by Mary Deal
“I wouldn't count on that, ma'am.”
“So what are you implying, Britto? That maybe someone else did the fire?”
“Well, I think whoever torched that place—mind you, I'm saying if that were the case—who ever lit the match would wanna make sure Winnaker gets the needle so this case could die with her.” He stared hard into Abi's eyes again. “So be thankful there's that officer up there.” He headed for his car. “I'll call, soon as I get something.”
Later, as Abi and Joe headed to an early dinner, Joe's cell phone rang. He slowed in traffic as he answered; he being a stringer and having a permit to use his cell phone while driving. Abi softened the radio volume. Joe listened, gasped in surprise, then said, “I'm on my way.”
Abi didn't need an explanation. “Again, Joe? Not again.”
Chapter 18
“News crews are spread thin. I gotta cover a story for Top O' The Hour.”
“What's happened?”
“The fireworks factory in Creighton just blew.” Joe had already taken the turn headed out of town. “Danged! Just too many fires.” He glanced into his rearview mirror and suddenly pulled off the road.
Fire trucks sounding blast horns, bells and sirens passed them at such speeds it made the Range Rover rock sideways. Then more trucks passed. The closer Abi and Joe got to the area of the fire, which sent up explosive flashes and smoke and ash in the distance, the more firefighting equipment they heard approaching from all directions.
Abi leaned forward trying to see ahead. “This is a bad one.”
“July Fourth is less than two months away. That factory must have been piled to the rafters with incendiaries.”
Ash in the air stuck to the windshield. Joe sprayed the windows and turned on the wipers, causing streaks of gray muck over the glass. Finally, they reached the warehouse district at the edge of the foothills behind Creighton and parked outside the barricades. Occasional bursts meant more fireworks had ignited. Rockets screamed as they shot into the air. People ducked and threw arms over their heads. Firefighters poured streams of water onto the incendiary materials through the windows and burned out roof. Abi and Joe knew better than to venture too close for fear of more explosions. Behind the already charred ruins of the factory, firefighters battled the blaze that had spread into the woods.
Joe broke out his photographic equipment as a policeman approached. Joe handed Abi one of the cases to carry. “You're not supposed to be here.” He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Again.”
“I had a choice?” She knew to pretend like his aid. A few more fires, a few more rehearsals and she could get hired on. Maybe then they might consider reimbursing them both for damaged clothing, or at least his Versace boots that were ruined the year prior.
The officer waved an arm. “Get out.” He kept motioning desperately. “Get away!”
Joe flashed his press ID and shouldered his camera and the policeman allowed them to go through.
This was yet another fire in a facility expected to burn after a match was tossed in; historically, the same as with the Yates fire and subsequent others, expected to burn.
“Poor timing.” Joe yelled above the noise.
“How so?”
“Fireworks are better at night.” The glint in Joe's eyes showed what he was really thinking.
As they made their way toward the fire scene, more of the burn came into view. In addition to firefighters, rugged and able men and women wearing Army fatigues, ducked in and out of the chaos. Strangely, a couple of the men had tattoos above the collar line. Abi thought that was not allowed in the military.
Flames spread rapidly. Though the trees and shrubs were in the spring growth stage, they were dry and brittle from standing dormant during a particularly cold winter. The sound of trees crackling competed with the explosions. The air smelled of scorched timber, pine and gunpowder.
Firefighters scrambled. Another helicopter dumped a load of water among the trees. Considering the nearest lake was as far away as Pt. Meare, water would be scarce, unless they found filled swimming pools in nearby communities. The choppers had to stay higher above the scene than normal, or skirt the area, to avoid the exploding fireworks, which were difficult to see in daylight unless they left a smoke trail.
As Abi picked her way over hoses snaking across the ground, she lost sight of Joe for a moment and felt relieved when she spotted his salt and pepper head.
He handed her keys to the Range Rover. “If we get separated and have to evacuate, run for the Rover.”
“Joe?”
“Don't worry about me. I'll jump on a fire truck.” He took her hand and smiled. “You do the same if things get out of hand.”
She was again in the middle of another action-packed scene, as if her life had risen to a new plateau and nothing would ever be the same.
Joe met a newswoman who bitched about her health and having to breathe all the ash, but who forced a softer demeanor when the cameras pointed her way. He filmed her as she covered the story. A plane flew over and dropped orange flame retardant into the next canyon, a sign the fire may be spreading out of control. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and cinders. Abi had to pull her jacket lapel up over her nose and mouth. A blackened fireman stepped up beside her and tied a handkerchief around her face. He disappeared before she could thank him.
When Joe finished filming, all they could do was turn their backs and walk away from the horrendous sight. He punched a code on his cell phone. “Hey, Britto.” He smiled suddenly. “You missed the fireworks.”
Chapter 19
The next afternoon, Abi felt motivated to open a box of Becky's belongings stored in the office closet. Among the tiny pieces of clothing were several notebooks she used to pour out her heart through poetry right after Becky was abducted. She had tried to purge the heartache through writing and framed several of the poems she thought exemplified her feelings. Looking through Becky's items always made her emotional and opened wounds that had never healed, but she couldn't help it. Her hopes were too high at that moment. She closed the box quickly and tucked it away again. Her cell phone rang just as she was readying to leave the shop in Lindsay's care.
