Firebreak: A Mystery

by Tricia Fields

  Josie headed to the police department and parked in the space designated for the police chief. Instead of going inside, she walked across the street to the park bench in front of the courthouse and sat down.

  Downtown was silent. It was a half hour before sunrise and too early for county employees and shop owners. She watched the stoplight complete a full rotation: green to yellow to red and back to green again without a single car driving by. She imagined Dillon driving to work in downtown St. Louis through the frantic streets with honking horns and people on every corner, all of it so different from the pace in Artemis. She tried to imagine herself driving to work in that kind of madness and the thought alone made her feel anxious.

  Spreading her arms across the top of the bench, she leaned her head back to stare at the navy sky pinpricked with stars and a sliver of moon, already fading in preparation for the searing heat of the morning. She solved problems for a living, but recently her own life had felt like a twisted-up mess.

  She thought about the jump with Pete the day before, and the idea he was trying to communicate to her, and she knew he was right. There was too much living for her to do to remain stuck in the past. It was over. There was no changing it or bringing Dillon back.

  At seven o’clock, with the sun pushing up over the distant horizon, she stood and walked across the street to the police station. She had confronted her personal demons—or at least had started to. Now it was time to confront Brenda and Billy Nix.

  * * *

  Knowing there was nothing more to be gained by keeping the murder from the public, Josie drafted a media statement with the basic details of the homicide. She e-mailed Bev Woodruff, reporter for the local paper, as well as the manager for the Marfa public-radio station.

  At 7:45 a.m. Josie called Brenda Nix at the motel and woke her. Josie explained that the police had new information that was critical to the case and asked that she and Billy come to the station as soon as possible. Brenda said she needed to consult her attorney and would call back.

  A little before eight, just as Otto was stirring creamer into his coffee and discussing the list of questions he’d drawn up for the interview, Lou buzzed and said Brenda was on line one.

  “This is Chief Gray.”

  “This is Brenda Nix. Our attorney said she can be at the police department at eleven. We’ll see you then.”

  “Who’s representing you?” Josie asked.

  “Jenna Turner.”

  Josie rolled her eyes and turned to Otto as she hung up the phone. “Turner’s representing her.”

  “Isn’t she that hard-ass out of Presidio?”

  “That’s the one.”

  * * *

  At precisely 11:00 a.m., Turner walked in with Brenda and Billy following behind her. It was clear the three had already met and prepared. Josie was certain that Turner was well informed about the case and knew as much as the Nixes could afford to tell her. Turner was hard on prosecutors and judges, but she was equally hard on her clients. She demanded the truth, and she’d been known to relinquish a case if a client held back pertinent information. Josie had watched her ream out a client in the hallway outside the Arroyo County courtroom just last month. The twenty-something-year-old kid had stood meekly in front of her, wearing his orange prison scrubs, saying nothing.

  “You will not make a fool out of me again. Never again. You understand?”

  The kid hadn’t responded fast enough and she’d jabbed her forefinger into his chest and stood on tiptoes to get her face within inches of his own. “Do you understand me?”

  He had backed away and said, “Yes, ma’am,” and followed her back into the courtroom looking like a scolded child.

  Josie wished she could have watched Turner dish out the rules to Brenda. She couldn’t imagine Brenda taking a scolding sitting down, especially from another female.

  The local law enforcement community referred to the attorney simply as Turner, no first name necessary. Sitting in a bar on the weekend, buying a round for a group of off-duty cops to say thanks for a job well done, she was both liked and respected. But in the courtroom, she could slice up a state’s witness as finely as a paper shredder. Josie had been at several social functions with her and found her to be a great deal of fun; she just didn’t want her stalling out the interview.

  In her midforties, with short ash-blond hair, Turner wore a pair of black slacks and a classy cream-colored top with low heels and minimal jewelry. She carried a leather briefcase that looked near to exploding. She smiled grimly and put a hand out. “Chief.”

  “Good to see you, Turner.” Josie turned to the Nixes. “Thank you for coming in this morning. Let’s all get situated upstairs.”

  In the office, they sat down at the conference table and Otto joined them. Billy, Brenda, and Turner sat across from Josie and Otto. Josie faced Turner. “How familiar are you with the basics of the investigation?”

  “The Nixes have shared the basics, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

  Josie nodded and sat with her hands folded on the table in front of her. “We discovered a male, thought to be somewhere between twenty-five and fifty years of age, dead on the Nixes’ couch in their living room. Their house was severely burned the same night as the wildfire. The body was burned too severely to identify. The body was discovered the next morning by Officer Podowski and myself. I tried calling the Nixes at that time to notify them of the body but they did not return my calls or messages.”

  Turner looked shocked at the last statement. “I beg to differ! Ms. Nix absolutely returned your call! The same day you called her, she returned your call.”

  “There were six hours between the time I called and the time Ms. Nix returned my call.”

  Turner smirked. “Really? Are we doing this? Disparaging remarks thirty seconds into your summary statement?”

