Fatal Fall

by Diane Capri

  There were a thousand ways she could be wrong. Any one of those ways could pile more suffering onto the Whitings’ already painful ordeal.

  She’d spent a decade searching for Peter. To think that he might be right here, right now, was almost beyond comprehension.

  A Randolph PD cruiser looped around the building, coming to a stop near the exit, a lone officer inside. He began typing on a keyboard, probably clocking in for his shift.

  She climbed out of her car, straightened her back, and walked into the police station.

  The reception area floor was covered with hard vinyl. A high wood-veneer counter with a gate at one end ran the length of the room, dividing it in half. Behind the counter was a door. The walls were covered with the usual array of posters and public announcements. Fluorescent lights gave the room the cold-hearted feel of a building designed with a challenging budget.

  Officer Charlene Mackie was behind the counter, leaning on it like she was expecting company. She stared at Jess. “My, my. This is a surprise.”

  Jess ignored the sarcasm. “I need to see Captain Nelson.”

  Charlene nodded and drew back the gate in the counter. “I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

  Jess walked through. Charlene flashed an almost simpering smile. The woman was annoying as hell, but Jess couldn’t think about that now.

  The door opened. Nelson stood there. He moved to one side and gestured for Jess to walk by. He closed the door after her and pointed to one of the offices. Jess stepped inside.

  Nelson’s office had the same budget feel as the reception area. The same fluorescent lighting, and the same wood veneer. Underfoot the cheap vinyl had been replaced by carpet tiles, and on the walls were pictures of baseball stadiums. Nelson’s clean desktop was littered with a few sheets of paper. Small cursive penmanship on notepaper.

  There were two chairs in front of the desk and one behind. Jess took a chair to the left of the desk, away from the door. As she sat down, another officer walked in. He carried a hard folding chair, which he opened and set by the door as if she might try to make a run for the exit and he intended to stop her. He looked like the guy who’d followed her in the cruiser on her trip to Bamford.

  Jess ignored him and turned to face Nelson. “I need to speak with you privately.”

  Nelson held up his hand. “Whatever you have to say to me, can be said in front of Officer Gardner.”

  “I don’t want this information getting out. Uncontrolled.”

  “He’s a police officer. He’s capable of discretion.” Nelson settled in his chair. “He stays.”

  She took a deep breath. “A lot of things about this situation don’t make sense. I couldn’t understand why Peter had traveled thirty miles to climb a tree.”

  “You said that before,” Nelson nodded.

  “Still doesn’t make sense. There’s something we don’t know about that yet.” She shook her head. “And then the Whitings couldn’t remember if their boy was thirteen or fourteen.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Jess gave a flat smile. “They eventually decided he was thirteen. We all forget things from time to time, but to forget your only son’s age just three months after he’d celebrated his birthday? It seemed odd.”

  Nelson nodded again. “And?”

  “I visited their home this morning. Met a neighbor. He told me the Whitings moved to Bamford from Vashon Island with their son. He was a toddler then. So I obtained the birth certificate. Peter was born fourteen years and three months ago.” Jess opened up her email and held out the birth certificate for Nelson to see. He leaned forward, squinting slightly to read the small text. “He’s fourteen. Not thirteen.”

  Nelson nodded. Gardner leaned closer.

  “The birth certificate was signed by John and Barbara Whiting. Peter was born in Portland. That’s a long way from Vashon, and when a woman goes into labor, she doesn’t usually drive several hundred miles to give birth.” Jess put the phone in her lap. “So, I visited Vashon Island. I found the person living in the Whiting’s previous home. He was a good friend of theirs until they left the island. He never heard from them again.”

  Nelson said nothing. Gardner remained quiet, too.

  She pulled up the second email. “This is why.”

  She held out the certificate of stillbirth and the newspaper announcement. “John and Barbara Whiting lost a child. On Mother’s Day. One month before Peter Whiting was born.”

  Nelson took the phone, and studied the two documents.

  “Six weeks’ time after losing the first baby to birthing the second isn’t possible,” she said.

  Nelson looked at her. “Vital records are not always accurate.”

  “Something could be wrong with the birth certificate.” Jess paused, took a deep breath, exhaled, and stared back. “But the more reasonable answer is that Peter is not John and Barbara Whiting’s biological son.”

  Nelson pursed his lips and placed her phone on his desk. “Do you have anything else to say?”

  Jess shook her head.

  “How did you know the parents had trouble remembering the boy’s age?”

  “That’s not relevant. These documents. The dates. You can confirm everything yourself.”

  “I intend to.”

  “One month. No human pregnancy on earth has resulted in a viable child after one month. It’s simply not possible.”

  Nelson frowned. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t looking at her. She followed his gaze. Gardner had removed his chair from the doorway, and the door stood open. Charlene waited there, Jess’s big green jacket in her hands, the white trimmed cuffs hanging down.

  “What’s going on?” Jess turned to Nelson. “You broke into my car?”

