates he’s someone you might know.”
She blinked the confusion away and gave me a steely eye. “You’re right,” she said, placing her hand on my forearm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I wanted to grill the guy so there would be no doubt, but I wanted to get Robbie away from him. We turned around and walked toward the car, but the guy had one more card up his dirty, tattered sleeve.
“I didn’t want to leave you, kitten. You have to know that. I couldn’t make ends meet in Vegas, and you were so young—”
Robbie stopped and jerked around. “How young?” she challenged. “How old was I when you abandoned us?”
“I… uh…” He had a constipated look on his face and finally, lowered his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Robbie cut him a look that sent daggers into his heart. Then she walked away.
I waited until she was out of earshot and then, with my hand on my pistol, I stepped closer to him and asked, “Who are you, really?”
“I told you, I’m her father.”
“Bullshit. How did you find her?”
He glared at me before he turned and pointed at a poster in a store window across the street. The poster resembled a book cover with Robbie’s picture on it. “It wasn’t hard to figure out which hotel she was staying at.”
“So, you recognized her and decided to hit her up for what… money, drugs?”
“You wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said.”
Cause to Burn Page 13