  Josie let it go. “The first piece of troubling news, from our standpoint, was that the fire that spread through the western part of the county, where the Nixes’ home is located, had moved through that area almost two hours past the time the body was burned on the couch. The wildfire had not reached the Nixes’ home at the time it burned.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The hands of the watch on the victim’s hand were melted into the face at seven thirty-eight p.m. According to spotter records, the fire didn’t roll through there until after nine thirty.”

  “How do you know his watch wasn’t dead?”

  Josie raised her eyebrows.

  “His watch could have quit at seven thirty-eight, and the fire melted the face of the watch at nine thirty.”

  “We found a clock in the kitchen that was stopped at seven forty p.m.” Josie paused and looked directly at Brenda. “The coroner also provided additional information today after the autopsy. He’s confirmed that the victim was dead before the fire that was intentionally set burned his body.”

  “And he knows this how?” Turner asked.

  “There was no smoke damage to the lungs as there would have been if he had asphyxiated during the fire.”

  “My clients were out of town. I’m still not sure what this has to do with Brenda or Billy,” Turner said.

  “Yesterday, after searching the house again, we found evidence that a Zaner stun gun was discharged in the house before the victim was burned in the fire.”

  “And?”

  “And the Zaner is registered to Brenda Nix.”

  Brenda looked from her attorney to Josie, her expression confused. “What do you mean my Zaner was discharged? I haven’t even had it out of the box in months.”

  “Out of what box?” Josie asked.

  “I keep it in a box in the bedroom. Go look for it. It’s a wooden box with a carved lid. Sitting on top of my bureau drawers.”

  Turner raised her hands in the air and dropped them on her lap. “Well, there you go. Anyone who knows the Nixes could have gotten into the box, used the Zaner to disable the victim, and then killed and staged the body. Again, no clear
connection to the Nixes.”

  “The body was lying on their couch.”

  “They weren’t home at seven forty when you just stated the man died!”

  “That’s not what I said. He died sometime before seven forty. This is premeditated murder. He was disabled with a stun gun, murdered, then staged on the couch. His body was burned so severely at that time that the hands of the watch melted,” Josie said.

  Turner rolled her eyes. “Please spare us the melodrama.”

  “Here’s the timeline as we know it,” Josie continued. “The Nixes left home at about five, arrived at the Hell-Bent at five thirty. After picking up Billy’s guitar out of the dressing room they both left a little before six.”

  “And?”

  “From here things get a bit vague,” Josie said.

  “Because?”

  Brenda leaned forward and clicked her fingernails on the table to get Josie’s attention. “Excuse me.” Her voice was low and quiet, her eyes angry. “I’m sitting right here. Since you’re talking about my husband and me, wouldn’t it make sense to address us as if we were a part of this conversation?” Her tone was flat but the muscles in her face were taut with fury.

  Josie locked eyes with Brenda. “At six p.m., you either left for Austin, or you returned home and committed murder.”

  Brenda sat back up in her seat and withdrew her arm into her lap, her face bright red.

  “You’re way out of line, Chief,” said Turner. “They’ve already told you they drove to Austin and went to Gilly’s, and then checked in at the Hampton.”

  “Did you use your credit card at Gilly’s to buy your first round of drinks when you arrived at one?”

  Josie could tell by the three expressions sitting across from her that the answer was no.

  “They paid with cash. A legal form of currency last time I checked,” Turner said.

  “What time did you check in at the hotel?”

  “Two twenty-five in the morning, just after the bars closed,” Turner said. “Just like they told you.” She opened up her briefcase and shuffled through it for a moment. Finally she shoved a piece of paper across the desk and Josie read the hotel name across the top of the paper.

  “If the Nixes checked into the Hampton at two twenty-five, that would have allowed plenty of time for them to have murdered a man and set fire to the house before making the six-to-seven-hour drive to Austin.”

  Billy looked bereft. “I don’t understand why you would suspect us of murder. What could we possibly gain by killing someone and burning down our own house?”

  “What kind of homeowner’s insurance do you carry?” Otto asked, picking up his pencil as if ready to write down the policy number.

  Billy wrinkled his forehead and looked at Brenda. “I don’t know. We rent the house,” he said.

  “Okay. Let’s cut to the chase,” Turner said. “Are you charging my clients with a crime? If you are, let’s get it over with. Otherwise, we’re leaving until you come up with something more than circumstantial pondering.”

  “I would suggest trying to find someone who can vouch for your whereabouts Sunday night from the hours of six until one in the morning. We’re not filing charges, but you are the primary suspects.” Josie paused for a moment. “If you didn’t commit this crime, then help us figure out who did.”

  * * *

  After the Nixes left, Josie and Otto spent the afternoon working in a companionable silence. Otto cataloged evidence they had collected from the Nixes’ home the night before, and Josie caught up on phone calls and e-mails until 12:45, when she left to interview the lead singer for the Calloway Boys. Mick Sinner owned an upholstery shop behind the fire station in Artemis and had agreed to talk with Josie after lunch.

