A harsh rebuke hovered on his lips, but Cannon simply shrugged. Evers watched him expectantly for a few seconds then flushed and pushed the door to Lassiter’s room open.
“Richard, you have a visitor,” he announced, holding the door open and continuing to eye Cannon suspiciously.
With a polite smile, Cannon stepped into the room. Evers let the door go, and it closed behind Cannon, who stepped farther into the room. His gaze went directly to the shadowed figure in the bed. Like a lot of hospital rooms, this one was cold and unwelcoming. The shades were pulled tightly, and blocked out all external light. The central overhead lighting was dimmed all the way down. Dark and gloomy as the room was, he could see how it fostered depression. What kind of therapy were these people giving the man? Instinct suggested he required sunshine and activity, not this doom and gloom atmosphere.
A single patient bed flanked by various monitors took up the bulk of the available space. A muted beeping kept time with the flickering lights on the screens. A quick glance verified that the man’s vitals were stable.
Lassiter sat upright, leaning against his raised bed. Cannon could see he was awake by the wet gleam of his eyes. “Mr. Lassiter,” he spoke briskly into the darkness. “Do you mind if I turn on some lights?”
“If you must.” The lackluster voice plucked at Cannon’s conscience.
He turned to adjust the lights. What was he thinking? What was he doing here? Hadn’t the man in that bed seen enough trouble? Did he really deserve Cannon poking and prying and trying to cast suspicion on him? He hardly looked capable of any of the malicious acts that had occurred at Mountain Shadows.
Cannon turned the light dial, brightening them enough to see Lassiter’s features. The tracks of dried tears glittered on his cheeks, his eyes were moist with more unshed. Unlike last time Cannon had seen him though, this time he was clean and showered, hair combed and jaw shaved. At the same time, he was emaciated and pale, his skin papery, eyes bloodshot.
“I’m sorry.” Lassiter’s voice was raw, painful to hear. It seemed he hadn’t done a lot of talking in the last few months, whatever else he’d been doing.
“I accept your apology. I’m sure Finn will too.” He swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He’d faced this man down over the barrel of a gun, nearly choked him to death. And the tears in his eyes, the ravages of his emotional attachments, the tragic frailty of his figure in that bed, still had the power to make Cannon hurt. “Can I ask you something?”
Lassiter shrugged disinterestedly. Did he even know who Cannon was? Maybe not. Cannon hadn’t been important to him after all, just a means to an end, a peripheral being.
“How long have you been in here?”
“Isn’t it in the records?” Thin hands twitched at the rough white blanket in Lassiter’s lap, pleated it then smoothed it then gathered it into a fist and tugged it up higher.
“I’m not your doctor. I don’t have access to your records, and you don’t have to answer my questions.” He’d worn scrubs and a white lab coat, hoping that Lassiter would talk to him, take him for a figure of authority, a professional. In the face of the man’s fragility, the idea felt devious, and just wrong.
Lassiter leaned forward. His gaze clashed with Cannon’s, held. The dampness of his eyes, shot with red and slightly inflamed spoke of many tears shed, but as Evers had said, he was lucid, and he recognized Cannon. “Three days, this time.”
Ouch. “This time?” Cannon’s gaze picked up the faint silvery white line of a scar on the man’s wrist, a relic of his near fatal accident in Cannon's house no doubt.
“Second trip. They locked me up for a week two months ago. Three days ago my landlord called the cops. They brought me in.”
“So you didn’t set the fire at Mountain Shadows the other day?” Suddenly he was anxious to get the reason for his visit out in the open, to get out of the room and out into the weak December sun.
Lassiter shook his head. Hair fell across his brow, creating more shadow for him to hide behind, but Cannon had seen enough. “No, I never set any fires. Set off a firecracker. Broke into your cabin once. That’s it.”
It had to be the truth, Lassiter had no cause to lie, and beyond that, no grudge against Scott. He wasn’t a likely suspect, never had been one.
