Burn You Twice

by Burton, Mary

  “Any calls afterward?” Gideon asked.

  “No contact of any kind.”

  “Did Nate or Ann see anyone before the fire?” Clarke asked.

  She had not really thought how she was going to juggle Ann’s paternity reveal and also the boy’s presence at the fire. But for now, she would not tell. “No.”

  Clarke accepted her comment with a nod and headed toward the bedroom. Gideon lingered a beat. Those dark eyes searched her face for any hint of deception. Finally, both men walked out the back door and crossed the yard toward the crime scene tape.

  She moved to the kitchen and made a single cup of coffee, figuring if the dynamic duo wanted coffee now, they could make it themselves. Cup in hand, she trailed them outside. The air was still cool, but the sun was bright and warmed her skin. She burrowed deeper into another one of Ann’s jackets.

  “What woke you up last night?” Gideon asked.

  “An explosion.” Last night’s memory had mirrored the long-ago past far too well. But to her credit, her voice did not break. “Then I put on my boots, ran outside, and grabbed the hose.”

  “And you saw no one?” Clarke asked.

  “Wish I had. It would have made last night a lot calmer.” She sipped her coffee. “It’s always the unknown that eats at you.”

  “I’m going to walk the woods and see if there’s anything,” Clarke said.

  Joan shoved her hands in her pockets, promising herself to buy gloves before the day was out. “Have at it.”

  When Clarke vanished into the woods and they were alone, Gideon said, “You’re very calm.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she challenged.

  “Last night had to be traumatic. A reminder.”

  She crossed her fingers. “Haunting memories and I are well acquainted. I don’t run from them anymore.”

  His brows knotted together. “Are you still troubled by the College Fire?”

  “Troubled is a strong word.”

  “You said haunting memories.”

  “A figure of speech.” The emotional scars, unlike the physical ones on her hands, were very much alive and painful.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

  Again, Gideon lingered, his head cocked, as if searching for any small clue lurking behind her expression and tone. Her skin tingled, and a restless energy surged inside her. Finally, he shook his head as if whatever he had been stalking had eluded him.

  Clarke returned from the woods and strode toward the burn site. Gideon joined him, and the two poked through the ashes. Clarke stopped in what had been the center of the shed and knelt down.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  Clarke held up a blackened, twisted blob covered in charred mulch and dirt. “It’s plastic. Likely the delivery device for the accelerant.” He held it up to his nose. “Gasoline. And there’s a burn track in the grass. The arsonist trailed the gasoline from the shed to the woods.”

  She imagined someone placing the jug in the shed and setting it on fire knowing she had a front-row seat. She tried to imagine Nate at the center of this storm, but the more she thought about him as an arsonist, the less it made sense. Christ, if genetics were a precursor to trouble, she and a lot of other folks were screwed.

  “If there’s any chance of pulling prints or DNA, our best bet is the state lab or the FBI lab at Quantico,” Gideon said.

  Clarke carefully bagged the remnants of the homemade device and handed them to Gideon. “It’s got to be similar to the other one. Joan, you might want to find out where your pen pal Elijah was last night.”

  There were several cars parked in front of Elijah’s boardinghouse when Joan arrived. She had decided to make this visit without Gideon because she sensed that Elijah would be more forthcoming if it was just her asking the questions.

  Striding across the front and up the steps, she rang the bell and was shown to the den by Mr. Pickett. She found Elijah on his laptop studying video clips of arson events.

  “You do this for fun?” she asked.

  His gaze did not waver from the screen, but a smile curled the edges of his lips. “Back so soon? People might start to talk, Joan.”

  She moved into the room and took a seat next to him. “Don’t you have class today?”

  “I did. Class was an hour ago. When did you start sleeping in late? And why do you smell like smoke?”

  Despite a shower and a clean shirt, her jeans still reeked and would until she could wash them a few times. “Someone torched Ann’s shed last night. I had the pleasure of putting it out.”

  He paused the video and faced her. All traces of humor had vanished. “What happened?”

  “Fire set outside my window.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not supposed to say. It’s an active investigation.”

  “I didn’t set it.”

  She held up her hands. “I suppose you have an alibi.”

  “For last night? Yes, I do. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No.” She searched for traces of Nate in Elijah’s features and found several. “How old were you when you set those dumpsters on fire?”

  “Are we relitigating old news?”

  “Humor me.”

  “Twelve and thirteen.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “My mother had kicked my stepfather out and begun to invite the first of many boyfriends into our home.”

  “What did you hope to accomplish by the fires?”

  “The prison psychologist asked me that very same question, and I’ve had ten years to think about it.” He shifted, crossing his legs. “I was angry. I didn’t know how to articulate it.”

  If she were back in Philadelphia, she would not have hesitated to use the information Ann had given her. But this was not back east, and Ann was her friend, maybe the only one she had in Montana. “What are you watching now?”

  “This is research.”