“Sorry I made you wait for this.” She was becoming accustomed to hearing Det. Britto's voice. “That dunce of an attorney finally got back to me. We can see her.”
“How soon?” She dropped her purse and computer bag onto the desktop.
“Not until she's back in prison. Interviews at the hospital are forbidden for this inmate.”
“How's she doing? When will she be sent…?” The question stuck in Abi's throat.
“Well, she drank some fluids today.”
That was encouraging. “Did you ask about having the doctor look at her face?”
“He snickered.” Det. Britto sounded apologetic. “That idiot attorney said he couldn't be bothered.”
“He's supposed to help her.” Every new bit of information drew Abi's attention to what this young woman had endured since the end of her childhood. Abi began to appreciate the inmate's tenacity, but she could not let go of the fact that her daughter might be the one suffering.
“That attorney's too inexperienced, hasn't learned to fight to the finish.”
“I'll get a new one.” Someone not previously involved might turn up something positive, something others had missed.
“Yeah, he said you could.”
Abi clenched her teeth. “He thinks he needed to give me permission?”
“He's pretty certain the Supreme Court will uphold the verdict. He wants to let go of the case.”
“Wonder why he stuck around.” Abi's ire had been aroused. She paced back and forth in front of her desk.
“For the publicity, ma'am. These young guys can draw a lot of recognition just by being involved, building their careers, so to speak.”
“On the lives of others?”
“Maybe. He said she's going for the big sleep and as far as he's concerned, there isn't anything further th
at can prevent it.”
“Cold morbid bastard!”
“Ma'am?”
“You told him why we wanted to meet with her, right?”
“He had a good laugh about that too. He's sure this case is locked down.”
Abi had squeezed her car keys so tightly that they left a painful imprint in her palm.
Why did it seem that everyone was so against changing the course of events? Regardless whether this person was her daughter, Megan Winnaker could most assuredly be innocent. Once the jury rendered its verdict, the public washed its hands. The justice system moved on to other cases.
At that point, diligent family members would have been her only hope and the only ones motivated to find legal counsel that would take on the challenge of getting a verdict overturned. Megan had no family and that brought Abi right back to the fact that Becky did. “We'll just have to see about that.”
“As I said, ma'am. It really doesn't depend on—”
“That other attorney you mentioned?”Abi knew what she had to do and wouldn't be swayed. “I want his name and number. Now.” She reached for a pad and pen. “Tell me why you think he'd be good for this case.” If she felt any doubt about him, she would find someone else.
“Name's Emery Kenton. Got his own theory about the case, even wrote a paper about it.”
“A paper?” She wrote down the attorney's name and made a note to remind herself to ask about that paper.
“Yeah. Right out of college. He followed the case, been obsessed with it, I think.” The detective paused then continued as Abi waited for more. “He wrote his theory about what really happened. Only, he sort of invented the perpetrators. He presents a theory that, if true, would completely exonerate Winnaker.”
“With fictional perpetrators?” Abi snickered. Who was he kidding?
“Circumstantial evidence. Kenton's also played up the fact that Winnaker was soft-spoken, someone who didn't have this kind of crime in her.”
“We've been through that.” Abi's hopes bounced back and forth. “Those types can have a dark side.” A look at the daily headlines confirmed that. “So why didn't he get involved?”
“Some of us at the PD read his paper. There was no solid evidence in it, you understand, only theory about her being misfortune's daughter. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Abi found it strange that her mother had once referred to her as misfortune's daughter because of Preston. “That was it?” That didn't seem like much of a theory. No wonder no one cared.
“The local papers printed some of it. I'm afraid all he got was laughed at. Except for one part.”
“And that was?”
“Kenton warned that after Winnaker is put to sleep, the personal vendettas, like against Yates, will start again. He claims this movement they got up there in Creighton, you know, those explosive gangs? Too many fires since those groups started accumulating up there.”
The gang violence had escalated in recent years. It was what started Joe both covering and locking his gear in the back of his vehicle when he had never done so in the past.
“What's his number?”
Det. Britto gave the phone number and she realized that Emery Kenton's office was on the north side of town, out near Joe's studio.
“A greater number of fires has happened back in the hills in the past decade or so.”
The list of incidences had grown since increased numbers of people began settling in Seaport and Creighton over the last couple of decades. “I thought the police caught some of the arsonists.”
“In some of the fires, but ties to the gangs haven't been proven.” The number of fires hinted at a great number of arsonists. But why?
“Is fire the weapon of choice for these people?” Some spark of nervous energy jolted her again. Gangs, arsonists and murderers. Somehow she could not see herself involved in any of this. The thought absolutely frightened her. The other missing person cases in which she had been involved dealt with kidnappings at worst and usually by a parent. Two cases had been murders, but solved before she got too deeply involved.
