by Randy Rawls
“That’s Al, one of our EMTs,” Sam told me as Al ducked back into the office. “He has his bachelor’s from UT. Of course, like me, he doesn’t have a big city reputation to throw around.”
There was a cold wind blowing through Cisco, Texas that morning, and I stood in the middle of it. My first impulse was to kiss it off and head back to Dallas, but that was replaced by dollar signs—fifteen hundred of them a day. I’d be able to pay my mortgage without raping my bank account.
Al reentered the bay with a doughnut in each hand, saving me from the cold shoulder Sam threw my way. “Okay, I’m ready.” He took a bite from a jelly pastry.
Sam smiled, grinned, then laughed. “Al, no damn wonder you’re overweight. You drink diet colas and eat doughnuts all day. It’ll never work.”
I was glad to learn Sam could be something other than dour. I took a closer look at their vehicle. It would be a contest to judge which was older, Sam or the four-by-four. “Why don’t we take my car? We can drop the top and air it out.” Getting stranded in Eastland County was not high on my list of things to do.
“We’ll need the equipment at the house, but we can go in your car,” Sam said. “That’ll give me a chance to absorb some big city modus operandi. At my tender young age, and with my lack of experience, I’m always looking to learn from the best.”
Before I could reply, he turned to Al. “Follow us in the four-by-four. I’m ridin’ with Mustah Edwards. We’s gonna put the top down.”
I checked the concrete at his feet expecting to see a puddle of sarcasm. It sure dripped from his words.
As I watched the four-by-four laboring to start and warm up enough to move under its own power, I decided to have a conversation with Jake. I vowed to tell him he needed to take a civic-minded attitude toward his hometown and donate a new utility vehicle to the fire department. I supposed he knew a museum somewhere that would welcome the old one.
We drove out of Cisco followed by the four-by-four, and worked our way to where Jake’s house had stood. From a mile away I saw the house, but not as I remembered it. Today, all I saw were three chimneys reaching into the sky like sentinels. They would have been impressive, but I had seen them before. The house had stood at the peak of one of the highest hills near Cisco, dominating the landscape as buffalo once had. The chimneys were part of what had been the most beautiful home in the area, a home constructed by the best craftsmen Jake could hire.
We pulled into the long circular driveway, and I searched our back trail. Sparse vegetation, sagebrush and mesquite—no buildings, only a few cattle. Jake picked the best site in the Cisco area for his home, also one of the most isolated.
When I looked toward the hill again, the devastation made me sad. An occasional swirl of smoke escaped from the burned timbers. I could now see that in addition to the chimneys, a sink from an upper floor bathroom survived, hanging precariously, swinging in the slight breeze, the pipes anchored to the center chimney.
“Pull over here, Edwards. This is as far as we need to go.” Sam seemed to have grown another few inches and his confidence appeared to soar. We’d reached an area where he was the expert, and it showed.
I pulled over and Al parked behind me. When he killed the engine, it refused to die, run-on they call it. It sounded more like it’d never run again, on or off.
Sam and Al whispered for a moment then turned toward me. “All right,” Sam said. “Let’s move out. Edwards, you walk behind us, and try not to step on my heels. From this point in, anything can be important.”
“Why are we starting out here?” I asked. We were about fifty yards from the house. “The fire was up there.” I pointed toward the remains.
Raleigh looked at me as if I’d cut wind in church. “Look, Edwards, I don’t have time to explain the basics to you. Try to keep up, and don’t get in the way.”
His comments told me I was still low in his estimation. I figured it would best to play his game. I’ve learned that by playing dumb, I often learn more than if I let others know the breadth of my knowledge. “Okay, you’re the boss. I’m here to learn.”
Sam and Al started walking and I fell in behind them. They paced a circular route around the house, their heads swinging back and forth, examining the ground and the vegetation. We walked around the house, and around the house, and around the house until I wondered if one of Sam’s legs was shorter than the other. But we did cut the diameter of the circle each time.