  “On?”

  “You.” He hit “Play,” and the fire began rolling again. As she looked closer, she saw this fire was eating through Avery Newport’s house. The footage had been recorded by a neighbor’s cell phone. “Amazing what you can find on YouTube.”

  “Why would you care about the Newport fire in Philadelphia?”

  “This fire reminded you of the College Fire, didn’t it? Two young women home alone. Fire breaks out, and one dies.”

  “Newport is a cold-blooded killer. End of story.” Joan watched as the flames ate into the house, consuming it like a roaring dragon would. Her attention shifted to the left side of the screen, where she knew the roommate had slept.

  His brow knitted with curiosity. “This really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “A young woman died in that fire.” She reached over and closed the laptop.

  “You’ll get another chance to catch her.”

  “Really? How can you be so sure?”

  “I know Ms. Newport better than she knows herself,” he said.

  “How?”

  “The footage captured Newport at the scene, but her expression was all wrong for an innocent victim. All they saw was her crying, but the tears weren’t for her roommate. They were for her child, the fire.”

  A sense of vindication rose up in Joan. “Unfortunately, that’s not enough for the prosecutor to file charges. And the evidence I collected was all circumstantial.”

  The smile returned, warming his eyes. “I do have some theories, if you wish to hear them?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Well then, once we figure out who was behind the College Fire and the two most recent ones, I’ll share all I have on Avery Newport with you.”

  “And if the evidence still points to you, then I don’t get the evidence on Avery Newport?”

  “I’m not that petty, Joan. You know me much better than that.”

  She drew in a breath, punching down her frustration. Like it or not, he had a talent for identifying patterns. Showing him the map Gideon had made of the recent fires was
a risk, but if anyone understood the mind of an arsonist, it would be Elijah. “Gideon mapped the fires. I’d like to show it to you.”

  “I would like to see it.”

  She handed him her phone, and he studied the image for a good minute. He rose up from the couch and moved to a desk, where he’d stacked his textbooks. He opened the top one and pulled out notes. “I could get used to this detective work. I can already tell it’s going to be rewarding.”

  “You’re not an official detective until we’ve done an all-night stakeout with only stale doughnuts and cold coffee.”

  A smile tugged his lips. “Not all glamorous like the movies.”

  “I wish.” She nodded to the paper. “See anything on the map that tells you something about our arsonist, Detective?”

  He enlarged the photo on her phone. “These areas around Missoula and Helena are the same guy. The others have no statistical significance, meaning they’re random.”

  “Why these?”

  “It’s just a gut feeling at this point. Can you get me the official reports?”

  “I can’t.” She leaned closer and looked again at the map. “Were the rural fires practice? Was the guy building up his courage?”

  “I would say he has plenty of both. He’s letting off steam until game day.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Again, a feeling,” he said.

  “I trust my gut, but I find DAs like evidence.”

  “You have two distinct patterns. Now it’s a matter of figuring out who was in both these areas at this time.”

  “You weren’t.”

  “No, I was not.”

  “Do arsonists recognize others? Maybe some kind of tell?”

  The easy smile faded. “I am not one of them.”

  She was surprised by the edge sharpening his words. “So what’s this guy’s deal?”

  “He’s not a crazy kid working out anger. He likes the fires, and he’s turned it into a money-making operation.”

  “How do you know about the money?”

  “I didn’t until you just confirmed it for me.”

  Joan could have tried to backpedal and deny she had given him anything, but she had. “The Helena fire did involve a payout.”

  “I’m assuming the Halperns also took out a hefty plan. Were the Halperns and the Helena business owner out of town when their businesses burned?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “The owners travel to a distant city, their places get torched, and both parties come home looking innocent.”

  “You’re saying that the fires are financially motivated?”

  “For the business owners, yes.”

  “And for the arsonist?”

  “The thrill. The control. The power. The danger.”

  “You can slip into this guy’s mind pretty easily. Maybe you’re behind the fires,” she challenged.

  “We established I was in prison.”

  “That didn’t stop you from finding my home address.”

  He nodded slowly. “I admit to taking liberties when I worked in the prison warden’s office.”

  “What other liberties did you take?”

  “None.”

  That she did not believe but for now let it lie. “Maybe you used one of your little Fireflies.”

  “Interesting theory.”

  “A local woman, Lana Long, came to see you in prison several times. You also wrote to her multiple times.”

  “Yes, she did. She was an entertaining diversion.”

  “How did you two connect?”

  “I didn’t reach out to her; she found me. There are women who are fascinated by men behind bars. Several women came to see me while I was incarcerated.”

  “You’re a good-looking guy.”

  “I am.” No bravado, simply a statement of fact. “These women can build elaborate fantasy worlds because they know I’m locked away. They always know where to find me, and I can’t get involved in their worlds unless they want me to.”

  “That’s what Lana wanted? To talk to a handsome man behind bars.”

