Burn You Twice

by Burton, Mary

  He studied the image on the phone. “I told you no evidence was to leave that conference room.”

  “It didn’t. Technically. And yes, I bent the rules, but for now, can you put that aside and just compare the two?”

  He glared at her and then dropped his gaze to the phone image and the fragment. “Where did you get this?”

  “Perhaps I found it on the barbecue on Clarke’s back porch.”

  “Damn it, Joan!”

  “I know. I know. But before we get into a fight about that, I have something else.”

  He kicked the dirt with his boot as he shook his head. “Okay.”

  And here was the trickiest part. Should Joan break Ann’s confidence and tell Gideon what she knew? She trusted that Gideon would never tell Clarke if it were Kyle. “What if Ann had been going out with Elijah?”

  “Ann and Elijah?” Disbelief mingled with humor. “I don’t see it.”

  “What if she didn’t want you to see it? What if she wanted it to stay a secret forever?”

  Gideon’s head cocked slightly, as if an idea he had never considered had blindsided him. “Nate?”

  Joan drew in a breath. “She loves her boy more than anything.”

  Gideon stared at her with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “And Clarke figured this out?”

  “Not yet would be my assessment. But I think Clarke must have sensed that Elijah was a rival.”

  “How could he? Ann and Elijah never openly dated.”

  “But he seemed to be around us a lot. And if I noticed how Elijah looked at Ann, Clarke must have as well.”

  “Okay, assuming he noticed.”

  “Then he decided to drive a stake in the heart of his competition. He steals the backpack, plants the pictures, sets the fire, and then is on the scene to play hero. You got to Ann first, and I was saved only in the nick of time.”

  “I begged him to save you as I was coming out with Ann.” A muscle pulsed in Gideon’s jaw. “They got married six weeks after the fire.”

  “Exactly. The fire drove Ann right into her hero’s arms. Your sister got played by your best friend, Gideon.”

  He dropped his gaze and pushed the gravel around with the tip of his boot. “And the recent fires?”

  “The beauty shop was a job for hire and I think purposefully timed for just after Elijah’s release. He becomes a suspect all over again. Ann’s shed fire was a warning to me, and I think the cabin fire was a way of cleaning up a loose end.”

  “You’re saying Jessica hired Clarke to burn down her salon?”

  “She had a cash-flow problem and a big insurance policy.”

  “If Jessica hired Clarke, why would she turn on him?”

  “She wasn’t banking on someone dying in the fire.”

  “And Lana?” Gideon challenged.

  “We know she was in contact with Elijah, and she was sporting a ring similar to the one we found on Jessica’s body.”

  Gideon ran his hand over his head. “That’s not anywhere near solid evidence.”

  “You’re right. Which is why I think you need to test the DNA of Lana’s baby against Clarke’s.”

  “Clarke and Lana were having an affair,” he said, looking like he was trying to wrap his brain around the idea.

  “It would explain why Lana had the picture of Ann and me.”

  “All Clarke has talked about is fixing his marriage.”

  “I suggest you check Clarke’s phone records to see if he was in Helena at the time of the warehouse fire.”

  “Joan, this is out of left field.”

  “You need to consider it, Gideon.”

  Gideon’s phone rang, and he looked almost relieved for the interruption. “Becca.” He listened for several seconds and then said, “Leaving now.”

  “What?” Joan asked.

  “Dan Tucker is dead.”

  Minutes later, they were in his car and headed to town. Neither spoke as Gideon drove the back roads into town. He did not mention Clarke, and Joan did not press the point. He was still keeping her in the loop, and she took that as a sign he was considering what she had told him.

  Gideon pulled up in front of the one-story rancher with the sloped roof. There were two other police cars parked out front, their flashing lights drawing the attention of curious neighbors who must have decided the blue lights trumped the week’s entertainment options.

