by Kathi Daley
“So the entire resort you hope to build would be on a platform above the marsh?” I asked.
“The parking area as well as the restaurant and clubhouse would be built on the twenty acres that isn’t marsh. My proposal calls for a series of hutlike structures joined one to each other with raised walkways.”
I sat back and looked at him. “What about plumbing and electric?”
“I’ve included the pipes and conduit network that would be required to service the individual units in my plans. I can assure you, I’ve thought this through quite thoroughly.”
I leaned forward on the table so my forearms rested in front of me, then absentmindedly clicked my pen open and closed as I tried to wrap my head around this. I supposed he’d come up with a way to develop the wetlands; the problem, in my opinion, was that the wetlands shouldn’t be developed at all. “Have you done any work on the permit process?” I asked.
“I’ve had a few meetings with men and women who don’t share my enthusiasm for the project. I’m just getting started, however, and am nowhere ready to give up.”
I sat back in my chair. “I realize projects such as the one you’re proposing have been built over the ocean in a variety of locations around the world, but the wetlands on this island are environmentally sensitive, and there are a lot of laws that have been put into place to protect them.”
“I’m not looking to destroy them. My goal is simply to create a place where visitors can fully enjoy them. I realize there are those who don’t think I’ll get my project off the ground, but between you and me, I have a much better chance at getting the permits than you might think.”
I sat forward again and looked him in the eye. “And why is that?”
“Let’s just say I have something to offer the island council in exchange that they desperately want.”
“You’re planning to bribe the council?”
King stood up. “It was nice meeting you. I think this interview is over.”
I had to hand it to him, I thought, as I watched him walk away. His last statement had certainly captured my attention.
Chapter 3
When Jack had said he’d have food brought in, I was thinking Chinese or pizza. What he did was have one of the island’s higher-end restaurants prepare and deliver a virtual feast that included prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, buttery asparagus, farm-fresh salad, and a chocolate concoction for dessert. Not only was the food delicious but Jack served his best wine. The talk around the table centered on the possibility of conducting all our brainstorming sessions at Jack’s.
“I spoke to Brit,” I started in, once everyone was seated at the table. “She’s going to check in with Abby this evening, and she’s very excited we have a trail to follow.”
“I’d be careful about getting the young widow’s hopes up,” Rick warned as he helped himself to a generous portion of creamy mashed potatoes. “All we really have is a theory, and a pretty wild one at that. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after years of chasing ideas, it’s that most theories don’t work out.”
“I guess that’s true,” I acknowledged as I stabbed a small slice of prime rib with my fork. “I just want Abby to know we’re taking this seriously. I can’t imagine having four children between three and ten to raise as well as a baby on the way. The poor woman must be frantic.”
“Why exactly is Abby raising her sister’s children?” Quinten asked after passing the asparagus to his left.
I took a roll and passed the basket before answering. “Her sister and her sister’s husband were killed in an auto accident two years ago, leaving behind one-year-old twins, a five-year-old, and an eight-year-old. Timmy and Tommy are three now, Rebecca is seven, and Rachael is ten.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for someone so young,” Vikki commented as she moved her salad around on her plate. I’d noticed her appetite seemed to have disappeared as of late, and it was beginning to worry me. Perhaps I’d try to speak to her about it tomorrow.
For now, I let my concern go and answered the question. “Abby was her sister Tammy’s only family. Their parents died when Tammy was twenty-two and Abby was seventeen. According to Brit, the sisters were very close, so even though Abby was only twenty-three at the time of her sister’s death, she happily took on guardianship for all four children.”
“Talk about an abrupt disruption to your life. The thought of someday having one child terrifies me, but to instantly become a mother to four grieving children…” Vikki said. “I can’t even imagine.”
“I’m sure it’s been very difficult not just in terms of emotional stress but in the financial drain four kids must have on a young couple. When Brit and I spoke earlier, she told me that prior to her sister’s death, Abby was a preschool teacher. Once the children came to live with them, Abby quit her job to be home with the kids and Bobby took on a second job, working on a fishing boat on his days off. Based on what Brit said, he worked almost every waking minute just to stay on top of things.”
“My heart goes out to her,” Quinten said. “I can’t imagine what she must be going through. I felt as if my life was over when my wife passed, and I didn’t have the extra burden of caring for children or trying to make ends meet.”
I saw Gertie put her hand over Quinten’s and give it a squeeze. At first glance, the quiet, sophisticated, and well-educated man and the loud, at times abrasive high-school dropout didn’t appear to be an ideal pairing. But in the past couple of months, I’d been around the couple enough to realize that below the surface, they seemed to be exactly what the other one needed.
“Brit said Bobby worked part time on a couple of different boats so he’d have income every day,” I informed the others after a short pause.
