“Sorry.” Jeff put on a serious face.
“My dad had to pay for everything, including towing all those cars, out of his budget. That was one of two times I made the newspaper that he doesn’t have framed in his office.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“The whole thing was mortifying. I didn’t come home for six months afterwards. Since then, I’ve been banned from driving any of his patrol cars.”
Jeff rested his hand on Emory’s thigh. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He produced a gun wrapped in a scarf from his coat pocket. “It’s Victor’s. For testing.”
Emory was surprised to see the gun in Jeff’s possession, and he wondered if he had stolen it. “Did he give it you?”
“Yes, he did. I swear. And I was very careful not to touch it, so you could dust it for prints.”
“That’s great. Maybe put it in the glove compartment for now.”
“By the way, what was the other time you ended up in the paper?” As soon as Jeff asked the question, his phone chimed.
Emory asked, “Is that Virginia?”
“Answer my question first.”
“That’s a story for later. I need to know where I’m driving.”
“You know, you’re racking those up.” Jeff checked his phone. “Tati Burrett lives at 1541 Black Bear Lane.”
“Black Bear…” Emory began. “Isn’t that the same street as the lake where Britt died?”
“I’m mapping it now.” Jeff checked his phone for the difference between the two locations. “Not only is her house on the same street, it’s right across the street from the lake.”
Emory and Jeff parked in the Burretts’ driveway and stepped out of the car. Both men looked across the street toward Cicada Lake. Even though they could gauge about where the lake was, it was at the lower end of a slope, so it wasn’t visible from their vantage point and much less so from the single-story house behind them.
“Do you think someone could’ve seen anything from the house?” Emory asked.
“Maybe smoke, if they happened to be looking in that direction at the time.”
The two walked up to the front door, and after Jeff knocked, Tati answered. “Agent Rome. What are you doing here?”
Emory started with introductions. “This is Jeff Woodard. He’s a private investigator who’s also working on Britt’s murder.”
Tati nodded to Jeff. “Nice to meet you. You want to come in?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Emory. “Are your parents home?”
“They’re helping out at church.” Tati led them to the living room, where the men sat on the couch, while she took a seat in a recliner. “Do you have more questions about Britt?”
Emory responded, “We want to ask you about Ian.”
Tati snarled her nose. “Ian? Why are you asking me about him?”
Jeff asked, “Do you know any of Ian’s friends that we could talk to?”
“Ian doesn’t have any friends.”
“How did Ian and Britt get along?” Emory asked.
Tati laughed. “That’s an easy one. Britt couldn’t stand him. They used to be okay, and by that I mean she could tolerate him even though he was an annoying little brother. When their mom died, he got creepier, and Britt couldn’t stand being around him.”
Emory said, “Then I’m surprised Britt ever came home. She couldn’t stand her brother or her stepmother, and her dad was controlling who she could date.”
“I think that’s how she became such a good skater. She spent so much time on the ice to avoid going home, she couldn’t help but be good at it. Hey, you’re not thinking that Ian killed Britt, are you?” Both men hesitated to answer. “He’s just a little boy. Believe me, if Ian was going to kill someone, I would think he’d have a lot more people higher on his list than his sister. He was always being bullied by people who didn’t like that someone his age was in the same grade.”
Jeff asked, “Speaking of school, do you know why Ian got a C in science last year?”
Tati laughed again. “How would I know? I don’t keep up with…Oh wait. I know what you’re talking about now. I remember that. It was last year. He got caught cheating. Ian never says much, but I think he told everyone who would listen for like days after that he wished Mr. Roberts was dead. Do you think Ian burned down his house?”
“Do you know any details about the cheating affair?” Emory asked.
“No, not really. You should talk to Dan Claymon. They were lab partners last year, and I think it had something to do with him. I don’t know. I usually tuned out if Britt was talking about something that wasn’t important.”
“Thanks for your help. We’ll go talk to him.” Jeff was about to stand when Emory pulled him back to the couch.
“One more thing before we go.”
“What is it?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were with Britt the morning she died?”
Tati’s face flushed what little color it had down her neck. “What do you mean?”
Emory showed her the picture on his phone of the shoeprints in the snow around the lake, and he pointed to a small print. “I can’t tell for certain, but these prints from the lake look to be about the same size and shape as the boots you’re wearing right now.”
Now fidgeting on the squeaky leather upholstery, Tati continued deflecting. “Those could be anyone’s.”
“True.” Emory flipped to the photo of the framed picture of Britt he found lying on her bed. “This last picture you took of Britt, the one used at her funeral. You told her family it was taken the weekend before she died.”
“That’s right.”
Jeff held his hand out for the phone so he could see the picture. Once he had it, the screen went blank. He pressed the main button, but nothing showed up.
“There’s snow in the picture, but the snow hadn’t fallen until the evening before Britt died. The picture you took had to be snapped the morning she died, within minutes I’d imagine.”
“I don’t see anything,” Jeff said.
“Fine,” Tati blurted out. “I just didn’t want anyone pointing a finger at me, so I didn’t say anything.”