  Nelson stood up and adopted a formal tone. “Jessica Kimball, you are under arrest for second-degree arson in connection with the burning of the unoccupied home of John and Barbara Whiting in Bamford, Washington.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened, and she whipped her head around to see Charlene’s hard expression and back to Nelson.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Nelson said. “Anything you do say can be used against you in a court of law.” He recited the Miranda warnings she’d heard dozens of times before. She tuned them out.

  What the hell was going on?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The air in Nelson’s office grew cold. Charlene stepped back into the corridor, the coat folded over her arm, her lips pressed tightly together. Gardner took hold of her arm, easing her out of Nelson’s office. Nelson watched her go.

  Gardner led Jess into an interview room. He started a video recorder and repeated the warnings for the record.

  “I’m aware of my rights, deputy. Yes, I want to call my lawyer.” Jess had been arrested before. More than once. Her high profile work with Taboo Magazine was usually the cause. Refusals to reveal confidential sources, misunderstandings with law enforcement, even false accusations from witnesses were the most common charges. She knew the drill.

  Gardner nodded his understanding. Charlene came in and patted Jess down. They took the contents of her pockets and her bag and left the room. She heard the lock click behind them.

  A fire at the Whitings’ property? When? She’d been at the Whitings’ house in the morning, and she’d been nowhere near since then. Her alibi should be easy enough to establish.

  Not only that, but she hadn’t used anything while she’d been there that might have started a fire. And there’d been no fire before she left. The elderly neighbor would verify that, she hoped. Now she wished she’d asked his name. But he hadn’t offered, and she hadn’t wanted to pressure him.

  The house had been unoccupied when she left, too. Probably explained the second-degree arson charge instead of first-degree, which would apply if someone had died in the fire. She’d covered arson cases for Taboo. She remembered a few of the legal niceties.

  Criminal arson didn’t require total destruction of
the building. A deliberately set fire that damaged a portion of the Whitings’ home or outbuildings on the property would be enough. Nelson hadn’t said exactly what was burned.

  But the bigger question, of course, was why Nelson thought she might want to set fire to the Whitings’ place?

  The most common motive for arson was money. Usually insurance money. Jess wouldn’t get any insurance money for burning the Whitings out, but presumably, the Whitings would. Peter’s hospital bills were bound to be significant. Could John Whiting afford to pay them on his salary from working at the chemical plant? Would Barbara Whiting’s job at the call center make up the shortfall?

  If money wasn’t the motive, what was? Since the Whitings weren’t home at the time, the motive couldn’t have been to kill them.

  She shook her head. The whole thing didn’t make sense. Nothing about this whole damn situation made sense. Which meant she was missing something. But what?

  The door opened. Nelson walked in and sat at the table, opposite her. “Do you want to talk?”

  “Actually, I do. But I can’t.” She shook her head. “Taboo Magazine policy. I’ll lose my job if I talk about the charges before my lawyer arrives. Doesn’t stop you from telling me what the hell is going on here.”

  He cocked his head. After a moment, he nodded. “Fair enough. The Whitings’ house was burned down. Totaled. Everything they owned, gone. A hideous act at any time, but while they’re keeping vigil at their son’s bedside…” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “If you were anywhere else, anywhere that could be verified. Time and place. Speed things up if you’d tell me.”

  “I gave you enough in your office. When did this happen?” Jess asked.

  “A few hours ago. The neighbor, Arthur Urso, called it in.” He nodded. “He told us you were there this morning, so you know where they lived.”

  Jess said nothing.

  “We found a hotel room key in the rubble at the house, Jess. The key to your hotel room. The key’s got your prints on it. Your prints are in law enforcement files because you’ve been arrested before. Confirms you were there.” Nelson leaned in and rested his forearms on the table. “Urso said he saw the arsonist running away across his lawn. He saw a green coat with white cuffs. Just like yours.”

  Jess nodded. She had more information now. She knew the evidence against her. But she knew something Nelson didn’t know. She knew she hadn’t started that fire.

  “The evidence against you is circumstantial, Jess. But it’s enough for probable cause. You have no ties to the community. You’re a flight risk. Judge says we can hold you while we sift through the forensics looking for more.” Nelson stood. “If you’re not going to help me rule you out as a suspect, you’ll have to stay here. So you’d better call that lawyer.”

  Jess nodded again.

  Nelson stood up. “Do you know the number?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Or you could just check my movements today and confirm for yourself that you’ve got the wrong person locked up in here and let me go.”

  He sighed. “Of course I’m doing that. In the meantime, I’ll get the phone.”

  He left the room and returned a moment later with an old gray plastic beast, push-buttons yellowed with age. He trailed a cord across the room and plugged it into a socket. He switched off the video recorder and unplugged it from the wall.

  “Fifteen minutes is customary, but I’m not counting. I’ll knock when I come back. Just say if you need more time.” He left, locking the door after him.

  She took a deep breath, and picked up the handset and punched in the number.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jess could have called the magazine’s legal department directly, but she dialed Carter Pierce instead.

  Carter’s voice was rich, full, relaxed, like an old-fashioned crooner or late-night radio host. “Jess. Unexpected pleasure. Got something for me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She took a deep breath.

  “I’m all ears,” he said.

