Murder on the Lake of Fire

by Mikel J. Wilson

  Sheriff Rome folded his arms. “I’ll be. So he hid the key in there? I should’ve never let him get water alone.”

  “But how did he get the key in the first place?” Deputy Harris asked.

  Emory responded, “He told me he came in regularly to service your cooler. My guess is he took the key from the cabinet when no one was looking, got a copy made and returned it to the cabinet.”

  The sheriff asked, “Why would he go to all that trouble?”

  “He was arrested before in college,” Wayne told them. “He wasn’t convicted, but he did spend a couple days in jail. He probably wanted to make sure that never happened again, so he planned ahead once he started with his drug scheme. If the evidence against him was insurmountable, he’d escape.”

  Emory nodded. “You have his wallet, but I bet he has another ID and credit cards stored somewhere safe so he could get out of town, maybe out of the country.”

  “We’ll never find him,” Deputy Harris said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Wayne said. “He hasn’t gone up against me yet. I’ll find the son-of-a-bitch.”

  Emory told him, “While you do that, Jeff and I are going to chase the other lead we talked about.”

  “Fine.” Wayne turned his attention from his partner to say, “Deputies, I’m going to need your help.” He led them back into the deputy room, leaving Sheriff Rome, Emory and Jeff at the water cooler.

  Emory told his father, “I have to ask you for another favor.”

  “First, are these yours?” Sheriff Rome pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

  “Oh, you found them.” Emory attached them to his belt.

  “They were on the floor by the fireplace. How’d they end up there?”

  Emory lied. “I’m not sure.”

  “So what’s the favor?”

  “I need you to talk Judge Harper into giving us two more search warrants. The one for Scot’s place should be easy. It’s the other one I’m concerned about.”

  “He should be on his way,” the principal said after she paged Ian Algarotti on the overhead PA system. “I have to say, following your previous visit, I’m a bit leery of this whole affair.”

  Emory shifted in his seat, an unpadded, wooden chair facing the principal’s austere oak desk. “I apologize for any…uneasiness on your part. I could always go to his class.”

  “No, no, no.” The principal waved her forefinger as if she were admonishing a student. “We’ll not have another brash race through my halls.”

  Seated next to Emory, Jeff spoke up for him, “A murder investigation is rarely a perfect process.”

  “I understand,” the principal said. “It’s your timing that’s lamentable. School ends in eighty-seven minutes. Couldn’t you come back then?”

  Emory shook his head. “With serious crimes, once we have enough evidence for an arrest, I have an obligation to carry it out, regardless of convenience.” He placed a hand on her desk. “I do promise you, we’ll be as delicate as possible.”

  Jeff arose from his chair. “I’ll stand by the door and block it once he comes in to make sure he doesn’t run.”

  “Are you sure about this?” the principal asked. “Ian can be a little tightly wound, but to honestly believe…”

  The principal had no time to finish her thought for, at that moment, Ian walked through her office door. He looked up at a cross-armed Jeff, who had his back against the wall beside the door. He turned his attention to Emory, who stood to face him. “Has something happened to Dad?”

  “No,” the principal told him. “Your father’s fine, Ian.”

  Emory took over, explaining as he stepped toward the boy, “Ian, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Britt Algarotti, the murder of Rick Roberts and the attempted murder of Pristine Algarotti.” Emory retrieved the handcuffs from his belt.

  The principal jerked out of her chair, half-shouting, “Is that truly needed?”

  With a nod from Jeff, Emory figured they could keep him under control, so he returned the cuffs to his belt. “You have the right to remain silent…” As Emory continued reciting the Miranda warning, tears streamed down the principal’s anguished face.

  “Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?” Ian answered with a single nod. “Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?” The boy shook his head.

  Emory escorted Ian out of the office, keeping a hand on his shoulder. The boy walked without emotion past the students and teachers, refusing eye contact, during the short distance from the principal’s office to the nearest exit.