“So I guess Bobby probably knew the man whose boat burned,” Quinten replied.
I glanced at Rick. He nodded, then filled us in. “Prior to the boat being dry-docked for repairs, Bobby occasionally signed on with Pop Seaton. Pop has lived in the area for a long time. Based on the information I managed to dig up during my investigation, Pop had been struggling financially. He had an old boat that needed a lot of repairs, and his competition had increased dramatically when a couple of new companies with better equipment started fishing in the area.”
“Which supports the idea of him burning or having someone else burn his boat to collect the insurance,” I said.
Rick took a small bite of his meat, then nodded. “The idea that Pop was after the insurance money did occur to me. The fire that destroyed his boat was the first that occurred, and I viewed it as an isolated event. I spoke with him, and he assured me that he was visiting friends and nowhere near the boat when it went up in flames. His alibi checked out, so I moved on to other suspects.”
Vikki set down her fork and leaned back in her chair, abandoning all pretense that she was eating. She tucked a lock of her long blond hair behind one ear before asking the question I’d been pondering. “What’s going on with Pop now? Is he still in the area?”
“He is,” Rick confirmed. “He was able to purchase a used but much newer and better-equipped boat and is back on the water. I hear he’s doing really well for himself.”
“And the others?” Vikki asked. “Are they better off as well?”
“It would seem they are,” Rick confirmed, “but I think for the purposes of this discussion, we should focus on one victim at a time.”
Everyone agreed to Rick’s plan. I noticed him frown, taking in the fact that Vikki hadn’t eaten more than a couple of bites of salad. Was something going on I didn’t know about? Vikki was my best friend. If her loss of appetite was due to a physical or emotional problem, I should know about it. I wanted to pull her aside, but this wasn’t the right time. Instead, I said, “Jack has a whiteboard in his office. If someone will grab it once we’re done eating, I’ll take notes as we go through the cases. Maybe when we get everything written down, we’ll start to see links between the victims that might not otherwise be evident.”
He pulled out a file, looked it over quickly, then began to summarize. “On May 26 at approximately ten-fifteen p.m., the 911 operator received an anonymous call from a male, stating there was smoke coming from the center of the boatyard on the south side of the island. The fire crew responded and found Pop Seaton’s boat, which had been dry-docked for repairs, completely engulfed in flames. The fire was burning so hot that by the time the firemen were able to control the flames, all that was left were the ashes from the wooden hull and twisted metal from the engine and fishing equipment. After he completed his investigation, the fire marshal determined that an accelerant had been used to ensure that the fire burned hot and fast. He further concluded that there were multiple ignition points. There seemed little doubt arson was responsible for the fire.”
I noted the date and the basic facts on the board.
“At the time,” Rick continued, “as I previously mentioned, I was investigating the fire in isolation. I learned the boat was not only insured but that the policy compensated the owner for the value of the boat and provided for replacement of a comparable size and use. I was certain the owner had set the fire to collect the insurance money. When I found out Pop’s policy also compensated him for loss of income during the entire time he didn’t have a boat to use, I was more certain than ever I had my motive and my arsonist.”
“But it wasn’t him,” I said, remembering Pop had been away at the time of the fire.
“It didn’t appear so. Still, something felt off to me.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked.
“For one thing, the insurance policy was hugely expensive. I knew Pop had been suffering some financial setbacks and couldn’t imagine why he would spend a large amount of money to insure a boat that was on its last legs. When I found out it had been in dry dock for quite some time while he tried to come up with the money for the repairs, I was even more certain insurance fraud was behind the fire. Pop had an alibi, but I couldn’t let go of the idea that he’d found a way to appear to be visiting friends up north while he was actually setting fire to his boat.”
Rick paused, took a sip of water, and continued. “At about the time I’d decided to bring Pop in and attempt to force a confession out of him, I learned another fire had been called in to 911. This one was reported at approximately two-thirty a.m. on June 7. I was called at home, and by the time I responded, I found Jasper Wells’s barn burned to the ground.”
“Another well-insured piece of property?” Quinten, who had not been part of the Mastermind meeting, asked.
Rick nodded. “Not only was the barn well insured, it had been undergoing its own renovation and was empty of animals. The fire marshal was able to establish that an accelerant had been used this time too. By this point the theory I was working off was that one arsonist was responsible for both fires, despite the fact that there were a few differences between the two events.”
“What sort of differences?” I asked.
“While an accelerant had been used in both fires, the type was different. Additionally, the ignition system used seemed to differ. Still, there were enough similarities to consider a single arsonist.”
“It does sound like the same person was behind both fires, but why would anyone burn down these specific structures?” Quinten asked.
“I considered that the second fire had been used to draw attention away from the first one,” Rick answered. “It was my belief that Pop knew I was on to him, so he threw another variable into the mix. The problem was, I couldn’t find a single piece of evidence connecting Pop to either fire.”
