As Sullivan spoke, Danny watched Jamie Dzubenko, who stared mournfully at the camera. If he hadn't been paying attention he was sure he wouldn't have noticed the change. But before the cameras moved off of him, Dzubenko's lips curled into a smile. For the briefest of moments, his face turned from grief and dismay to smug satisfaction. Danny was sure of it.
“Did you see that,” he asked Tessa. “The smile on that shithead's face?”
“I did. I thought maybe I was imagining it.”
“You weren't.”
Danny muted his television and absently scratched Sox's ears as the somber and equally disdainful face of Sarah Morgan took over his screen. The graphic behind her of flames overtaking a building had the question “Are police doing enough to keep us safe?” superimposed over the image.
“I called Jack before I called you,” Tessa said. “Needless to say, he wants us at the station immediately if not sooner.”
“Right. Can't say I'm looking forward to watching the whole interview when I get there. I already want to get my hands on this asshole and wipe that smirk off his face. God damn the aunt. I should have known she'd cave. It was clear she wasn't the strongest person in the world already. I shouldn't have left her alone.”
“What choice did you have? What were you supposed to do? Move in with her? This isn't your fault.”
“Well whether it is or isn't, there's one thing that's not up for debate.”
“What's that?”
“This is going to be one hell of a day at work.”
****
Chapter 45
“I was stunned when my aunt Constance called me last night and said a police detective from Fairbanks had been to her house to question her. This detective had nearly frightened her to death. Of course, she'd heard about the fires here. When the detective first contacted her she was terrified that I had been killed in one of them.”
Danny, Tessa, Jack, Anthony Rizzo and Chief Winston sat around the table in the conference room re-watching Jamie Dzubenko's star-making interview with Mick Sullivan. Since the interview had first aired, Dzubenko was now making the rounds of every television and radio station in town and reportedly fielding requests from the national cable news networks as well.
“You have a traumatic history with fire,” Mick Sullivan said with appropriate solemnity. “Can you tell us about that?”
Jamie inhaled and closed his eyes as if preparing himself for what he knew was going to be a painful moment.
“Yes, of course. My family home here in Fairbanks burned down in 1996 when I was twelve. My parents and siblings didn't make it out of the house alive. I was the only survivor.” Jamie paused and let out a deep breath. “I went to live with my aunt Constance in Anchorage but I was a traumatized child and things didn't go well. She was my closest living relative but I barely knew her since she'd moved to Anchorage when I was very young. And I missed my family and my home. I really wanted to come back to Fairbanks....”
“What happened? Did you end up staying in Anchorage?”
Jamie shook his head. “No. And my behavior with my aunt is not something I'm proud of today, I know I hurt her and she was trying to do her best by taking me in. But I insisted that I didn't want to live with her and I wanted to come back here instead. I felt like I could somehow be close to my parents and siblings here at home. So I went into foster care and lived with some wonderful families before striking out on my own when I turned 18 and aged out of the system.”
“Before you heard from your aunt, did you have contact with the police yourself?”
“I did. Two detectives who said they were investigating the fires came to visit me a few weeks ago. I couldn't understand at all why they visited me and told them so. I certainly never imagined they'd then go to my aunt and upset her as well.”
“Did they tell you why they visited you?”
“They said they were looking into unsolved arson cases and came upon my family's case from the '90s. I have no idea why they thought that could possibly have anything to do with the terrible killings in our city this year.”
“Have you ever had any trouble with the police?”
“You mean have I been arrested? No, never. I've had a few speeding tickets but I didn't realize that could make someone suspect me of arson and murder.”
“You mentioned that you were in foster care. I imagine those years were difficult.”
“Well of course they were, but mostly because I missed my family so much. I have no complaints about the families I lived with. I can't say I developed strong relationships with any of them but at that point I really just wanted to keep to myself. To me that was what I needed to do to survive.”
“Which is exactly what you’ve done?”
“Yes, it’s what I’ve done. It’s been a long road, but I’m doing well now. I've worked in the lab at Fairbanks General for more than ten years. I love science and the lab suits me perfectly. I don't know if this is because of the trauma of my past but I'm a loner, I can't deny that. I enjoy working on my own. But I also enjoy knowing I'm helping with the care of our patients at the hospital.”
“Christ, could he lay it on any thicker?” Danny asked, pressing the pause button on the interview. “Hard to imagine anyone is as perfect as this guy is pretending to be.”
“The thing is he's telling the truth,” Chief Winston said. “At least in terms of the facts. He has no record, adult or juvenile. And his foster care records show no red flags. He lived with three different families and none of them reported any threatening behavior or anything close to what the aunt described to you. They all said he was a loner, but that's the extent of it. We really don’t have anything on this guy and we look like a bunch of clowns right now.”
“You mean I look like a clown,” Danny said. “I'm the one who found his old case and the one who went to Anchorage.”
“You didn't do it on your own,” Jack said. “Far be it from me to lay waste to your martyr complex but we all agreed it was a lead worth pursuing.”