  CHAPTER 40

  AS SHERIFF ROME approached the water cooler in the sheriff’s station, he gave little thought to grabbing a paper cup from the dispenser and placing it under the spigot. As the water flowed into the cup, however, his mind gave greater clarity to his actions.

  The inverted five-gallon bottle on top was full. He wondered if the water could’ve been tampered with, and after a moment’s contemplation, he opted not to take the risk. The sheriff threw the cup into the nearby wastebasket. “Loggins!” Sheriff Rome called to the deputy whose desk was nearest to him. “Get rid of this water. Cancel our account with Algarotti, and find us a new vendor.”

  Emory pushed open the door of the sheriff’s station for Ian, who again said, “I didn’t do it!”

  Following them inside, Jeff told him, “Saying something a hundred times doesn’t make it true,”

  Sheriff Rome came out of his office and pointed to Deputy Loggins. “Could you process young Mr. Algarotti and take him to the interro…” Making eye contact with Ian, the sheriff softened his tone. “To the interview room.”

  Deputy Loggins gripped Ian’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

  Wayne popped up from a chair beside Deputy Harris’ desk and made a beeline for his partner. “Emory, we checked out Scot Trousdale’s apartment. He went back there after he escaped. Looks like he packed in a hurry. We also found the sheriff’s gun.”

  “So he was definitely the person who attacked him.” Emory clenched his fists. “We need to find that son-of-a-bitch.”

  Deputy Harris approached and gave Emory a nod. “We’re tracking down any activity on his accounts, and we’ve put an APB on him and his car.”

  Wayne pointed at the deputy. “Plus, Rudy here is trying to find out if his car has a tracking system.”

  Jeff tilted his head to the side. “Assuming he hasn’t dumped it for another one.”

  Emory heard nothing after he learned the deputy’s first name. Rudy? They’ve certainly become chummy. Of course, they’re hitting it off. Harris is a younger version of Wayne.

  Wayne didn’t acknowledge Jeff or his words, keeping his eyes on Emory. “We’ll reconnect with you when you’re done with the kid.” Walking back to the desk, he asked Deputy Harris, “Are there any car rental places in town?”

  Hands on his hips, Sheriff Rome clicked his tongue. “I have to tell you, Son, I’m really dreading this.”

  Emory nodded. “Best just to get it over with. Where’s the evidence from the house?”

  “In my office. I’ll go get it.”

  When the sheriff walked away, Emory noticed a sweet smile on Jeff’s flawless face. “What is it?”

  “It might’ve started a little bumpy, but working with you was not all that unpleasant.” Jeff shook his hand.

  “I feel the same.”

  Sheriff Rome returned with a ratty burlap bag. “Here’s everything you gathered.”

  The sheriff and his son started walking in the same direction when Emory realized Jeff was too. He stopped the PI. “I can’t let you in there while we’re interrogating him.”

  Jeff reminded him, “You let me in for Scot’s interrogation.”

  “And look how that turned out. I have to handle Ian carefully. I need a controlled environment.”

  Jeff leaned in to argue, but instead put up his hands in resignation. “That’s fine. I’ll just check in with Virginia and hang out
until you’re done.” He took a seat on the bench by the door.

  As the two resumed walking, Emory asked his father, “How are you feeling, physically?”

  The sheriff waved off his concern. “Oh, I’m fine. I’m still sore but much better today.”

  When they entered the interrogation room, Ian wasn’t yet there, so they sat at one end of the table and waited.

  “How do you want to handle this?” Sheriff Rome asked.

  “I just want to talk to him first. See if he’ll open up. If not, I’ll start bringing up the evidence.”

  “Sounds good. I called Victor. He should be here soon, and then we can begin.”

  “Dad, we’re not waiting for Victor. Ian said he didn’t want his dad present.”

  “He’s a minor.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “A parent has to—”

  “Ian has the right—”

  Sheriff Rome slapped the table. “Victor will be present! That’s the law.”

