by Burton, Mary
“Two women you know are dead,” Gideon said.
“I didn’t kill them!” Darren shouted.
Gideon stood. “I hope not.”
Darren’s gaze shot to Joan, and he pointed at her. “She grilled me yesterday at my office. Is she a cop?”
Gideon tossed a half glance toward Joan. “She’s a detective, and a very good one.”
“Mr. Tucker said you and Lana met at the diner last week,” Joan said.
“I told you she was giving me her notice!” Darren said.
“Did Lana say why she was quitting?” Gideon asked.
Darren stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I have no idea. Girls come and go in this business.”
“Tucker said he saw you and your wife fighting at the diner,” Joan said calmly.
Gideon realized Joan was baiting Halpern. Sometimes it was a smart play to go easy on a witness and other times better to stoke their temper. He decided to let the next few seconds play out before he shut it down.
Darren rose. “Unless I’m under arrest, I’m leaving.”
“You’re not under arrest,” Gideon said.
“Then I’m leaving.” Darren marched out of the conference room, and when he reached the main door, he opened it and then slammed it shut.
“We touched a few nerves,” Joan said with a grin. “The question is, which one lit his fuse?”
Elijah was filled with a restless energy that made it impossible for him to read another word. So he closed his book and started walking. Paying no attention to the time or direction he was headed, he looked up, spotted Joan and Ann’s old street, and made his way to their former address.
Of course, the house had been rebuilt. And by the looks of it, it was an improvement over the last. No doubt it still housed college students, just as it had before.
He closed his eyes, imagining what the old place looked like, but he found the memory shrouded in haze. What was not lost in time was the night he had spent with Ann. He had replayed their lovemaking so many times over the last ten years. He remembered every touch, kiss, taste, and sound.
He had served his sentence and was technically free, but he still remained locked out of Ann’s life. Elijah was no longer a kid who was unsure of himself. He was now a man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. It would not be long before he’d find a way to shatter that glass wall keeping Ann and him apart.
“I’m coming, Ann,” he whispered.
As he rounded the corner and walked back to the boardinghouse, footsteps raced up behind him. The hurried, almost frantic sounds had his body tensing as his hands curled into fists. The good thing about prison: you learned to fight, or you got the shit beat out of you.
As he turned, ready to fight, a baseball bat connected with his shoulder. The pain rocketed through his body, but as he struggled to right himself, he was violently shoved off balance and fell to the ground. Experience kicked into high gear, and he reached for the knife in his pocket.
A booted foot connected with his ribs, giving him an opportunity to flick open the switchblade. He wasted no time plunging it into the attacker’s inner thigh. Warm blood on his hand told him he had sliced flesh.
The footsteps immediately retreated, and he looked up to see the man’s hooded face, covered with a black ski mask. The eyes glistened, but he could not identify the man.
Elijah’s ribs jabbed with pain, but he forced himself to stand so he could face his enemy. “Don’t leave. We are just getting started.”
The man took a step back. “Get the fuck out of town.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” This was his home, and he was prepared to kill anyone to prove it.
Confessions of an Arsonist
Burning her pictures gives me some satisfaction.
Too bad it’s not her flesh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Missoula, Montana
Thursday, September 10, 2020
2:00 p.m.
Joan knew Gideon was annoyed with her as they left the interview room. But considering she’d sensed downright hostility from him just a few days ago, she saw this as progress. Love was not in the cards for them again, but a friendship would definitely be welcome.
“What happened to ‘I’m not going to talk’?” he said.
“I didn’t talk that much. In fact, I was damn near silent.”
Before he could unload his thoughts, his phone rang.
“Detective Bailey.”
His annoyed expression darkened. “We’ll be right there.”
He hung up. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where?”
“Missoula Montana Hospital. Elijah was admitted a half hour ago. He was assaulted.” She knew Gideon did not trust or like Elijah, but he sure as hell would not sit by and have a vigilante assault him.
Joan’s expression tightened with worry. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll survive. He has two broken ribs and a few contusions.”
“Does he know his attacker?” Joan asked.
“Apparently not.”
“I want to talk to him,” she said.
“You’re in luck. He’s asking for you. Guy’s got a thing for you.”
“It’s not romantic. He sees us as kindred spirits.”
“I disagree. He’s using you.”
Unwilling to argue now, she followed him toward the station’s exit and was already zipping up her jacket as she stepped outside. She and Montana were getting used to each other.
He drove them across town and parked in the spot reserved for law enforcement. Inside, he presented his ID and was sent to a room on the second floor.
“Let me do the talking,” she said as she hurried to keep up with his long strides. “I’m the one he trusts.”
Gideon paused and looked at her. “Does he?”
She shoved out a breath. “Maybe not, but I might be the one person he tolerates.”
“I’ll let you kick it off. Then we’ll see.”
“No. Let me go in alone.”
“Why?”