Time for Cannon Malloy to admit that it was his own bête noir he’d come here to face down. Lassiter wasn’t ever going to make a viable suspect for creating reasonable doubt. He’d do Scott no good at all by dragging Lassiter into the inquiry.
Sighing, he pulled up a chair. “There’ve been some problems at the campgrounds. I know you’re not responsible. And I promise you, whatever Dr. Evers thinks, we aren’t going to try to railroad you on criminal charges. We…just want to help our friend is all.”
The shadows under Lassiter’s eyes twitched, his lashes flickered. “That’s…great. You can tell them I did it if you want. I’ll tell them I did it. I owe the professor that much.”
“No. You don’t need to do that.” But that was why he was here, wasn’t it? To pin the blame, however loosely, on Lassiter, cast reasonable doubt on Scott’s guilt.
“I can tell them. They’d believe it. And—”
“No. You’ve got enough to deal with.” He pushed back the chair and rose. “You need to take care of yourself, Richard. This isn’t love. Love doesn’t destroy, it creates.”
“I won’t ever love again.” He turned his face to the wall, deeper into the shadows.
Cannon laughed shortly. “I said the same thing. The man I loved let me down, and I’ll admit, maybe that was my fault. Maybe I expected too much, took too long, whatever. A year ago, I had to accept that Chance—that was his name—wasn’t ever going to be mine. A lot of other shit went down, but I survived. It may seem like the end of the world, but I can tell you that you’ll love again. And the second time is just as full of magic and maybe even a little bit sweeter because of the first loss.”
He pressed his lips together as he realized he’d been rambling and Lassiter was just sitting, silently waiting for him to leave. “Just, get well, go back to school. And don’t worry about Finn or me or the campground. Just worry about you.”
He reached the door before Lassiter even acknowledged he’d spoken. “So you’re happy with the professor?”
Cannon glanced over his shoulder, saw Lassiter’s shaking shoulders. “Yes, I am. We’re both happy. And you will be too, one day.”
“Will you come back and see me again?”
He sighed. “Do you want me to?”
Lassiter was silent so long Cannon almost left.
“No. But…if I give them your name…you can call. Tell me how your friend’s situation works out. Why you sound like you’re surprised you’re happy…”
“Tell you what.” Cannon pulled the door open. “You start eating, and I’ll start gossiping.”
****
Working his way from cabin one, Charlie stood outside the cabin and took pictures with his digital camera. The time stamp caught the date and time, and he made particularly sure to capture any strange fresh footprints or mounds of dirt around the cabin. In his mind, he thought of them as “before” shots, and hoped like hell there wouldn’t be any need to compare them against another “after.”
It was almost mindless work, and he began to set a rhythm.
Front of the cabin. Check.
Sides. Check.
Rear. Check.
Inside entryway. Check.
Room by room. Check.
When he got to cabin three, Charlie found the little mound of earth behind the building and took extra pictures. It looked like someone burrowed in under the cabin, but the space was so small it couldn’t have been much more than a hidey-hole. Making his way back to the small porch, he climbed the few steps up to the front door and unlocked it, stepping inside. He made his way around methodically, not finding anything out of the ordinary, but kept moving on.
While he caught images of rooms renovated and those he and Sigg
y hadn’t gotten to yet, his mind began to wander.
Charlie saw how simple it would be to set up an accident at one of the cabins, occupied or not. Most were set well away from the neighboring units and backed up to forest. In the early light of dawn, or the dim light of dusk—hell, even during the daylight hours when almost all the residents were offsite and at work—anyone with a working knowledge of the comings and goings of the occupants and staff could sneak in and set off a time-delayed bomb or fire.
It would be easy.
A dark part of Charlie’s brain even began to think, I could do this. All the kids were gone, Sig’s with Damon, Scott’s in lock-up for three days…another accident would be proof Scott didn’t do it and he’d get set free and those lazy fucks would have to do their jobs and really investigate this like the arson it was.