  Emory could no longer hide his irritation over his father’s not-quite-right legal procedures. He slapped the table and told him, “No, Dad, actually it’s not.”

  Sheriff Rome shoved his eyebrows together and shifted in his chair to face his son. “What are you talking about?”

  “When a minor’s arrested, we have to notify the parents, which you did, but it’s up to the minor whether or not a parent is present during questioning. It’s his right to be questioned alone.”

  The sheriff tapped the table three times with his pointing finger. “Listen here, Son. No minor’s going to be questioned in my interrogation room without a parent present.”

  “Dad, this is so frustrating!” Emory clenched his fists on his lap. “For the record, we don’t need a parent to be notified if we’re just questioning a minor unless he’s been arrested, at which point the minor decides if he wants a parent present. We also can take items into evidence from a crime scene without a warrant, and respect for the deceased does not supersede the mandate to fully document an undisturbed crime scene!” Emory gasped for air. “These rules of yours are made-up versions of the law, and they’ve been impeding my investigation!”

  Sheriff Rome looked more hurt than angry, and he faced the table when he responded, “Lawmen don’t have to be heartless fact-gatherers and jailors. We deal with people – real people with real feelings – and almost always at extremely stressful points in their lives.” He again faced Emory, and his hands took on a life of their own as he gesticulated to stress his next words. “What’s wrong with demonstrating some empathy and trying to help them through their difficulties? If asking a parent’s permission to interview their child isn’t written into the letter of the law, it’s there in spirit – or it should be! Snapping pictures of a dead girl might be the right thing for us, but it’s not for that girl’s father. If that means it takes us a little longer to bring them justice, I can live with that.”

  Emory’s face drooped, and he was about to apologize when he realized the door had swung open sometime during his scolding.

  Deputy Loggins had a hand on Ian’s shoulder, and they were standing in the doorway. “Should we come back?”

  Sheriff Rome waved the deputy inside. “No, come in.” The deputy led the boy to a chair on the opposite side of the table from the others. “Take those handcuffs off him.” He looked at Emory and asked in a snide tone he had never used with his son, “Is that okay with you, Special Agent Rome?”

  “Of course.”

  Deputy Loggins did as asked and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  In a gentle voice, Sheriff Rome told Ian, “Son, I need to turn on the camera to record our conversation. Okay?” He walked over to a camera on a tripod at the adjacent end of the table. Once he turned it on, he nodded to Emory.

  “Ian, could you tell me about your sister?” asked Emory, mimicking his father’s tone.

  The sheriff returned to his seat and clasped his hands together on the table.

  Ian’s head lifted, and he looked Emory square in the eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “What did you think of her? How did you see her?”

  “I saw her as she was.”

  “What exactly was she?”

  The boy responded with a question. “Do you have a brother or sister?”

  Emory frowned at the redirection. “I was an only child.”

  Ian bowed his head. “How fortunate for you. Tell me, if you could’ve had a sibling, do you think you would’ve wanted one who was younger or older than you?”

  Emory looked at his father, uncertain if he should stop the conversation’s current path or continue humoring Ian. Sheriff Rome offered a quick nod, relating that he should do whatever it takes to keep the boy talking. “Older.”

  Ian’s brows curled upward as he again faced Emory. “Not what I expected. Why older?”

  Emory pursed his lips as he tried to think of the answer. “I guess I would’ve liked a protector when I was growing up.”

  “Protection from whom?” Ian looked at Sheriff Rome and again at Emory.

  Does he know that’s my father? “It’s not important now.”

  “Could you have ever loved those who tormented you?”

  “I know your sister didn’t treat you well in front of others. Are you telling us that she was otherwise abusive toward you?”

  “Were you protecting yourself?” Sheriff Rome asked. “Self-defense?”

  “I didn’t kill her!” Ian screamed. “I told you that! Why won’t y’all listen to me?”