“Stand outside the door if you’re so worried. And if you discover a burning question—”
“Pun intended?”
“Text me.” Joan continued down the hallway to Elijah’s room. She knocked on the door and slowly opened it.
The room’s lights had been dimmed and the shades closed. Elijah lay in his bed, hands at his sides with eyes closed. She moved toward the bed, noting there were no bruises on his face.
“Elijah?” she whispered.
“Joan,” he said without opening his eyes. “I heard you coming down the hallway. You have a very distinctive gait, and you still smell faintly like smoke.”
She pulled up a chair and sat. “I’ve been told it sounds like a stampede when I walk. Rushed and angry.”
“That about sums it up.” He opened his eyes and turned toward her.
“You don’t look too bad.”
“My ribs would say otherwise. It hurts to breathe.”
“Do you know who attacked you?” she asked.
“No. He wore a ski mask.”
“You’re certain it was a man?”
“Very. He spoke to me. Something about me getting out of town. The kind of bad dialogue you find in an old western.”
“Was high noon referenced?” she quipped.
A slight smile tweaked his lips. “Almost.”
“You aren’t leaving, are you?”
“You know me too well.”
“Why stay?” She thought of Ann’s confession about Nate and wondered for the first time if Elijah had pieced together the truth.
“It’s home.”
“You’re smart. You can go anywhere.”
“My alleged past always follows. At least if I’m here, there’s no time wasted with awkward explanations. We all know where we stand.”
She reached to straighten his pillow. “Can I help? Is there anything else I can do? Get a nurse maybe.”
“No. But thank
you.”
“Well, now that I’m here, I do want to talk to you about the fire out at Ann’s place.”
He turned his head toward her. All traces of humor had vanished. “I assume still no suspects.”
“None.”
“Ann and the boy?”
“She’s still shaken.”
“And the boy? How is he doing?”
“He’s fine.”
“He’s not upset by it?”
“No.”
That triggered interest. “How did he react to the fire?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was he fascinated by it?”
“Yes. That would be a way of describing his reaction.”
“Was it speaking to him?” Elijah asked.
Instead of answering, she asked, “If the fire were speaking to him, what would it say?”
Elijah rolled his head and gazed back toward the ceiling. “Fires are like people. They show different motivations. Some are set as a demonstration of power, while others are an expression of passion, and many are simply designed for destruction.”
“Did your fires speak to you?”
“You mean the dumpster fires when I was twelve?”
“Of course.”
“They reminded me that I was still in control. That I could do anything I wanted.”
“Those are things a twelve-year-old in a challenging home would need to hear.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have to be the fire’s creator for it to talk to you?”
“No.” He tried to sit forward and reach for the cup and straw, but he winced and lay down. She took the cup and held the straw to his mouth. He raised his gaze to her, wrapped his lips around the straw, and sucked. Once he’d drained the cup, he released the straw and leaned back.
“How is Detective Bailey doing?” he asked. “He’s out there somewhere skulking and worrying, but I like him.”
She smiled. “Do you?”
“Want to hear a secret?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Gideon’s still in love with you.”
She stilled, calculating where this was coming from. “What?”
His eyes lightened with humor. “Don’t look so surprised, Detective.”
She glanced toward the door, wondering if Gideon had heard. Heat rose in her cheeks as she thought about him overhearing this conversation. Would he be angry or embarrassed or accepting? The thought concerned her more than she had expected. “That’s bull.”
The door opened, and Gideon strode in, his hat in hand.
“And now it’s a party,” Elijah said with a grin.
Gideon stood beside Joan. “One of my deputies is going door to door to see if there are any witnesses to your attack.”
“Then they’ll tell you what I told the deputy. Masked man. Worn jeans. Scuffed boots. It could describe many of the males in the area.”
“The officer tells me there was blood at the scene,” Gideon said.
“I have no doubt. We had quite the tussle.”
“You have no idea who did this?” Gideon said.
“No.”
Elijah’s quick answer rang like an alarm bell in Joan’s head. If he knew more than he was saying, then why not tell Gideon who had attacked him? She knew the answer. Elijah was guarding the attacker’s identity for his own reasons.
Gideon left Elijah’s hospital room and waited in the hallway for Joan. She was refilling Elijah’s water cup and making sure the phone and channel selector were close at hand, given his limited mobility.
When she came out, they exchanged glances, and together left the hospital. In the front seat of his car, they sat in silence for a moment.
“What did Elijah say to you?” Gideon asked.
“What do you mean?”
“He said something to you right before I came in. You were pale.”
“I don’t like hospitals.”
Gideon was willing to sit here for as long as it took. “Again, what did he say?”
Joan stared out her window at the clouds hovering over the ring of distant mountains. She turned toward him. “He said you’re still in love with me.”
There were few times in his life when he wanted nothing more than to turn and run. But each and every time, he’d stood his ground, more out of stubbornness than bravery. “He’s trying to get in your head.”