  She heard a noise. Part metal, part plastic, all quality. She’d heard the sound dozens of times, on the phone and while she sat in his office. Carter’s expensive Mont Blanc pen was being prepared for action. The owner of Taboo Magazine was a man who thrived on records and notes.

  “I’ve been arrested.”

  “Excellent! Something exciting we can use, I hope?” She imagined his ear-to-ear grin. Carter had been in the media business for a long time. He believed nothing sold magazines like controversy. One of his most prestigious reporters wrongfully arrested? That was a story sure to sell thousands of copies.

  “Not so exciting, actually. The charge is second-degree arson.”

  “Not much we can do with a charge like that. Not sexy enough.” He sighed. “I’ll have Miller come and get you out. Where are you?”

  “Randolph, Washington. Small town south of Seattle.” She heard paper on a pad being flipped over. Carter was writing everything down in his sturdy script. As usual. “He won’t have any trouble finding the police station. Officer in charge is Captain Joshua Nelson.”

  “And exactly what are you doing in this place?”

  She shook her head. “I heard about an injured boy. The only thing the hospital knew about him was his name. Peter.”

  “Peter?” Carter’s chair creaked like he’d sat up a little straighter. “Do you have reason to believe this boy is your son?”

  “I don’t know yet.” She swallowed. “Police found people claiming to be the boy’s parents, but the facts don’t add up. He can’t be their biological child.”

  “I see,” Carter said. “Is this boy related to the charges filed against you?”

  “Yes. The destroyed building is the parents’ home.”

  “I see,” he said again. This time, his tone was somber. “Where and how did the boy get injured?”

  “Here in Randolph. On the edge of an estate owned by Senator Meisner.”

  “As in Alistaire Meisner?” Surprise tinged the question.

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know of him. Been around a while. A high-society senator on the verge of bankruptcy who marries into big money? That sort of thing always interests Taboo readers. There was a hint of scandal when he left the Navy, but I could never get anyone to talk about that one.” She could hear the Mont Blanc’s nib flying over the paper. “Maybe there’s something we can use here after all. Oh, you are innocent, aren’t you? Of the arson, I mean?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Don’t worry, Jess. Miller’s the best. Sit tight, keep your mouth shut, and listen to everything they say so you can brief him when he arrives in the morning.”

  “Will do.”

  Carter was silent a moment. “I know you’ve got Mandy running errands for you, but is there anything else we can do while you’re detained?”

  She shook her head again, even though he couldn’t see her. “I don’t think so.”

  Carter’s chair creaked once more. “I believe it’s the Africans who say it takes a village to raise a child, and we’re the closest thing you’ve got to a village, Jess. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

  She took a deep breath and blinked away the tears that glazed her eyes. “I know, Carter. Thank you.”

  She heard him snap the lid of his Mont Blanc back into place. “And if he’s yours, we’ll do everything possible to get him back.”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d been grateful to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Thank you, Carter. Truly.”

  “Everything possible.” He paused. “I mean that.”

  “I know you do,” She hung up before she embarrassed them both with tears. Taboo wasn’t only the closest thing she had to a village, Carter and Mandy and the others were the only family she had. She’d never have made it through without them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jess paced the small interview room. The blind eye of the video recorder stared at her. She double-checked the machine wasn’t recordi
ng. Satisfied, she resumed her pacing.

  She bit her lip. Charlene Mackie had searched her car. Illegally, Taboo’s lawyer, Miller, would rightfully say. She’d been holding the green jacket. Nelson hadn’t said anything about the arrest until he saw the jacket. Which might mean his evidence was weaker than he’d said.

  There was a knock at the door. Charlene walked in with a clipboard and a plastic tub. She put the tub on the table and handed the clipboard to Jess. “You have to sign for your possessions.”

  Jess looked through the few items in the tub. They were all on the list attached to the clipboard. Names, colors, and even her phone’s model and serial number. Charlene had been thorough. She pointed to the bottom of the page. “Sign and date.”

  Jess dashed off her signature and handed the clipboard back. Charlene put the clipboard in the tub. She held out Jess’s phone. “I don’t suppose you’re going to give us the password.”

  Jess rolled her eyes.

  Charlene nodded. She turned the phone over in her hand. “Then at least show me the birth certificate you showed Captain Nelson earlier.”

  Jess stared at the phone. Should she? Miller wouldn’t like it. But Miller wasn’t the one staying overnight in jail, either. She wasn’t giving away anything that might incriminate her. She’d already shown it to Nelson, and the birth certificate was a public record. They’d have their own copy soon enough.

  Charlene stood with her arm out, Jess’s phone in her hand.

  Jess took the phone. She held it under the table, out of sight of the camera, and entered the passcode. As she pulled the device from under the table, a string of messages glowed on the display. She dismissed them with a swipe of her finger and brought up the birth certificate.

  She held it out. Charlene made notes on her clipboard. She wrote down the record locator number. With that, she should be able to get the certificate quickly.

  Charlene leaned closer, staring intently at the screen. Jess angled the screen toward her. The computer generated information was easy to read. A large font with each detail clearly laid out.