Emory took the phone and tried to get the picture back up, to no avail. “My battery’s dead.”
“That’s okay.” Jeff turned his attention to Tati. “Tell us what happened that morning.”
“Nothing. At least not while I was there. Britt called me the night before and said she was ready to get back on the ice. She asked if I would take pictures of her skating with the new snow in the background. She thought they’d be cool shots. I met her at the gate. We stopped after a few feet to take some pictures, and then she started talking about Dan and how upset she was. By the time she was ready to skate, I had to get ready for school. I came home, and she went on to the lake.” Tati’s eyes glistened with tears. “If I had stayed with her, maybe whoever did this wouldn’t have attacked her.”
“Don’t blame yourself for that,” Emory said.
Jeff asked her, “Wouldn’t you have noticed her car still there when you left for school?”
“Britt had a free first period. She always got to school late.”
“What about that evening?” Jeff asked. “Her father didn’t find her until 6 p.m.”
“I work at the coffee shop after school. I get home at 8. That’s when I heard about Britt.”
Emory stood up, followed by Jeff. “Thank you for your time.”
CHAPTER 37
JEFF AND EMORY walked up the gravel driveway to the Claymon’s trailer, uncertain about the reception they would receive. Emory knocked on the front door. “I hope this family doesn’t hold a grudge.”
Abigail answered the door. “What do you want?”
“Mrs. Claymon, we’re sorry for the intrusion, but we’d like to speak to Dan for a moment.”
“When are you people going to leave us alone? No one in my family had nothing to do with anything illegal.”
“We’re not here about that—”
Jeff began, before Emory touched his arm.
“I promise you, we’re not here to accuse anyone of anything.”
Jeff told her, “As a matter of fact, we’ve proven that your husband had nothing to do with the missing water at the factory.”
Mrs. Claymon’s face softened. “What?”
“It was Scot Trousdale,” Jeff said. “Victor Algarotti’s assistant.”
“And he let my Charlie take the blame?”
“He’s going to pay for everything he did,” Emory assured her. “He’s in jail now.”
“Does this mean Charlie can have his job back?”
Emory answered, “He’d have to discuss that with the foreman. Could we talk to Dan?”
“What for?”
“We just need a little more information that might be helpful in solving Britt’s murder.”
A few moments later, Emory, Jeff, Dan and Abigail were all sitting around the kitchen table while Charlie Claymon spoke on the phone in the other room. Dan was telling them, “Yeah, Ian gets picked on a lot. I felt a little obligated to watch out for him because he’s Britt’s brother.”
Emory asked, “Can you tell us what happened last year in Rick Roberts’ chemistry class? There was some cheating scandal?”
“Oh, that. Me and Ian were lab partners, which was kind of embarrassing because he’s four years younger than me, and we were both taking Chem II. Honestly, though, he carried me in that class. One day we had a lab assignment that we had to finish in class – don’t ask me what it was exactly, but it was mixing some chemical with some others and explaining what we were seeing by writing out the chemical equations. I hate chemistry. Ian got it right away and wrote out everything in his lab book with really detailed descriptions, but I didn’t get it at all. He started trying to explain it to me, but class was almost over, so he didn’t have time. He took my lab book from me and starting writing the chemical equations and the reasons behind the experiment’s results. I was watching him while he wrote, trying to understand it. I didn’t notice that Mr. Roberts was walking around to check on everyone’s work. He saw Ian’s lab book closed, and he asked, ‘Ian, are you writing in Dan’s lab book?’ Ian turned white as a ghost and tried to tell him there wasn’t enough time, but Mr. Roberts accused him of cheating and took both our lab books away.” Dan pursed his lips and shook his head. “I felt so bad for him. The next day, Mr. Roberts handed us back our books with a big red F on the assignment. It wasn’t my first F, so I didn’t care, but Ian was crushed. For the rest of the year, he didn’t even speak anymore in that class, and Mr. Roberts never called on him again.”
“That explains the C for the semester,” Jeff said.
“Did Ian threaten Mr. Roberts?” asked Emory.
“Not to his face. He sure said it to me enough, how much he wanted him dead. I’ve never known anyone to hate a teacher that much.” As if he just realized what he had said, Dan told them, “I know he was just venting. He wouldn’t ever do anything like that. He’s just a kid.”
Jeff glanced at Emory and then redirected. “How did Britt get along with her brother?”
“He annoyed the crap out of her, so she was kind of hateful to him – always making fun of him and telling him to go away whenever they happened to see each other at school. I don’t have a little brother, but I figure that’s normal. Plus, I think Britt just hated that he skipped grades and got into high school with her. I think it embarrassed her.”
Emory asked, “How did Ian respond to her hatefulness toward him?”
“It didn’t seem to bother him. I think he got used to it. He loved his sister.” Dan crossed his arms. “I always thought he was kind of nice to have around. He likes doing things for people.”
Jeff asked, “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Little things. Like with helping me in class. He’d always fix me something to drink when I came over to his house. Things like that.”