“Who knows? These gangs up there, they try to act like the Aryan Brotherhood, sometimes imitate the KKK.” Det. Britto's imitating tone was boastful. “Not that I'm excusing what those groups stand for. These kids in street gangs, though, they don't know the first thing about being a Nazi, don't even know what the Nazi movement and Hitler was all about.”
“Then why?”
“Rebellion. That's what we got up there. These kids are looking for some power to hang their egos on to help them have an identity.”
“By burning someone's home? By killing?” Abi remembered her schedule and glanced at her watch.
“Well, that Yates guy stirred up some real hatred against those neo-Nazi types, spouting his views all over. Maybe someone in that underworld took it personal and tried to extinguish an antagonist.”
“You're talking like a lot more of those people might have been involved with Megan Winnaker.”
“Everyone believed she was a part of a gang.” Det. Britto sounded as if he didn't believe a word of it. “Winnaker won't name names. When Yates IDed her from seeing her at the living room window, he also heard voices of other people out of his line of sight.”
An idea made Abi gasp. “Where's Yates now?”
“Lives with his sister outside Creighton. Totally blind, you know.”
“Outside Creighton?” It sounded implausible that the object of gangland hatred would be allowed to live among them.
“Yep, and no one's touched him. That's another reason people believe Winnaker was the number one perp.”
Abi didn't need to think twice. “I want his address.”
“He isn't going to help you.”
“What's been done about his eyes? What was the damage? Who was the physician?”
“Ma'am, wait… wait just a minute. I-I want you to consider what you're thinking. I got a feeling you're about to take on that whole Creighton underworld.”
Chapter 20
Pinched and weathered faces bobbed in an endless sea of disheveled clothing. The stench of some was unbearable. They came in overwhelming droves until, after a while it was difficult to distinguish one person from the next. Abi forced herself to stay focused. These people were homeless, but not one of them meaningless, and each deserved to be acknowledged with a smile.
It was the Friday June was to show up at the Beacon to meet the man who thought he recognized her.
After hours of filling meal trays and looking for June's face in the crowd, Abi collapsed into a chair. Her cheeks puffed as she blew out a long breath of relief at finally being able to rest. She plopped her feet up on a nearby seat.
Joe joined her from the kitchen, looked out over the thinning crowd and then dropped into a chair. “I've never cooked so much at one time in my life.” His hair was matted with perspiration and his skin glistened. “I don't know how Edith and her crew do it day after day.”
“She didn't show.” Abi felt a little resigned. She thought she had seen June outside the window but the woman never came indoors.
“I should have been out here in the dining room.” Still, Joe could see through the pass-thru window.
Edith walked up with a dishtowel in her hand, her white apron soiled from the evening's work. She used a cleaner edge to dab at Joe's forehead. “Sorry, this evening was a bust.” Then she patted his shoulder. “Care to cook for us?” She smiled as if joking. “Maybe once a week?”
Joe threw a sideways smile at her as she disappeared through the swinging doors into the kitchen. “I guess the best thing we can do is wait.”
“Wait?” Abi had waited long enough. June was a no-show and that flunky prison attorney could have arranged a meeting anytime at the prison instead of his office the following Thursday. “Time is slipping away.”
“Don't get excited, Abi.”
She leaned toward him and hissed. “Excited?” She must have pushed herself, gotten overly tired in order for her vo
ice to come out like that. She pressed her fingertips against her temples.
“All we can do is keep trying. But Abi, you've got to realize, sometimes we'll be moving faster than the system in your case.”
The conversation had turned to small talk and what Abi wanted to do was speculate, mentally and verbally examine all the possible scenarios in both their situations. Joe's mind seemed only on June. This evening was his, while her problems had been pushed aside through no effort of either of them. This should have been the time to learn his truth and go on from there.
Abi felt lost sitting at a table at The Beacon, like one of the homeless who drifted in for sustenance. Other than being better dressed and clean, she and Joe were just two more people in the panorama of faces.
After closing, they watched Edith drive away, then said goodbye in the parking lot behind the dilapidated restaurant Edith struggled to keep open. Joe said he wanted to be alone to think. Abi needed to plan her next moves, but they could have done that together. She wondered if Joe might be retreating into himself. In his heart, was he again pining for his Lady Griff?
Abi went to bed with her mind spinning. She considered asking Edith to find a replacement while she got her life together. Another volunteer could be found to take her once-a-week position if they both looked hard enough. She could also get Lindsay some part-time help in her absence.
The next morning brought an early phone call before she climbed out of bed.
“Abi? Abi, it's me.”
“Joe, what's going on?”
“I want to get this over with. I want to go out to the area where you said June slept, where you spoke with that DeWitt guy.”
“Are you asking me to go with you?”
“I couldn't impose again.” The urgency in his voice confirmed that they both needed to get hold of their lives.
“Well, I'm here for you.” The words didn't sound convincing, even to her.
“We may be holding each other back. I'm sure our respective situations are playing on the other's mind. If I handle this by myself, you're right, I'll have closure.”
