Jamie Garrett - Riley Reid 02 - Fire and Lies

by Jamie Garrett

  I had seen three dead bodies in two days. Right then, I knew I wouldn’t get a peaceful night sleep for at least two months. It was their eyes that haunted me the most, and still do. They were bereft of light. That spark that every person had, the glint in their eyes, was gone.

  “This is Detective Greyson. I need an ambulance at Twelve Pine Lane.” I could hear Sam on the phone

  Something was off about the bodies. I lifted my shirt up over my nose and went in for a closer look. In my throat and stomach I could feel the vomit coming when I got close. Luckily I was able to force it down.

  The blood on the Branches’ corpses hadn’t dried up yet. It was still fresh. That meant whoever killed them had done so recently, and maybe was still close by.

  I went out into the hallway to try and get Sam’s attention. He was still on the phone and gave me the universal sign for “one minute” with his free hand. Even if he didn’t want my help, I was still going to give it.

  Diverting my attention away from the dead bodies didn’t take much motivation. I went looking around the Branch residence. Or would it be more appropriate to call it their former residence?

  The kitchen was as gross as I anticipated. It looked like no one had ever done the dishes. Mold was growing on the plates and cups that overflowed out of the sink. There were half-eaten pizzas and boxes of cereal on the counter. A litter box teaming with cat feces, urine and bugs suggested there were felines in the house. I didn’t see one, though.

  There was a bathroom on the first floor. I wasn’t a brave enough woman to even take a peek. Instead, I headed towards the staircase that went upstairs to the second floor. Every step creaked and bent under my weight.

  What was I looking for? I needed a clue, at least one clue. The Branch residence should have been the end of the trail. Everything seemed to point there. Yet we arrived and found death instead of answers.

  The second floor wasn’t very big. There was a narrow hallway with three closed doors. I went to the farthest one. Not sure why I went for that one first. But it ended up being fortuitous.

  I’m not sure what the room was, what it was used for. The furniture didn’t make much sense. A baby’s crib was in the corner next to an unsafe-looking rocking chair. Sam never said they had a kid. When I got closer, I saw that the crib was full of dirty shoes of all things. It didn’t make much sense but trying to understand how a tweaker’s mind worked was next to impossible.

  On the opposite wall, across from the crib and rocking chair, was a dresser. The top three drawers had nothing in them. But the bottom one wasn’t empty. Inside of it was a bible. I picked it up and opened to the backside of the front cover. On it was a stamp.

  The bible I found was from Pastor Pritchard’s church. He must’ve stamped them all so people knew where they had come from. Why would a couple of meth addicts have kept the good book? No pages were torn out, so they weren’t using it for rolling papers.

  There was a single window in the room. I went over to it, just to take a quick look. Having not seen the backyard yet, I figured it might be best to get a view of it from above.

  It was dark out back. I couldn’t see much. At least, at first I didn’t see anything. Then some movement caught my eye. I ran over to the room’s light switch and turned it off to make it easier to see outside.

  When I returned to the window I could see a figure standing in the woods at the edge of the backyard. It was a human figure. I felt him looking right back at me. And then he bolted.

  The Chase

  I knew that whoever had killed the Branches was still nearby. If I didn’t go after him, he’d get away. And I didn’t go through all that I had just to let that happen again. There would not be a repeat of what occurred at Fresh Horizons just twenty-four hours before.

  Never in my life had I moved so fast. I barely even felt it as I zoomed down the hallway and staircase. Sam looked at me confused as I ran by him towards the back of the house.

  “Where are you going?” asked Sam.

  “He’s here!” I yelled despite my sore throat, right before exiting.

  It was dark out and there were no lights. I stumbled a few times and almost twisted my ankle in a hole. Even though I couldn’t see the person, I knew what direction he had ran off in.

  My legs got scratched by bushes and thorns. Leaves and tree limbs slapped me in the face. But I kept going. Nothing was going to stop me from pursuing the suspect. There would be no getting away. Not if I could help it, not this time.

  Getting through the thick woods was hard and it was slow moving. The longer I was away from the lights of the house, the more my night vision improved. Just as I was at the height of my frustration trying to navigate the woodland obstacles, I saw the silhouette of the person I was chasing. From his height and shape I determined it was a man.

  The man must’ve heard that I was close, and turned around to see. We stood for a few seconds, staring at each other. Then he was on the move again.

  For one second I had the man in my view. It wasn’t a clear view with all the obstructions. But I managed to keep him in my sights. Suddenly I could no longer see him. He just vanished.

  I continued on to the point where the man disappeared without slowing down. It was a mistake. The reason why he seemed to disappear was because there was a hill. And I didn’t have time to stop my momentum.