  “Yes.”

  “It appears you two were never alone. Is that true? Prison wardens don’t always know what’s going on in their facilities.”

  “We always had three inches of glass between us.”

  “A trustee in the warden’s office must have extra freedoms.”

  “Not that kind.”

  “Did she ever mention a boyfriend?”

  “Other than Ryan, no.”

  She studied him closely, searching for signs of deception. “No one here in Missoula?”

  “None.”

  “Did you get her to set the Beau-T-Shop fire? Maybe she was the one up in the hills practicing techniques you’d taught her.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  She ignored the question. “Did she lose her nerve in the beauty shop? Is that why you had to kill her?”

  His frown deepened as if he had been presented with a new math problem. “Lana’s dead?”

  “Burned to a crisp.” She was intentionally blunt to shock him and perhaps provoke a reaction.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and seemed genuinely shaken. “I didn’t know she was the fatality.”

  “Really?”

  “I liked Lana. I would never wish her harm. Check the prison records. You’ll see that Lana and I first made contact back in January. They have samples of my correspondence.”

  “How many girls like Lana did you know?”

  “You’re suggesting I have this stable of women who set fires for me.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first Svengali to get women to do your bidding.”

  His quick laugh was tainted with a bitter tone. “You should write for television.”

  Confessions of an Arsonist

  I need more fire to burn the ice she has wrapped herself in. Soon. Soon. Soon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Missoula, Montana

  Wednesday, September 9, 2020

  2:00 p.m.

  Joan pushed through the doors of Tucker’s Diner, hearing the bell above her head as she entered. If only she had a nickel for every time she’d heard that damn bell or stood behind the counter and served coffee until 2:00 a.m. At least the late-night hours were quiet and allowed her to do the bulk of her studying. In fact, the regulars back then had toned down their chatter while she did her homework.

  Dan Tucker stood behind the counter just as his father had ten years ago. The younger Tucker was fatter, his skin blotchier. She guessed the heavy drinking he did back in the day had finally caught up to him.

  She took a seat at the end of the bar, waiting as he served up a platter of pancakes to a customer. On autopilot, he reached for a coffeepot and an ivory stoneware mug. But when his gaze crossed her face, he froze. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Dragged me all the way from the East Coast.”

  He set the mug in front of her and smiled as he filled it. “It’s good to see you, Joan.”

  She sipped. “Still the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

  “Damn right.” He set the pot down. “I don’t need any guesses to figure out why you’re back in town, Detective. Mr. Weston should be worried.”

  “He doesn’t seem too rattled.”

  “No, he never did. Always had a smirk on his face.” He regarded her. “You didn’t come here just for my coffee.”

  “I have questions, if you don’t mind answering them.”

  “I’m an open book.”

  That she doubted. “I understand someone painted a few unkind words on the sidewalk outside his residence.”

  “I heard something about that,” he said easily. “Are you here because of the graffiti?”

  “I have bigger fish to fry.”

  “You going to prove Elijah set the Beau-T-Shop fire?”

  “I have no jurisdiction here.”

  He laughed. “When did not having the authority ever stop you?”
<
br />   “Never.” She reached for a sugar packet, shook it, but did not bother to tear it open. “Why are you so against him, Dan? One thing to not like a guy but another to set up a citizens’ action committee against him.”

  “You of all people should understand. He nearly burned you alive. He is a danger, and he will end up killing someone. It’s a matter of time.”

  “I know why I should have a beef, but why you?”

  “Maybe I don’t like the idea of his kind of trouble. He doesn’t belong here. The Halperns have lost their business, and if I lost the diner, I would be screwed.”

  “Why would he come after you?”

  “Because my stuff burns as good as the next guy’s.”

  “You set up your citizens’ group long before the Halpern fire. There has to be more to what’s motivating you.”

  “Do I need a personal reason?”

  “No, but I’d bet you have one. Tell me why.”

  Dan sighed. “We went to high school together.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Someone set my truck on fire in high school.”

  “Are you saying it was Elijah?”

  “Yes!”

  “But Elijah was never arrested or charged with that crime.”

  “But he did it. I know he did.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I was a little rough on Elijah in high school. I gave him a hard time. It was all fun and games, but he must have taken it personally.”

  Joan remembered that Tucker used to tease her when she worked at the diner. If it wasn’t her Philly accent, it was the way she dressed or her plans to go to graduate school. He went out of his way to point out that she was an outsider. His teasing had quickly stopped being funny, and though she was good at ignoring him, someone less stable might have reacted differently.

  “Your teasing is the reason Elijah set fire to your truck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe you made someone else angry? You do have a gift for finding someone’s weakness and pressing.”

  “You never seemed to mind.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “I knew from the beginning that Elijah was off. He was never like regular kids in high school. It was a matter of time before Elijah caused trouble then, and it’s the same now,” Tucker said. “The cops don’t seem to be willing to do anything.”