Charlie Claymon hung up the phone and entered the kitchen with a big grin on his face. “I got my job back!”
Charlie Claymon didn’t know it at the time, but his elation would be short-lived.
As they drove away from the Claymons, Jeff told Emory, “I hope Victor doesn’t try to weasel out of the reward when he finds out who killed his daughter.”
“I don’t know. He’s thirteen. I know teenagers kill, but they’re usually spree or passion killings – not three separate, well-planned murders. He just seems so young.”
“Damien was in preschool when he started killing people.”
Emory snickered at the comparison that Jeff loved to make. “Damien’s not real, and Ian’s not the anti-Christ. Look, after everything Victor’s been through, I don’t want to bring his son in for questioning without being much more certain that he is the one that we’re after. If he has anything to do with either of the murders or the attempted murder, we’re going to have to prove it before we can touch him.”
As the car turned onto the main road, in the opposite direction of the Algarotti house, Jeff told him, “So let’s find the proof you need to arrest him.”
“I need to head back to Knoxville before it gets too late. He’s not going anywhere.”
“I’m more concerned with his potential victims.”
“Pristine’s safe in the hospital, and if he is the killer, I think the last person he’d want to hurt is his father after seeing those pictures.”
“I see your point. Hey, would you mind giving me a ride back here tomorrow?”
“Your car still not ready?”
“No, and Virginia’s got to be in the office, so she can’t drive me.”
“You can ride with me, but I have to warn you that Wayne is going to be with me.”
Jeff moaned and said, “That’s just great. Can’t he drive himself?”
“We’re partners.”
“So you’re saying you’re stuck with him.”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
“I’ve seen you two in action. You can’t tell me that he adds anything worthwhile to your investigations. I read the articles on the drug bust. He’s a shadow anchor. I bet you would’ve had that case closed at least a month sooner if he hadn’t led you down false paths.”
Emory agreed with everything Jeff was saying, but he needed to defend his partner. “He spots some things I don’t see.”
“Fine, I’ll bring him a Where’s Waldo? book for the car ride. Is it too soon to call shotgun?”
CHAPTER 38
EMORY AWOKE MONDAY morning in a panic. I need to check the photos. He threw the blanket off his body and dangled his feet from his bed to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s 4:15. I slept almost five hours – and without a narcotic sneaked into my system.
The night before, after dropping Jeff off and taking a quick trip to the Regional Forensic Center, Emory came home and crawled right into bed – a rarity for him.
I know I’m missing something. One of the benefits of snapping so many pictures during open cases was that his subconscious mind could catch tiny inconsistencies that his conscious eye would need to keep reviewing to recognize. Those inconsistencies would nag at him until conscious attention was paid to it – a feeling that had hit him as he slept.
Emory walked naked from the bed to the desk, pulled his phone from the charger and opened his most recent photo album. Scrolling past the newer pictures, he slowed down at the ones taken at Rick Roberts’ house. The special agent flipped through pictures of the rooms until he came to the kitchen, wincing at the charred body on the floor. Seeing nothing new, he backtracked to the bedroom, to the dresser. He zoomed in and checked each framed photo on the dresser top one by one. The white-framed picture stuck out from the others, and as he focused on the photo, he did find something of interest.
It was a picture of Rick Roberts with a group of students at last year’s science fair. Each of his three students stood behind a three-by-two-foot table, on top which sat their personal science project. The tables were
lined up side-by-side, and taped to the front of each was a sign with the school name and city, the student’s name and the name of the project. Rick stood just to the left of his students’ three tables, in front of an empty table. Although the table was empty, it did have a sign, most of which was cropped out of the picture. Emory zoomed in further to try reading the sign. All he could make out on the first line was “High School,” but on the second line he saw, “Ridge.”
“That’s got to be Barter Ridge,” Emory muttered to himself. “One of Rick’s students must not have made it to the science fair for some reason.”
He looked at the line below the city and saw, “garotti.”
That’s it!
Emory showered and dressed but forced himself to wait until 6 a.m. to send separate texts to Wayne and Jeff to arrange pickup times and locations. To pass the time, he checked the online news, soon finding a disturbing local story. Under the heading, “Drugged water panic in Tennessee,” was the subheading, “Is your drinking water safe?”
“Crap.” He started reading the article to make certain it was about the Algarotti factory, and sure enough, the name of the company appeared in bold, hyperlinked text in the second paragraph. “Crap, crap, crap.” The story was accurate in reporting that drugged water was shipped to several cities in Tennessee, but almost everything else was wrong. It misled readers into thinking that the tainted Algarotti water was in the supermarkets, offices and churches – that none of it was safe to drink. “We got it in time,” Emory muttered. “How did they…” Even before he could ask the question, he knew the answer. “That damn security guard!”
A moment later, his phone rang, and for the next several minutes, Victor chewed Emory out for letting the story leak. When Emory told him his suspicions about the security guard, Victor let him know that his next call would be to fire Clarence. “Thanks to you, he won’t be the last one I have to let go. This will ruin my company!”
Murder on the Lake of Fire Page 21