About thirty yards from the house, Jake had put in a rose garden. He claimed they would save money on florists—he’d pick a dozen roses for Sheila. The only one who ever cut roses was the gardener.
The area was in disarray now. Obviously, Sheila had given it a low priority. The automatic sprinklers kept the roses alive and encouraged every weed found in Texas.
Al probed with a stick. Sam seemed intent on studying the ground, looking for footprints, I supposed. I heard Al say, “Sam, over here. I think we’ve got something.”
Sam and I walked to where Al peered into the weedy rose garden. “What is it?” Sam asked.
“Looks like a jerry can.”
I peeked over Al’s shoulder and saw a five-gallon gas can, or a jerry can as they’re called in the military, laying on edge, leaning against one of the rose bushes. Weeds were crushed under it, indicating it had landed there recently. The cap was off, dangling from its chain.
Al reached with his stick, hooked the can, lifted it out, and sat it on the ground. He headed toward the utility truck.
Sam sniffed the can. “Gasoline. No doubt about it. Might be the accelerant. The way this baby went up, there could be others.”
Al returned with a large paper bag. It had handles like a shopping bag, and Sam used the stick to place the can inside.
“Gas?” Al asked.
“My guess,” Sam said, “but the lab boys will have to give us the legal answer.”
We went back to circling and probing. I got into the mood of the day and picked up a stick. Before we reached the edge of the house, we found two other jerry cans that Sam declared had held gasoline. Al put them in paper bags like the other. We accepted that gasoline was the accelerant.
As we approached the foundation of the house, I kept a wary eye on the sink swinging in the breeze. I figured it represented all that was left of a third floor bathroom. As I worried about its position, I pictured my tombstone. Killed by the kitchen sink. Okay, bathroom sink. In any case, I wasn’t eager to have it fall on me.
Bricks lay everywhere, some still so hot they steamed from the water poured on them during the night. Burned timbers lay about, tendrils of smoke rising in the air. We stepped into the chaos. I envied Sam and Al. They wore sturdy work boots. Me, I wore my best western boots.
Sam and Al were more intent with their searching now. I watched my boots turn black and that swinging sink while my brain swirled with the knowledge that Jake was right. This looked like a torch job. The gas cans supported him.
Al was a few paces ahead. He probed a charred pile of rubble. “Oh shit, you guys better see this.”
Sam and I stepped to where Al held up what appeared to have been wallboard. Sam blocked my view as he knelt to get a closer look.
“What do you think, Al?”
“Same as you.”
I still couldn’t see what they saw. “Hey, guys, clue me in. What’s down there?”
Sam looked over his shoulder, then leaned aside. I saw a body, or what was left of one. As I knelt to get a better look, the wind shifted and blew the stench of charred meat into my face. My stomach rolled over as I scrambled to my feet. I’d seen enough. A human had died there, a person who’d fallen on his or her back and been consumed by the fire. I muttered, “That’s a body, a human body. Who, who could it be?”
Sam gave me a look. “Yeah, it’s a body, but we can’t tell who it was. Looks like another job for the lab boys. Al, get the sheriff up here. It’s his game now.”
Al headed toward the four-by-four, and Sam marked the spot where
the body lay. He began to search again, and I walked beside him, combing the rubble as conscientiously as he. The sink wagging in the breeze and the condition of my boots were no longer on my mind. I’d dropped my bumpkin façade and gotten serious about the investigation. The body changed everything.
Al brought the utility vehicle up to the house and rejoined us. We continued moving through the rubble, searching and hoping, at least I was, that we found no more bodies.
A police cruiser pulled into the driveway about ten minutes later, and Sam went to meet it. Al and I continued, closing on the center of the circle.
I stopped and looked to where Sam spoke to a deputy sheriff. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he pointed toward the house. I glanced at Al and saw he had almost completed the search. I moved toward Sam, thinking I’d find out what he reported. I was more in tune with policemen than firemen. I wanted to know the deputy’s reaction.
“Ah, shit.”
I turned toward Al and saw him probing another pile of rubble.
“Dammit all to hell, another one,” he said.
“Not another body?”