“Were both men insured through the same company?” Quinten asked.
“No,” Rick answered. “Different companies based in different states.”
“So the idea that the men may have burned each other’s property for the insurance money hadn’t occurred to you at that point?” Vikki asked.
“No. The idea hadn’t occurred to me. Initially, I was certain the arsonist was Pop, but he seemed to have a hard alibi for the first fire and a soft one for the second. Eventually, I widened the scope of my investigation and considered a third player, some person who was linked to both Pop and Jasper. I wasn’t making a lot of progress, but I consider the insurance payouts to be the motivator. I suspected both men paid a third player to set the fires in exchange for a payout.”
I made a few notes on the whiteboard. “That’s actually a solid theory.”
“I thought so, but it was at that point that the third fire was called in on June 19 at four a.m. When I arrived at the bakeshop owned by Hillary Tisdale, it had already burned to the ground. As with the other two fires, an accelerant had been used, and as with the other structures, Ms. Tisdale’s bakeshop was very well insured.”
“Was she also out of town?” Vikki asked.
“She was at a baking conference she had signed up for six months before the fire. That made me take a closer look at my overall theory. When Pop and Jasper were the only victims, I assumed they had hired someone and planned the fires in advance. That would explain why they were conveniently out of town at the time of the fires. But with the addition of Hillary Tisdale to the mix, that theory didn’t seem to stand up. I assumed whatever agreement the men had entered in to had been a recent development, but Hillary made plans to be out of town six months before the fire. It takes a lot of foresight to book a conference six months before you plan to engage in insurance fraud.”
“Maybe Ms. Tisdale knew she would be gone and used the conference as an alibi for plans that were hatched after she’d made the reservation,” I suggested.
“Maybe. The coincidences between the three cases were striking. All three fires were set on structures that were well insured, all three were burned after dark, all three were empty of people and animals, and all three owners were out of town when the fires occurred. I really felt like that meant something, I just didn’t know what. I tried to find a link of some sort between the individuals but was unsuccessful. Finally, the fire marshal convinced me the arsonist was the link. He made a case that he or she was targeting specific properties that met certain criteria. That made sense. From then on, the investigation was less about the victims and more about identifying the arsonist.”
Rick paused to take another drink, which allowed me to catch up a bit. It seemed there was a lot of information to capture for the board. Too much information.
“Who was next?” Vikki asked.
Rick offered her a gentle smile and then answered. “The next fire occurred just three days after Tisdale’s bakeshop burned. Hannah Smith is a local artist who’d built an art studio in an unattached garage. The garage was burned to the ground, taking all the artwork with it, but the house was spared, and no one was injured. Like the three other fires, the building burned down late at night, and as with the others, an accelerant was used. By this point there was no doubt in anyone’s mind we had a serial arsonist on our hands.”
“Was Hannah insured as well?” I asked.
“She was. In fact, she had recently landed a spot in a huge New York art show, so she’d insured all her work at its maximum value.”
“Too strange,” I commented.
“Agreed,” Rick said. “The similarities were so apparent that I knew there was a link. The question was, how did that link help us to identify the arsonist?”
“What about the fifth fire?” I asked. “The one where the man died.”
“Two weeks after the art studio burned to the ground, fire number five was called in. Like the previous four, the fire was late at night, and an accelerant was used to ensure the structure would burn hot
and fast. Like the others, the owner was out of town, but unlike them, there was a casualty. Apparently, a friend of the owner was staying in the house while he was away. The fire was intense; the poor guy never had a chance. A week after the man died, Bobby Boston was found dead in his garage with a suicide note that took responsibility for the fires. To be honest, it never set right with me that Bobby was the arsonist, but there were good arguments to be made for it.”
“Such as?” I wondered.
“Such as the fact that as a firefighter, Bobby understood fire. He would have the knowledge needed to make ultimate use of the accelerant. Bobby’s coworkers and friends were interviewed. Most couldn’t believe he would do what he confessed to, but there were others who said he had been overly stressed with the added responsibility of his wife’s nieces and nephews.”
“None of that sounds like proof to me,” I said.
“I agree.” Rick stood up and began to pace. “In the end, what it came down to was that the sheriff wanted the case closed. He had a confession from a man who had the knowledge to do what he said he had, so he went with it.”
Everyone sat in silence. Rick had provided us with a lot of information to take in. It seemed patterns existed beyond chance, but without a link they were pretty much useless. I didn’t want to believe Abby’s husband had set five fires before taking his own life, but I supposed I could understand why the sheriff would take the gift it seemed had been handed him in the form of a confession.
“The insurance thing is really bugging me,” I said after a while. “Why would an insurance company write a policy with a value higher than the object they were insuring?”