But then his conscience got the better of him, and he realized he couldn’t live with himself if he did something that dishonest, even to save a friend. Sometimes, Charlie hated he was basically an honest man. Why couldn’t he be more like…Chip? Then a shudder of revulsion ran down his spine, and he almost had to run out into the brush and vomit.
What the hell was the matter with him?
So he kept up his job, moving from cabin to cabin, recording the “now” in case of the “later.”
But what did sneak into the back of his brain was Jilly. Jilly and Maddie and Carl.
And Amos. And Damon.
He didn’t know Amos back when he’d been raped and assaulted so he couldn’t have protected his lover. It still made him angry, so very angry, to think that those charged with keeping him safe had betrayed that trust. If he knew names…he knew he was capable of sneaking off into the night and avenging the boy who couldn’t protect himself.
Then there was Damon, and he saw red. Goddamn Chip for a fucking piece of garbage for what he did to his little man. And to take the chickenshit exit before he could be made to pay for his crimes, not only against Damon, but all those beautiful children.
He felt such guilt, not only for not being able to protect Damon, but for bringing evil into their lives. Thank god Damon forgave him. And thank god for Amos for saving the boy—he hoped he beat the hell out of Chip when he found Damon. Amos wouldn’t tell him, but he knew Amos loved Damon almost as much as he did.
Which brought Charlie to Carl and Jillian and Maddie.
How easy it would be, the little snake voice whispered in his ear, to bring Carl out here, tie him up, douse him in gas and let him burn and burn and burn. Scott was locked up, and no one would blame him. And Charlie could wash the blame from his heart for not protecting Damon, and maybe make up for what happened to Amos.
Maybe.
If he could live with the stain on his soul.
Charlie thought he could…
But for now, he’d continue to take the pictures of the cabins. And think.
Chapter Eight
Stepping into the forestry building, Rob ignored the directory on the wall and turned left to follow the gleaming white tile toward the smaller offices that lined the back of the building. The last time he’d been here he’d been in search of the district fire management officer, Dennis Drummond. That officious toadstool was not on the agenda. Yet. Instead, he headed for the office of Chris Perkins, an old acquaintance who’d rebuffed his previous request for information on the status of the fire investigation.
Initially, Robby thought her refusal was because he’d gone from being one of them—a fellow federal employee and wildland firefighter trainee—to a civilian. Now, her willingness to meet gave him hope he’d misinterpreted her earlier hesitation.
A door opened on his right, and an unsmiling Chris waved him inside a small conference room barely larger than an old-fashioned phone booth. Closing the door practically before he was inside, Chris turned and leaned against the frame and gestured for him to take one of the four chairs squeezed around the oak table. The cloak and dagger atmosphere intensified when she turned the lock on the door, and Rob’s heart rate ramped up in response.
When reviewing the evidence and creating his list of possible suspects, he’d kept coming back to one point. The refusal of American Farms and Ranches and the FMO to consider any solution other than the one they’d mapped out. Their attitudes grated against Rob’s innate sense of fairness. Even the most unseasoned investigator would see there was evidence that could be interpreted multiple ways. There was no shortage of possible alternatives—and nothing to substantiate their working theory that the Mountain Shadows owner set the fires. So why were they so hell-bent on pinning this on Scott? Insurance companies were accountable for the bottom line, but that didn’t make them inherently evil. Or stupid. There had to be more to the situation than trying to avoid the relatively small payout.
With little more than a gut-feeling, he’d decided to start with a call to Chris before ordering a full background check on both men. It had taken only a few minutes on the phone to convince her to meet with him. Given the care she was taking to make sure they were undisturbed, Rob thought this meeting might be even more productive than he’d hoped.
“Well, hey there, Rob. Long time no see. How’s retirement treating you?” she asked. She pulled out a chair and joined him at the table, reaching for a notepad and pencil, as if she planned to take notes. Apparently she needed to ease herself into the discussion. He waited a few beats before answering.