“Yeah, get Sam.”
A few minutes later, the four of us stared at the remains of a second body, burned like the first. All the flesh was gone, leaving bones charred black by the heat and fire. Sam and the deputy went to the patrol car to call the coroner, leaving Al and me standing in the middle of the residue of Jake’s home.
“What a damn shame,” Al said, kneeling beside the remains. “Ms. Adams might have led a wild life, but she didn’t deserve to die like this.”
I spun toward him. “Sheila? What makes you think it was Sheila?”
“Makes sense to me. Two people dead in her home. Stands to reason one was her.”
My subconscious knew he had to be right, but my conscious mind screamed in denial. “Might have been anybody. There’s no way to tell. All I see are bones.”
“Yeah, and I hope you know more than I do, but until I hear different, I’m guessing one was Ms. Adams.”
THREE
That afternoon, I drove to Jake’s office building in Fort Worth, hoping to catch him without a heavy schedule. I walked into the foyer and was greeted by a thin, gray-haired lady whose desk sign said she was Matilda.
“May I help you?” she asked in a squeaky voice.
Since I hadn’t been to see Jake in three years, I replied, “Yes, where is Mr. Adams’ office? I’m headed in to see him.”
Matilda turned to her computer. “Do you have an appointment, young man? What is your name?”
I sensed I was in trouble. Nobody had called me young man in many years. “Ace Edwards. You won’t find me in there though, I’m just dropping in on him.”
She bristled, and her look was from a different generation. “Young man, nobody visits Mr. Adams without an appointment. If you tell me—”
“Edwards, Ace Edwards.”
“Yes, my hearing’s fine.” She scrolled through a list on the computer. “As I said, tell me when you’d like to see Mr. Adams, sometime next week or the week after, and I’ll see if there’s an opening.” The tone of her voice and her glare said I’d better not interrupt again. “Will fifteen minutes be long enough?”
My mouth must have hung open because she continued, “What’s the matter with you, young man, and why are you dirty? Didn’t your mama make you take a bath when you were a little boy?”
She had me there. I was sooty from one end to the other, and although I hadn’t checked, I bet my face looked like something from vaudeville. “Ah, excuse me, ma’am. Let me be more specific. My name is Ace Edwards. I’m a private investigator. Mr. Adams is not only an old friend, but hired me to investigate the arson of his house last night. I’m dirty because I walked through the ruins. There’s nothing left. Now, either get him on the phone, or tell me how to get to his office.”
I rocked back on my heels, scowled at her, then turned on my sexiest smile. “It’s important I see him.”
She looked at me again and patted her hair. I guess she sensed one strand had escaped the hair spray. “Why Mr. Edwards, why didn’t you tell me who you are? Mr. Adams said you might come by, and I should point you to his office. His suite is 901 through 907. Enter through 905. I’ll be happy to show you the way.”
She gave me a big toothy grin, convincing me she either had an excellent dentist or a great set of dentures. The sudden change that had come over her was unnerving, to say the least. I mumbled, “No, I see the elevators. I’ll find my own way.”
“Fine, Mr. Edwards, I’ll let him know you’re on the way up. Next time, don’t be timid. Just tell me who you are. You’ll find I’m easy to get along with.”
I kept an eye on her as I walked toward the elevators. If she morphed again, I didn’t want to miss it.
I punched the elevator button and waited. My mind drifted back to what I knew about Jake. His grandfather had owned several sections of land in Eastland County. When McClesky Number One in Ranger spouted oil in 1917, and the oil boom took off, his modest fortune soared, and he became one of the richest men in the area. He and almost everybody else who owned land pumped oil and rolled in dough. However, there was one big difference between him and his neighbors. Jake’s granddad saw the end coming and sold his oil rights in ’21, before the black gold petered out. He walked away with more money than he could count, and still had the land he started with. He was the kind of granddad every youngster should have.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I stepped forward but changed my mind when a gorgeous blonde exited. She smiled, I smiled, and she walked by. I almost missed the elevator as I watched the swish, swish, swish of her skirt.