  They each donned rubber gloves. Someone commented about Joan entering the secured space, but Gideon vouched for her with a few terse words. They then stepped under the yellow crime scene tape that separated the insiders from the rest of the world.

  She tugged at the edges of her gloves, working her fingers in deeper as she entered. The air temperature in the house was cold, which she knew would retard decomposition and the scent of death. She gave props to the killer for having the sense to turn off the furnace.

  She followed Gideon down a narrow hallway that opened into a living room with closed curtains and a thick shag carpet. The main furniture piece was a worn brown recliner and a large television set playing a documentary on gold miners.

  Beside the chair was a coffee table sporting six empty beer cans, gauze, and bloodied paper towels.

  “You said his girlfriend found him?” Gideon asked.

  “Yes. She’s in the back of my car,” Becca said. “Figured you’d want to talk to her there rather than in here.”

  “I do,” he said.

  Joan walked around the chair and studied Dan’s body. His face was covered in a clear plastic bag. His jaw was slack, his lips blue with eyes half-closed over glazed irises.

  “Windows or doors open?” Gideon asked.

  “No. All closed and locked,” Becca said.

  “Any witnesses?” Gideon asked.

  “My partner is knocking on doors as we speak. So far, he’s come up empty. Weather was cold and everyone had burrowed in—closed curtains, TVs, and such.”

  She knelt in front of Dan, seeing hints of the guy who had once been attractive before a decade of long hours, no exercise, and a poor diet. She looked at the side table and noted there was also antibiotic cream and discarded gauze-bandage packages. In the trash were wads of more bloody paper towels.

  “He was hurt recently.” Joan touched his thigh and felt the raised edge of a bandage under the sweats.

  “I know he could be an ass, but why kill him?” Becca asked.

  “Gambling, drugs, a pissed-off neighbor,” she said.

  Gideon kept his comments to himself, but Joan sensed he was still mulling what she had said about Clarke.

  Whoever had gotten into Dan’s home had killed him without leaving any signs of forced entry or signs of a struggle. This guy was strong and prepared.

  Gideon and Joan left the house and paused to speak to Dan’s girlfriend, Nora. She had changed out of her uniform into a snug-fitting blue T-shirt, fur-trimmed blue jacket, and jeans.

  Gideon tapped on the window and then opened the door. She rose, sniffed, and glanced toward the house as if it were a house of horrors.

  “When did you stop by?” he asked.

  “About an hour ago. We were supposed to eat pizza and drink beer and stuff.”

  “I thought he was at your mother’s,” Gideon said.

  “No. He asked me to tell people that. He wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Looks like he was hurt,” Gideon said. “Do you know how?”

  “He said it was an accident. Said he cut it on a barbed-wire fence he was fixing.”

  “Did you see anything when you arrived?” Gideon asked.

  “I used my key to get in. The TV was on, the room was dark, and I saw him in the chair. When I walked up and saw the plastic bag, I freaked.” Nora shook her head. “I called 9-1-1.”

  “What did Dan think of Elijah?” Gideon asked.

  “Hated him. Especially after the beauty shop burned. It dredged up bad memories of his truck. He thought his diner was going to be next.”

  “Did you hear Elijah was be
aten up?” Joan asked.

  “Yeah, I heard, but what does that have to do with this?”

  “Did Dan decide to give Elijah a reason to leave town?” Joan asked.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Nora said.

  “Why not?” Gideon pressed.

  “Dan’s all talk. He makes a big fuss but never follows through.”

  “Maybe he decided this time was going to be different,” she said.

  “No.” She shook her head, causing hoop earrings to tangle in her hair. “That’s not Dan.”

  “Was there anyone who didn’t like Dan?” Gideon asked.

  “He got along with most folks,” she said. “He just didn’t like having criminals living in a town full of good folks.”

  “Did Dan know Lana Long well?”

  “Like I told you before, he knew her from the diner. She wasn’t here long enough for most people to get a chance to know her.” Nora shifted her stance, as if working the warmth back into her limbs. “Is that all you got for me? I’m tired and want to go home. You know how to find me if you need me.”