  I’m proud to say I didn’t immediately fall. I managed to run down the hill in the beginning. My feet moved quickly but without confidence. A panic started to overtake me. Then my right foot hit a rock.

  I went head over heels down the rest of the hill. It wasn’t the biggest slope, but it didn’t have to be. The world around me spun chaotically. This must’ve been what clothes feel like in a dryer.

  When I finally stopped tumbling, I was at the bottom of the hill. My hair was covered in pine needles. Other than some bruises, I managed to get up unscathed. I didn’t even feel those minor injuries at the time. Adrenaline was still raging through my veins.

  The man I was chasing hadn’t fallen down the hill. When I got up, I saw him. He was running down the road at the base of the hill. So I went after him.

  It amazed me that I didn’t get tired. I chased the man down that road for what seemed like five minutes at full speed. That might not be impressive to someone who ran or jogged on a regular basis. Before that night, the last time I actually ran was in high school gym class.

  The man started to slow down. I started gaining on him. He looked back and saw me getting closer. In that moment he must’ve decided to take me out rather than try to outrun me.

  I saw the man draw a pistol. He turned and fired at me while still running, albeit at a slower pace. Dodging bullets is impossible, despite what action movies would like you to believe. Trying to dodge bullets while running full speed is stupid. That didn’t stop me from trying.

  I tried to duck. My balance was thrown off. The wrist I tried to brace my fall with wasn’t up to the task. Sharp pain took all strength out of the joint and tendons. Again I found myself on the ground, or in that case, the concrete. It was much less forgiving than the dirt and pine needles of the hill.

  When I looked up, the man kept running towards an intersection. He was going to get away. And I was lying in the street, unable to do anything about it. It pissed me off. I was sick of being their target.

  Like an angel driving a ton of metal on wheels, Sam’s car came speeding down the road. He wasn’t on the same road as I was, but driving down the one that crossed it at the intersection. I heard a thud as his car and the man collided. Needless to say, the car won. The man rolled up onto the hood and into the windshield.

  Sam stopped his car and got out with his Beretta drawn. “Don’t move a fucking muscle!”

  I picked myself up off the road. My wrist was in bad shape. The adrenaline had worn off. With its passing, my whole body started to ache. Both of my legs felt like wet noodles. About twenty steps later, walking became a test of my willpower.

  Sam pu
t his knee into the back of the man. He took out a pair of zip tie handcuffs and applied them. Then he picked the man up by his shirt collar.

  “You gotta be kidding me.” I could hear Sam, even though I still had a ways to go to meet up with him.

  “What!?” I yelled, forgetting about my sore throat. As soon as I felt the vibrations from my shouting, I remembered.

  Sam didn’t answer. He wanted me to see for myself.

  I could see the lights from a police car. Red and blue bathed Sam and the man I had been chasing. The back-up that Sam called for must’ve finally arrived.

  When I reached Sam, he had already but the man in the back of his car. It was hard to make out who it was with the glass reflecting all the police lights. Nothing could have prepared me for his real identity.

  “Who is he?” I asked Sam.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” replied Sam. “This one you gotta see for yourself.”

  I limped over to his car and got a better look. There, in the backseat with a large gash on his face, was Pastor Pritchard. Sam was right. I wouldn’t have believed him. The pastor was one of the kindest men I had ever known. And minutes before, he had shot at me.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, mostly talking to myself while taking a couple of steps back. “Why would the pastor do this?”

  “Beats me. I found some interesting stuff back at the Branches’. You want to ride with me back there? Or do you want to walk?” That was vintage Sam. He defused the situation with a little humor.

  “You’re such a dick,” I laughed while limping over to the passenger side front seat of his car.

  “Love you, too.”

  During the short ride back to the Branch residence I kept looking in the rearview mirror at Pastor Pritchard. He was looking down at his feet, in shame. What could have possibly motivated him to try and kill me? And did he take out Robert and Destiny Branch? It was almost too unthinkable to even consider.

  When we arrived back at the meth house, there were two more police cars. To my surprise, Stone Harbor Police Chief Mark Owens was there waiting for us. He was smoking a cigarette, which he threw down and stomped out upon seeing us get out of the vehicle.

  “Where the hell did you go, Greyson? You’re our only detective and the only one on the scene and there are two dead bodies in there.” Chief Owens’s voice was weathered from forty years of heavy smoking. His body was flabby from a decade behind a desk. All of his hair seemed to be retreating from his forehead. He had a very thick goatee that had patches of white.

  “To get the guy who made those dead bodies, Sir,” Sam pointed at his backseat.

  Chief Owens walked over and looked into Sam’s car. “Well, I’ll be damned. Is that Pastor Pritchard?”

  “Sure is, Sir.”

  “And why are you so sure he did this?”