Her expression struggled to remain stoic, but a mixture of relief and disappointment tugged at her features. “You might be right. I get that we’re water under the bridge,” she said carefully.
If he had learned anything about Elijah, it was that he was good at exploiting targets. What had he seen in Joan that prompted him to take aim? “Did he get under your skin?”
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, Gideon.”
Her lack of an answer suggested an option Gideon had long given up on. Could she still be in love with him? And why did the idea frighten the hell out of him?
Gideon started the engine, turning up the heater to chase away the chill. Cracking the door to their past was a dangerous move he could not afford to make. Joan would find whatever answers she wanted and then leave. He would then get on with his life. And this time their break would be for good.
So why did his gaze drop to her fingers as they moved back and forth on her thigh? Why did he want to take her hand in his and trace the scars she tried to hide? He understood the fire had changed her. It had changed him. Different was not necessarily bad. Good came from change. Maybe they could . . .
“If you can drop me at the station, I’ll grab an Uber and get out of your hair,” she said. “I know you have work to do.”
He shifted into drive. “Where are you going?”
“Thought I might pay a visit to Dan. I have a craving for one of his burgers.”
“Stay out of Elijah’s assault investigation.”
“I’m just getting a burger. Maybe a milkshake.”
His phone dinged with a text. It was from the medical examiner. The body from the cabin was ready for autopsy. “Or you can come with me to the medical examiner’s office.”
“For the autopsy?”
“Yes. Jessica Halpern was identified by her dental records an hour ago.”
She seemed to relax, as if forensics were a welcome respite from feelings. “You’re talking my language.”
“Good.” If Gideon kept to himself, he might come out of this intact. The last few years had had productive, satisfying moments. But he had not tasted the excitement he’d enjoyed while being with Joan these last few days.
But if he was really honest with himself, he would admit that his life was lackluster because he still missed Joan.
Joan and Gideon stood in front of the medical examiner’s computer screen and watched as Dr. Christopher opened a file. The digital image of the body appeared on screen, and a familiar sense of discomfort washed over her. When would she ever shake that damn College Fire?
The heat and fire had damaged the body, melting muscle and eating into bone. The carnage was more complete than it had been with Lana. Either the killer was wrapping up loose ends, or his destructive behavior was escalating. Either way, his quickened pace was putting him at risk of exposure. Good for the cops, if they could catch him before the next homicide and arson.
“As you can see, these are dental X-rays I took of the victim’s mouth,” Dr. Christopher said. “And on the left are Jessica Halpern’s records, which I obtained from her dentist. Both sets of teeth have the same patterns of fillings on the back molars, as well as both sets have caps on the front-right incisor. This is definitely Jessica Halpern.”
“Do you have a cause of death?” Gideon asked.
“Strangulation,” the doctor said. “Her killer all but crushed the hyoid bone in her neck.”
“No smoke in the lungs?”
“None. She was not alive when the fire was set.”
“Who knows that Lana died of smoke inhalation?” Joan asked.
“I told rescue and police crews that I saw Lana move before the fire reached her,” Gideon said.
“Overkill, with some pent-up rage, or fear of another mistake?” Joan asked.
“Fear of a mistake suggests a leak,” Gideon said.
“Cops gossip,” she said. “Good luck with that.”
Gideon frowned, as if wondering how many layers removed the killer was from the first responders. “Can you estimate the time of death?”
“Within the last couple of days, but the fire damage makes it nearly impossible to be more accurate,” Dr. Christopher cautioned.
“Her husband said he spoke to her yesterday,” Joan said. “Of course, that’s assuming he didn’t kill her earlier and is lying. Gideon, did she return any of your calls?”
“No. Detective Sullivan checked her phone records, and her last text was thirty-six hours ago,” Gideon said. “Assuming she sent the text.”
“Who did she text?” Joan asked.
“A travel agent. She was planning a trip to Mexico.”
“When?” Joan asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Not sticking around for the investigation,” she said. “Was it a trip for one or two?”
“One.”
“She was worried. You should have your friend Bryce McCabe keep an eye on Mr. Pollock in Helena. He might also be spooked now.”
“Already took care of that,” Gideon said.
“What about Lana Long’s fetus?” Joan asked. “Do you have DNA results back?”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” Dr. Christopher said. “Just came in today.” The doctor adjusted his glasses and shifted his attention to a different set of files on the screen. He pressed several keys, and a series of DNA markers appeared. “These belong to the biological father. The other set belongs to Darren Halpern.”
Joan leaned in. She was no expert on DNA but knew enough to recognize a match. “Darren is not the daddy.”
“Correct,” the doctor said.
“If Lana was seeing Darren, she was also busy with someone else,” Gideon said.
“She would not have been the first woman to pass another man’s baby off as his own,” Joan said.
“Whatever game Lana was playing, she pissed off the wrong guy,” Gideon said. “Doc, could you compare these results to Elijah Weston’s DNA?”