  “Sure,” Gideon said.

  They watched as Nora slid behind the wheel of her red pickup truck and drove off.

  “Elijah has broken ribs,” Joan said. “Suffocating a guy like Dan would be really painful.”

  “Elijah could have surprised him. Dan could have been dozing in his chair. And you saw the bandages. Maybe he’d taken a few painkillers with those beers. Bag slips over Dan’s head, and before he realizes what’s happening, it’s lights out.”

  Joan wanted to believe Elijah had not done this, but wanting and knowing were two different things.

  A uniformed police officer approached Becca, the two talked, and then she approached them.

  “No one has seen anything so far,” she said.

  “Whoever did this must have left something behind,” Gideon said. “They always do.”

  Gideon and Joan again fell into silence as he drove them back to his ranch. Joan had made a logical argument, but it was so outrageous. Clarke an arsonist. Until a DNA test came back proving Clarke had fathered Lana’s fetus, Gideon would reserve judgment.

  The more time he spent with Joan, the more aware he became of her. The curve of her neck. The way she tapped her thumb and index finger together when she was thinking.

  He slowed as they approached his driveway and passed under the double-B brand. As they grew closer to the house, he was tempted to slow-walk his approach so they could spend a little more time together. She was a puzzle he had not cracked.

  “Home sweet home.” Bitterness dripped from her words.

  “Why do you say it that way?”

  She shook her head. “Just being sarcastic.”

  “Say what you mean, Joan.”

  The heater blew gently on her face, teasing the edges of her bangs. She moistened her lips, making them glisten. As he looked at her face, he was tempted to kiss her and see if she still tasted the same. Still, he was smart enough to know some territories were better undiscovered.

  “I’ve got to get back to Philadelphia. My union rep and boss want a meeting next week. Rep says I’ll be back on the job soon, though it’ll be desk duty for a while.”

  “That’s what you want, right?”

  “That’s where I’m headed.”

  “Then why the ‘Home sweet home’ comment?”

  “Because there’s no such thing. No place feels like home. It’s all temporary.”

  “That’s up to you. You can put down roots anywhere you want.”

  She turned toward him. For once, her frown was gone, as if she had released a secret that had been weighing her down. “I once thought I could live out here. Then I realized it’s no different from back east.”

  Gideon was so rooted in the Montana soil that he doubted he could ever break its tethers. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I can’t imagine.”

  “That’s what drew me to you back in college. It was a certainty that you knew where you belonged. You never questioned it.”

  “Is that the only reason you went out on that first date with me?” he asked, feigning surprise.

  A small smile tipped the edges of her lips. “You also had a nice ass.”

  He laughed. “Hopefully I’ve not lost my girlish figure.”

  “No. You still got game.” For a moment, they locked gazes, and he was so tempted to brush the strands of hair off her forehead. Her body was rigid, as if she could not decide whether to stay or go. He waited, knowing she wanted to invite him up to that little apartment.

  She parked, reached for the door handle, and opened it. Cold air rushed into the cab. “You need to stay on top of Clarke.”

  “I hear you.”

  Gideon watched her walk toward the house, hoping she would turn back and beckon him. Foolish to think she would suddenly reconsider. If whatever had joined them in the past was not enough to make her stick around, a short trip would not do it now.

  She vanished into the garage, the lights in the stairwell soon turning on. He pictured her lingering by the door, kicking herself for not being with him. That image was enough to give him hope to wait another beat.

  But she never came back out the door.

  He parked and tried to picture Clarke setting fires for money and killing women, one of whom might be carrying his child. It was an outrageous theory.

  Inside the house, he hung up his coat, his attention shifting to a picture taken of Clarke, Nate, Kyle, and himself. They had been fishing back in June. As he stared at father and son side by side, he saw the differences more than the similarities now. “Shit.”