  Sheriff Rome patted the table, and in his quiet church voice, he said, “Son, we just want to understand what happened to your sister. Don’t you want that too?”

  Emory displayed an admiring glance at the sheriff for his de-escalation skills – something he had learned from his father but rarely practiced.

  “I don’t know how I can help you.” Ian stared at the empty space between Emory and the sheriff. “When Dad told me she was dead, he was so…heartbroken. I never even saw him cry when Mom died. What made Britt so special? I wanted to take that pain away, but there was nothing I could do.”

  Sheriff Rome asked, “Weren’t you also upset about your sister’s death?”

  The boy looked at him with a blank face. “You want me to be honest?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then if I’m being honest, I can’t say that I’ll miss her because I won’t.”

  Emory lurched forward in his chair, and in his periphery, he saw his father do the same.

  Ian explained, “I don’t have to grieve to be innocent. I just really didn’t like her. At all.”

  Emory reached down for the burlap bag and glanced at his father to let him know he was done with trying to coax a confession from Ian. He pulled out a hermetic glass storage jar about one-fifth full with a blackish powder and placed it on the table. “Do you know what this is?”

  Ian examined it for a few seconds before answering, “It looks like calcium carbide.”

  “Excellent guess. While you were in school today, we searched your house.”

  “My dad let you do that?”

  “He might not know yet.” Emory tapped the jar. “Back to the evidence. Guess where we found it.”

  Ian shrugged. “I don’t recognize the jar. I had some for a science project I was working on last year, but I got rid of it.”

  “Or maybe you just hid it. This jar was found in your room, behind the shoe rack in your closet.”

  Ian’s face stretched into a look of surprise. “I did not have that jar in my room! Why are you even asking about calcium carbide anyway? It’s not illegal to have.”

  “Your sister burned to death when this stuff ignited on the lake that she skated on. You sprinkled it all over the ice the night before she died, knowing exactly what would happen.”

  Ian popped up from his chair. “I did not! Stop saying that!” He held the table and gulped in several deep breaths. “I thought someone burned her and threw
her in the lake. That’s what the news said.”

  “Because that’s what we told them,” the sheriff said.

  Ian returned to his seat. “So that’s how she was killed? Did she suffer?” He waved off his question. “Never mind, I know.” He stared again at the empty space, his eyes almost gleaming. “She must’ve suffered. Everywhere she skated, the water under her blades leaving a trail for the flames to follow once her skates clipped. Fire spitting up all around her.” The boy emitted a one-second laugh. “That’s funny. She died in a real Lake of Fire. From a physical one to a spiritual one.”

  Emory shook his head to erase the stunned look from his face. He glanced at his father, whose lips were now a nickel’s diameter apart.

  The boy pointed to the jar. “Someone planted that in my room, if that’s where you really found it. Someone’s trying to set me up for my own sister’s murder.”

  Emory leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Okay. Let’s talk about Rick Roberts.”

  “You think I killed Mr. Roberts too?”

  Instead of answering, Emory delved back into the burlap bag and produced the framed photo from Rick’s house, placing it on the table beside the jar. “He’s the only teacher to ever give you less than an A on your report card. He humiliated you in front of everyone by calling you out for cheating—”

  “I didn’t cheat!” Ian slammed both fists on the table. “I was helping my lab partner by explaining the lab experiment to him, and I had to write it at the same time, or it wouldn’t have been done before the end of class.”

  “I understand. I know you were trying to help someone, and it bit you on the butt.”

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” the sheriff offered.

  Emory continued, “Nevertheless, Mr. Roberts did call it cheating, and he did it in front of your whole class, and I’m sure word spread throughout the school. It had to be humiliating for you. On top of that humiliation and the frustration of not keeping your perfect record, you weren’t allowed to compete in the science fair you were hoping to win. You had some good, valid reasons to want revenge. We heard from several people that you said repeatedly how much you wanted him dead.”