  The shop was a small clapboard bungalow painted navy blue with white trim. A covered front porch was decorated with a vase of flowers on an end table with a wicker rocking chair sitting beside it. A framed sign on the table read, If you are here for upholstery business, please walk around to the garage in back. We are open M-F from 8:00–3:00. Thank you! It was a homier setup than Josie would have imagined.

  Josie followed a sidewalk around to the back of the house, where she found a two-car garage with the door closed. An OPEN sign hung on an entrance door to its right. Josie pushed the door open and found a man and woman standing in front of a tattered couch on a large worktable that put the couch about three feet high. They were both prying staples out of the wood and removing fabric that looked to have once been a flowered print. Patches of the fabric were disintegrated and faded to light shades of gray, brown, and yellow.

  The man continued working but the woman looked up and smiled. She was petite, barely over five feet, with a slim frame. Her black jeans, white V-neck T-shirt, and short haircut gave her the look of a young girl, but the fine lines around her eyes made Josie guess she was in her early fifties. She wiped her hands on a towel draped over her shoulder. “Hi! I bet you’re Chief Gray.”

  They shook hands. “That’s correct.”

  “I’m Vicki. Good to meet you.” She pointed toward a kitchenette in the corner of the room where a table and chairs were located. “Let’s have a seat.”

  Josie sat down as Vicki pulled a pitcher of water from the refrigerator and filled three glasses. Josie felt air blowing on her and noticed ductwork in the open ceiling area for central air and heating. She also noted several other pieces of furniture sitting along the far side of the garage, waiting to be worked on.

  “I would have never guessed there was such a market for upholstery work in a small town,” Josie said, making small talk and hoping Mick would join them.

  “We have a nice little niche here. People don’t have a lot of furniture options in town, what with being so far from the city. So we buy up classic furniture at flea markets in El Paso and reupholster. We have clients now that send us pictures of what they want and we find it for them, then find a fabric they love. It’s turned into a good little business.”

  Mick finally moved away from the couch and brushed the lint and stray pieces of fabric off his T-shirt and jeans before coming over to the table. Black hair hung in loose ringlets down to his shoulders and gave his pale angular face a softer appearance. He was thin and dressed in the same uniform of black jeans and V-neck T-shirt that the woman was wearing.

  “Mick Sinner,” he said, hand outstretched. The corners of his mouth were downturned. He had the look of a person who took life very seriously.

  Josie stood and shook his hand. “I heard you at Hell-Bent last year. I enjoyed the show.”

  “Awesome.” His expression remained unchanged, as if he’d heard it too many times and was no longer impressed by compliments.

  They settled around the table and Josie began. “I’d like to talk with you about the country music scene in Arroyo County and some of the bands you play with. I’m working an investigation and the information you provide will help me understand who I need to talk with.”

  “Sure.”

  “You play at the Hell-Bent. Are you regulars?”

  He tilted his head and gave her a look as if he thought the question was odd. “What constitutes a regular in your mind?”

  “Do you play there frequently? Several times per month?”

  “Sure. We got a good name around West Texas.”

  “You ever open for other bands?”

  “Here? No.” He shook his head, frowning again. “We headline.”

  “You never open for Billy and the Outlaws?”

  He laughed. “Seriously? You said you’ve seen our band. Did we sound like we’d open for Billy?”

  “I don’t know. Someone at the Hell-Bent told me you opened for them.” That wasn’t true, but she wanted his reaction.

  He lifted up his arms and shoulders, his face puckered in mock confusion. “So you just stop by today to insult my band? I’m not sure where you’re headed with this. Do clue me in.”

  “Why is that an insult? I thought Billy and the Outlaws were
a big name in West Texas. About ready to hit it big in Nashville.”

  He opened his eyes wide now, his face animated. “Oh, really? Is that their story? It’s that monster wife manager who spreads shit like that. True or not it makes them sound big. That’s what it’s all about for her. Generating buzz. It’s not about original sound or compelling music.”

  Josie said nothing and waited a moment for him to continue. She could tell he was holding back.

  He finally leaned forward in his seat and squinted at her as if trying to get her to understand the situation. “They’re a mediocre band trying to snag a recording contract.”

  “It sounds like it’s working for them,” Josie said.

  “It’s not working for them, and here’s why. You find the band of the moment, you emulate the sound, and by the time you get enough name recognition for your own band the moment’s gone. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.”

  “Okay. Let’s change gears. I want to talk about the fires that moved through the county. Where were you the night of the evacuation? Sunday evening from about five until about midnight?”

  “What the hell is this? Now I’m being interrogated?”

  “This isn’t an interrogation. It’s a homicide investigation, and I have some questions for you.”

  His eyebrows rose. His expression was still animated, but the anger had been replaced with shock. “Homicide? In Artemis?”

  “Where were you Sunday evening?”

  “I stayed with Vicki and her husband Bill. They live on a ranch headed toward Fort Stockton.”

  Vicki placed her hand on the table in front of where Mick was sitting, protectively, Josie thought.