  “Well, he was at the scene of the crime and ran when he saw us. Not to mention he took a couple pot shots at Riley.”

  Chief Owens looked over at me. “Why is she here, Greyson? No offense, Riley.”

  “None taken.” He was right. I shouldn’t have been there. But I was happy I was.

  “I told you, I needed some help investigating the fires. She was the one who led me here. If not for her, I’d probably still be trying to figure out if they were accidents or not.” Sam was able to stand up for me and himself all at once.

  “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re too incompetent to do the job yourself?” Chief Owens was his usual cranky self.

  “No, I’m telling you it might be time to promote some more detectives…Sir.”

  Chief Owens grunted and walked away from us. As he did, he mumbled, “Good work, Reid.”

  “So what did you guys find in there?” I asked Sam as he walked and I limped towards the Branches’ front door.

  “You’ll see,” teased Sam.

  We entered the house. Sam led me to a door just off the kitchen. He opened it up and turned on his flashlight. When I took a look, I saw a staircase that went down into a basement.

  The stairs were precarious. A mixture of moisture, darkness and neglect had rendered them soft and rotted. Sam’s foot even fell through one. After helping him get his foot out, we proceeded into the basement.

  It was dark and humid. The beam of light from our lone flashlight highlighted randomly-placed cardboard boxes and old furniture. As Sam moved it around the room, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  I made my way to the light bulb and felt around for the pull chain. When I pulled it, the basement lit up. The newly-illuminated basement revealed a lot.

  “Here we go,” said Sam, as he walked over to a workbench that was against one of the walls. He wiped the top with hand. Then he showed me his fingers and palm. There was rust colored residue on it.

  “Iron oxide,” I said as I went to the bench.

  Upon taking a closer look at the workbench, I found some other evidence. There was what looked like grey sand. That was the powdered aluminum. I saw some kitchen scales with more remnants of the two chemicals.

  “Over here,” said Sam. He bent over near some boxes. When he stood back up, he had a large covered bucket in each hand.

  We found the ingredients to make thermite. We found bibles with the pastor’s church stamp inside. We found Pritchard in the same place as two dead bodies. We were almost ready to close the case.

  Under Questioning

  The next morning, I sat behind a pane of one-way glass. The room was dark and small. It only had enough room for me and Officer Rodriguez of the Stone Harbor Police, who was monitoring the interrogation through a monitor. That monitor was the only light and was connected to a camera on the other side of the mirror-like glass.

  Officer Rodriguez and I were watching the interrogation of Thomas Pritchard. The pastor was suspected of not only burning down his own church but also setting an abandoned marina outside of town aflame. More serious than the suspected arson were the murders of Robert and Destiny Branch. And Sam was tasked with trying to get answers out of Pritchard.

  It was strange seeing Pastor Pritchard in the Stone Harbor Police Department interrogation room. He was a man that I had only known as gentle and kind. But he had fired a gun at me the night before. Also, he was found at the Branches’ home shortly after they were murdered. Why was he there? All signs pointed towards his guilt.

  There was a part of me that wanted the pastor to be innocent. I wanted him to have some plausible explanation as to why he was at Twelve Pine Lane. I wanted to hear a reasonable explanation why he tried to shoot me. But the feeling in my gut told me that he was as guilty as sin.

  Sam chose to make Pastor Pritchard wait. He was trying to make him nervous. And through the one-way glass I could see that my friend the detective’s tactics were working. Pritchard’s usually calm demeanor was shaken. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes looked defeated. Most telling was his inability to stop his legs from shaking under the table.

  The door to the room Officer Rodriguez and I were in opened. It was Sam. He looked like he was ready. Both of his sleeves were rolled up and he had a manila folder in his hand.

  “Everything all set?” asked Sam.

  “Yup, everything’s good, Detective,” replied Officer Rodriguez.

  “Great. I’m not leaving that room until I’ve broken him. This craziness ends here, today.” Sam started to leave.

  “Good luck,” I said.

  Sam smiled and winked at me. “I’m too good to need luck.”

  After leaving our little room, Sam went out into the hallway and then into the interrogation room. Pastor Pritchard’s head shot up when he heard the door open. The detective sat down in the chair across from the pastor. Playing more mental games, Sam didn’t say anything for almost five minutes. He just opened the manila folder and went over its contents.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Officer Rodriguez. “Why isn’t he saying anything?”

  “He
’s making him think about it,” I explained. “Letting him stew.”

  Sam cleared his throat. Then he began speaking. “You are Thomas Pritchard, correct?”

  “What?” asked Pastor Pritchard. The pastor knew Sam knew who he was, I could tell Sam’s question confused him.

  “Your name, it’s Thomas Pritchard yes?” Sam didn’t look up from the manila folder.