“I wish I could say everything is great—and mostly it is. Working at Mountain Shadows gives me every bit of the time outdoors I’ve always craved. We get interesting visitors who want to know more about the region, and I enjoy the physical labor—”
“So all the good parts of being a ranger without the paperwork, huh?”
“That and no Kevlar vest. It’s damn nice knowing I’m coming home to my kids every night. I miss some of the people—but the folks there—the permanent residents—have become my own sort of family. It’s the same type of connection you get on a really good crew. We’ve got each other’s backs. Know what I mean?”
The smile Chris gave him didn’t look happy and her normally bright blue eyes were bloodshot, dark half-moon smudges suggested she hadn’t slept much the previous night. “Yeah, I know. Been a while since I— Shit. Okay, I guess there’s no way around this. When you called me yesterday, your question was pretty straight forward: why would Dennis compromise his career to help an insurance agent pin arson on Scott McGregor? Two months ago, I would have called bullshit and ended the call right then. Dennis Drummond is as straight as they come. Oh—” The flush reddened her face and turned the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose into dark specks. “Uh…I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
Laughter burst from Robby, nearly doubling him over and finally freeing the knot of tension in his stomach. “No offense taken,” he gasped when he could talk. He swiped at his eyes and blew out a deep breath. “Okay, I might have needed that. Sorry.”
Chris’s smile reached all the way to her eyes this time. “Yeah…I imagine things have been tense for both of us lately. As I was saying, Dennis has…changed over the last few months. Maybe even longer when I look back over it. I can’t pinpoint when it started, but he’s just not the same man I’ve worked with for the past five years. He’s the supervisor—but my friend, too. You know what I mean?”
Robby nodded and Chris continued.
“Well, in the old days—as in last year—the whole team met weekly over coffee. We reviewed open cases, any new federal or state fire regs or plans, shit like that. Things were easy, the team tight.
“Looking back and trying to sort things out in my mind—I think everything started to change after the Prescott Fire.” She paused. “We were there that day, you know. Our crew. Well, hell, every wildland crew in the Southwest was there…and of course we’d worked with those Hot Shots before. After…shit. You know what it was like…”
“No…I don’t. I saw it on the news like everyone else. It was horrifying and I’d felt connec
ted because of my NPS and Arizona roots, but I wasn’t part of it. I was working for the Park Police at Golden Gate. Then I got the call about Scott—I hadn’t seen him in years. It really was only a fluke my name was still on his emergency card.” Rob fought to keep his mind in the present, to keep from picturing Scott in the ICU Burn Unit in Albuquerque.
Chris shook her head. “The memorial service…I can’t begin to describe…” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat before continuing. “After that—things changed. I mean, they probably changed for every fire crew. We kept doing our jobs. Even though we’re administrative for the most part now, we’re all trained and experienced wildland firefighters. We visit the active fires and report out, consult with other agencies, sometimes work with the LEOs on an active criminal investigation, develop fire management strategies for all of Coconino County. Something as big as that touches us all—reaches right into the heart of what we do here in this office. For a while, the meetings were more frequent…lots of training and new protocols. Then the meetings dropped to once every two weeks. Now, we meet when there’s a reason, but nothing regular.”
“Okay, so his behavior in the office changed. What about the fire at Mountain Shadows?
“Sorry, I’m getting to that. I looked at the records last night. Hell, I’m probably going to have to look for a new job—because Dennis knows where every sheet of paper is on that rat’s nest of a desk—and I know I didn’t get it all put back right. Dennis pretty much kept this case to himself. Which isn’t really that unusual for the way we work. Not every case requires a team, but like I said, we used to have those weekly meetings and we reported out about our current assignments. This one…you’re right about the evidence.”
Chris fiddled with the edges of her notepad before continuing. “I don’t think Dennis was wrong to look so hard at Scott—I would have.”
Rob leaned forward, prepared to argue Scott’s case, but Chris held up a hand.
Shadows and Ash: Pulp Friction 2014 Finale Page 7