Anthony Rizzo played with the laptop in front of him and frowned. “Fairbanks Fires is a trending topic on Twitter now,” he said, glancing up from the screen towards his colleagues. “Alaska hasn't had this much national attention since the country was introduced to Sarah Palin.”
“Well you can bet your ass the news channels will have reporters camped out here before the day is out,” Jack said, wiping beads of sweat from his brow.
The summer heatwave had only intensified as the calendar had turned over to August, bringing the tensions surrounding the fires to a boil.
“We can't handle this on our own now. I'm bringing in the FBI,” the chief said. “We've got no defense for the accusations that we're not doing enough to find the arsonist. We can't point to any progress and our only lead just made fools out of us in front of the whole city. And soon enough the whole damn country.”
“If anything, this makes him seem even guiltier to me,” Tessa said. “He's shrewd. Would an innocent person really think to go on television immediately if they found out they were being investigated? Wouldn't they be frightened and freaked out instead? Instead he sought out attention. I think he's enjoying this.”
“I don't see that when I watch him,” Chief Winston said.
“All due respect, sir,” Danny said. “But I think that's because you haven't met him. Tessa and I have. He's not the angel he's presenting himself as.”
“That may very well be the case. But as the man has made clear to the world, we have no evidence against him. People have been burning to death in our city for three months now and we have no evidence against anyone! So all due respect to you as well, detective, but this isn't up for discussion. I'm handing the case over to the FBI Violent Crime unit. They're coming in from the Anchorage office and we'll hold a press conference ASAP to announce that they are now going to be the point people on this case and we'll be offering them our full cooperation. If the son of a bitch who is sending out the letters is telling the truth,
we've only got a little more than a week before he starts burning the whole damn city for his Vulcan festival or whatever the hell it is. We should have called in the FBI before this got so far out of hand.”
Danny started to protest, but stopped himself when he noticed Jack drawing a finger across his throat to silently tell Danny to be quiet. He gave an involuntary shiver. He knew perfectly well the gesture was a universal sign to shut up and Jack only meant it as such, but Danny could never see it again without thinking of Caroline's murder and the fact that her throat had literally been sliced right in front of him. That memory quieted him as much as, or perhaps more, than Jack's unfortunate choice of gestures.
Chief Winston glanced around the table as if daring anyone to argue with him. Met with silence, he stood up and walked towards the door.
“We're clear then,” he said. “Jack, I'll want you in on the press conference. The rest of you, I'll let you know when the special agents arrive so you can give them whatever information they need to get started.”
****
Chapter 46
Danny scowled as he looked towards the station conference room and watched Jack and Chief Winston meeting with the FBI Special Agents who were now in charge of his case. The woman was tall and slender, with straight red hair cut in a chin length bob. She wore glasses and fiddled with the frames repeatedly while reading files on her laptop. The man was shorter than the woman and also much heavier. His black hair was nearly as thick and unruly as the mop Danny carried on top of his head. He was more animated than his colleague, gesturing with his hands as he talked to Winston with an obvious sense of urgency. Despite their differences in appearance and manner the two agents followed the same dress code. They wore perfectly tailored conservative suits, the man’s grey and the woman’s navy blue. Both seemed completely impervious to the stifling heat that had worsened with each passing day.
Danny had met the agents earlier in the day but had already forgotten their names. Or perhaps he had purposely chosen to not remember them. He would be happy to pretend they didn’t exist.
“What are their names again?” he asked Tessa, who sat across from him at her own desk.
“Who?”
“Our special agent friends.”
“Holly Thompson and John Castillo. Why?”
“No reason. I just couldn’t remember.” Danny was quiet as he continued to watch the agents. “They’re not going to solve anything though,” he finally said. “How are they supposed to find anything in such a short amount of time? We already know who the killer is but they won’t listen to us.”
“They can’t listen to us.”
“They can’t? They won’t. There’s a difference.”
Tessa slammed her hand on her desk in frustration. “And just what do you expect them or any of the rest of us to do? You watched the same circus we did this morning.”
“So we should be cowed by the media? Let them decide who we can investigate?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. And don’t try to make me into some kind of damn fool.” Tessa turned her laptop towards Danny and pointed at the screen. “Our friend Dzubenko is live on CNN right now talking about police harassment. He’s got us over a barrel and all the righteous indignation you can muster isn’t going to change that.”
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. “It’s just so damn frustrating.”
“You think I’m not frustrated? I am, trust me. And not just because I agree with you about Dzubenko.” She glared at the interview unfolding on the screen in front of her. “You know how long I’ve lived in Fairbanks? For as long as I can remember, no one outside of Alaska has ever given a shit what happens here in our city. Hell most of the time no one else in the state gives a damn. If it doesn’t happen in Anchorage or Juneau it’s not news. The only time I can think of, that we got any kind of publicity, was when you uncovered Nechayev. But now we’ve got everybody in America weighing in on our department and our city and talking about how corrupt and incompetent we supposedly are. All because of some psychopathic piece of shit that you and I both know is guilty.” Tessa slammed her laptop closed. “Don’t talk to me about being frustrated, Danny.”