As the elevator soared upward, my thoughts returned to Jake. His dad had been an only child, and after serving in the Korean Conflict, he came home to a General Motors dealership that rolled Cadillacs out the front door as fast as Detroit could deliver them through the back. He was the sole heir to his father’s fortune. He added to it.
Jake and I attended college together, he with a full ride on a football scholarship while I worked my way through. My parents helped as much as they could, but Dad emphasized that if it was worth having, it was worth working for. He set values development before anything else. Today, I agree with him.
I fell in love with the game of soccer in college, and played as much as I could, hence the names of my cats. Jake rode the bench on the football team and wished he could play other sports. The football coach vetoed him every time he asked to play soccer. I’ve noticed football coaches aren’t eager to see their players involved in anything other than football.
College blew by in a blur, ending far too soon. After graduation, we kept in touch for a while as we moved in different directions and began our lives. Jake returned to Cisco to a ton of money and launched a career spending it. Some said he bought a front-end loader to move it around. Eventually, he moved to Fort Worth and opened the offices I now visited.
The elevator jolted to a stop and the doors slid open. I stepped out and stopped dead in my tracks. Someday I hope I’ll have a rug in my house as plush as the one leading to his office door. It was a dark, rich red with a nap so deep it lapped over my boots. Each step I took left a sooty footprint behind.
The door opened. “Mr. Edwards. Please come in and have a seat. I’m filling in for Kathy. Mr. Adams said he’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
She looked like she could be the daughter of the receptionist so I wasted no charm on her. I still grappled with my memories of Jake.
He married Sheila right after graduation from college. She was the head cheerleader, one of the most beautiful women on campus. They became the local high-profile couple, always in the news, hits on the Fort Worth social scene. Everyone said they would have the perfect marriage if they had two children, a boy and a girl. There were no children.
Four years ago, Sheila walked out with her combination chauffeur-bodyguard-personal trainer, a man several years her junior. Fort Worth
was aghast, and the news media jumped all over it with story after story. The rumor biddies couldn’t stop talking. Jake took the obvious route—filed for divorce.
Me, I moved to Dallas after college, and joined the police force. Janice, a sweet, spoiled, beautiful young woman I’d met in college, became my wife. It took her three years to get tired of me, which made her smarter than I thought. She walked out and moved to Fort Worth. I wished her luck and waited for her to file for divorce. Since we didn’t have much, and she made more money than I, it was an even divorce with neither owing the other anything.
I invested seven more years in the police force before I got the cockeyed idea I could make more money as a private eye. After cashing in my small retirement fund, I started a one-man private detective agency, and that’s where I’ve been for the past ten years.
I haven’t heard from Janice for five years, and that’s good. I still have painful memories there. My agency brings in enough for the cats and me to live, little more. I keep hoping to hit a big case that will allow me to put money away for retirement, even as I sweat paying my mortgage each month.
I looked up as an inner door opened. A distinguished looking man came out, then turned back to shake Jake’s hand. I compared my appearance to Jake’s. I lost—even in my best duds, I’d have lost. That told me how far apart we were on the success strata.
Jake looked great, tan and athletic. As his visitor left, Jake smiled. “Arty, come in. You’re looking grubby, as usual.”
I followed him in, thinking, Thanks Jake. I settled into the deepest wingback chair I’ve ever seen, and knocked soot off my boots onto his beige rug. I hoped my sooty jeans were leaving smudges on the buffed leather that caressed my rear. I’m short, but usually my feet can at least scrape the floor—not in that chair. However, it fit his office perfectly.
I hadn’t been there since I reported the results of my pre-divorce investigation. The office was as big as ever, huge better describes it, but he’d remodeled and had cut no corners. I wondered if he’d found a way to write it off his taxes as I took in the dark mahogany paneling, the surface so reflective it could be used as a mirror. The carpet was thick and plush and looked soft enough to sleep on. The paintings on the walls reminded me of an art museum. Any other day I would have been impressed with his extravagance. However, the morning’s findings had dampened my enthusiasm for Jake’s use of money.