  He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat at his home office computer. He twisted off the bottle top and took a pull as he thought back to the trips Clarke had taken to various fire-training conferences around the country in recent years. There’d been one in San Diego, California, and another in Washington, DC. Next he searched for fires in those areas matching the time frame. Nothing came up.

  He refined the search, digging into news reports in the outlying counties. After an hour of reading local crime reports around San Diego, he found articles detailing several shelter fires at a park thirty miles east of the city. The fires could have been caused by anyone. He read down three paragraphs into one article and noted the fires had been started with a cup full of gasoline. The heavy-duty plastic had melted, and whatever the arsonist had used as a wick had vanished in the flames.

  He shifted his attention to the DC metro area. Another forty-five minutes of reading and he discovered a series of dumpster fires in Fredericksburg, Virginia. The site was less than an hour south of Clarke’s conference and easily reached off I-95 South.

  Gideon sat back, rubbing his eyes. Though two fires had aligned with Clarke’s travel schedule, that did not mean there was enough evidence to request a DNA test on Clarke.

  He reached into the side drawer and pulled out the old Bible his grandfather had left him. He thumbed through the thin pages until he reached the picture that he’d tucked in there years ago.

  The image was of Joan and him, taken in the spring of their senior year. They were dressed for the spring formal. He had rented a tux, and she wore a red halter dress that showed off her figure. It had been cold as hell that night, and this picture had been snapped seconds before she had been forced to swap the heels for boots and slide on a thick overcoat. She looked sexy as hell in that gown and boots. But even better now, he thought as he slowly put the picture back in the Bible.

  His phone rang, with the medical examiner on the other end. There was no way he could have picked up Tucker’s body and had any information yet.

  “Doc.”

  “I got your message about the DNA. Elijah Weston is not the baby’s father.”

  Gideon pulled in a slow breath. “I got one more test for you.”

  Confessions of an Arsonist

  The time has come. She will die tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Missoul
a, Montana

  Friday, September 11, 2020

  1:00 a.m.

  Under the moonless sky, he stood outside the garage apartment and stared up at the window near where he knew Joan was sleeping. His last fire for her had been a gentle message. It was his nice way of telling her she needed to leave town and let the folks here live the lives they were meant to live.

  But she would not leave. She kept pressing. And she would keep on pushing and turning over every rock until she exposed him. And that was not going to happen. Ever.

  Gasoline had sloshed in the milk jugs as he walked up to the main entrance of the property. This fire was not going to be a warning. It was going to be his final message to Joan.

  He set two jugs by the side and primary entrance into the apartment upstairs. Once the flames caught, they would travel up the stairs, bringing along a black smoke and flames that would chew up the oxygen. The garage would burn nicely before Gideon would be alerted in the main house. And as long as the wind did not pick up, poor Gideon would not lose his house because of this bitch.

  He moved around to the back side of the structure and set the remaining two jugs by the back exit. Whether she ran down the front or the back stairs, his fire would be there to greet her like an old friend.

  He struck the first match and tossed it at the jug of gasoline. The vapors caught on fire instantly and flames jumped, whooshing like a dragon taking flight. His creature had taken its first breath.

  Confessions of an Arsonist

  “And I will be to her a wall of fire all around, declares the Lord, and I will be the glory in her midst.” Zechariah 2:5.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Missoula, Montana

  Friday, September 11, 2020

  1:05 a.m.

  The smoke detector woke Joan up out of a deep sleep. She had barely slept in weeks, but tonight when her head hit the pillow, she had felt that all the pieces of the fires were coming together.

  The alarm blaring, she jumped out of bed, heart jackhammering into her ribs, and ran to the door. Black smoke was angrily marching up the main staircase. It would be only a matter of seconds before it breached the room. She raised her arm to her nose and stepped back, turning to the back staircase. She opened the exit and was immediately hit by the heat of a second fire.