Danny had nothing to say in response. He got up from his chair and headed towards the front door of the building. “I need a cigarette,” he said over his shoulder.
As he walked out onto the sidewalk, Danny was hit simultaneously by the glare of the afternoon sun and the oppressive heat which refused to give the city a break. He wondered if there was any weather extreme this god-forsaken city was immune from. When he’d come here and suffered through his first Alaskan winter, he had found some comfort in the fact that he was at least free of the heat and humidity that blanketed Chicago throughout the summer months. But now it seemed the heat and humidity had followed him.
He lit his cigarette and inhaled a welcome blast of nicotine. He savored the smoke in his mouth before slowly blowing it out and watching it disappear into the oppressive air around him. He’d needed the calming influence of the cigarette before he did what he’d really come outside to do.
Reaching into this pocket, Danny withdrew his phone and punched in the number before he had a chance to change his mind. He heard the voice that filled his nightmares after only two rings.
“Hello, Detective Fitzpatrick. Nice to hear from you,” Aleksei said.
“I need your help.”
“Interesting. Remind me again why I should give it to you.”
Danny ignored the remark. “Have you still been following the news?”
“You mean the news about your colossal screw-up there? I did see some of Jamie Dzubenko’s interviews. Terrible the way you and your fellow officers harassed that man and his poor aunt.”
“Fuck off, Nechayev.”
Aleksei chuckled. “Again I need to ask why I should help you. I would think you’d at least try to be pleasant instead of insulting me with vulgar profanity. I detest that sort of language.”
“We didn’t harass Dzubenko and you know that. He’s the guy who set the fires and killed all those people. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
“I agree with you. I also don’t care. What makes you think this concerns me?”
“Because I know Dzubenko’s ancestor tried to kill you. I thought helping me take him down would be a chance for you to even the score.”
“I already did that when I arranged for Vasyl Dzubenko to be killed before he could finish killing me. My score was settled a long time ago. And I won. Your complete inability to handle your own Dzubenko witch is of no consequence to me. If anything, I’m amused by it. Your incompetence has provided me with a great deal of entertainment over the past few months.”
“Well then how about helping me out in exchange for all that free entertainment? Or just because you owe me.”
“I owe you? For what?”
“I broke you out of your rut, remember? I opened up a new life for you by exposing your games up in the Arctic. You’re the one who told me you were grateful to me for that.”
“Yes. And I allowed you to live. That was my way of saying thank you. I told you that as well.”
“Alright then. How about just doing it because you can enjoy the fact that I’ve been reduced to begging you for help? That has to bring you some satisfaction.”
“It does, you’re right about that.” Aleksei paused for so long that Danny wondered if the connection had been lost. “What do you want from me?” he finally asked.
“I want to know about the witchcraft that Jamie and his family possess. Can I learn it?”
“What?” Aleksei asked, genuinely surprised by the question.
“You heard me. Can I learn this witchcraft so I can use it against Dzubenko?”
Danny bristled at the sound of Aleksei’s laughter on the other end of the line.
“You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
“Just answer my goddamn question!”
“Alright, alright. No, you can’t learn
this. Witches are born with their power. So unless you come from a long line of Fitzpatrick witches and you’re just not aware of it, you’re out of luck. Didn’t I already tell you this when we first chatted?” Aleksei chuckled again. “Let me ask you something though. If you could learn this, do you honestly think you could do it in time to stop Dzubenko? From what I read in the News-Miner, your boy has big plans for Vulcanalia on August 23. You think you can learn centuries, or more accurately, millennia, of witchcraft in one week?”
“Fair enough. If I can’t learn it, are there other witches here in Alaska who know it? Surely Dzubenko’s not the only one.”
“How would I know?”
“How many decades did you live here, Nechayev? You think I’m stupid? That I believe a witch nearly succeeded in killing you and you never bothered to find out if you faced a threat from anyone else? You know and don’t try to pretend otherwise.”
“To my knowledge,” Aleksei said, “there were no other witches in Alaska who practiced black magic. Dzubenko was it as far as I could determine and as the decades passed I honestly stopped worrying about it. But I never got any indication that any new witches had moved into the state.”
“You said black magic. Is there some other kind of magic?”
“Of course. There’s magic that is used for good instead of evil. Or at least what you would consider evil. There was a line of witches in Fairbanks who were known for their use of natural magic. Silly things like curing illnesses or controlling the weather to help farmers, that sort of nonsense. Dzubenko had this kind of magic too, though. The truly powerful witches have both.”
“So these witches in Fairbanks aren’t as powerful as the Dzubenkos?”
“I have no idea. They could be and they’ve just chosen not to use their black magic.”
“Could they stop Dzubenko now?”
Polar (Book 2): Polar Day Page 16
